Realism, rudeness and “grammatical disorder”: Celine’s “War” is far from self-censorship and good manners

while war to Ferdinand Celine (The Adelphi), which was not at all published for the year, is not an anti-military or anti-war pamphlet as pedanticly read even on manhole covers. Not because of reading the novel re-created on the basis of 250 handwritten and numbered but illegible papers by the French writer who died in 1961 at the age of 67, Its opposite must be spiritual. This is only if you analyze war Starting from here, one voluntarily takes the wrong path.

The unpublished Selenian treats the theme of “war” as a terrible, turbulent prospect to be exposed, as an obstacle to be overcome, as a disturbing hangover of blood and guts and cannons and bullets here so very Bukowski that always echoes like background noise (“Treacle is full of grenades”) and at the perpetual rumble inside the ears of the protagonist (“I’ve got war on my head“). war It begins right in the middle of a World War I battlefield in Belgium with the narrator Ferdinand (Celinian alter ego, here a corporal in the French army) describing his ruined physical condition. After a series of explosions, his fellow infantrymen were killed. The descriptive dimension of Wounds — the ear stuck to the floor soaked in blood, the broken arm, the numb leg — is both harrowing realism and ironic insolence. There is no sympathy for oneself or for anyone, but there is almost a wry smile that finds its natural formal continuation in polished jargon indignation.

Ferdinand’s Note vis The “Courage” scattered about is Picasso’s painting shaded by Boscian’s delights. A few pages later and Ferdinand found himself wounded, thought to be dying, if not quite dead, among beds and stretchers in a hospital in Peurdu-sur-la-lys He will remain there suffering from various ups and downs until the end of the story. In fact, if someone asked us for a very brief synopsis of Guerra, we’d say: Private Ferdinand convalesced in a world populated by prostitutes, perpetual erections, frantic masturbation, a dead nurse and fellow bastard soldiers. Briefly, Strictly forbidden novel for minors in addition to “grammatical disorder”As the translator writes Ottavio Vatica In the end, it pulsates with language devoid of any moral and ethical modesty. Basically war, if there is still a need after that Journey at the end of the night And credit death Celine emphasizes the writer’s libertarian, sloppy, and heteronormative approach to the art of storytelling. Dynamite’s assault on good morals, in search of the “positive message,” managed to stay within the ranks of literary circles even among the most culturally disobedient. Celine does not look anyone in the eye, and no one wants to be judged.

His writings, especially in war, is a glowing swirl of hypnotic schizophrenia on his phallus, his most ferocious and deepest impulses, on the shame of others in relation to sex. “I used to ask them their menstrual cycle.” “He didn’t slide his hand under my balls and yes I expected that“Well, he tasted the cum (…) he pulled a whole bunch.” A reflexive, devoid of self-censorship, delivered by protagonist Ferdinand with natural gaiety (at certain moments he recalls the language used in some black erotic porn comedies of the 1970s and 1980s) in his liberating journey to regain strength, but above all to escape as feigned insanity as possible from the hypothetical charges of desertion or even worse of self-harm which would lead to a court-martial. war is another example of what it meant to make literature a hundred years ago (but then this trend continued at least until the 1970s) in an anarchic one-man fashion without bringing up the problems of ethical marketing, the buzzwords accepted by the good market and the righteous who rule it. Then if we want to blush in front of Guerra pales Bastogne di Brizzi (And there was no need to write it down, but our enricon how much I read Selene God only knows), but in some places even creak Young Holden.