Book Description
This book was converted from its physical edition to the digital format by a community of volunteers. You may find it for free on the web. Purchase of the Kindle edition includes wireless delivery. Uniform title: Tartarin de Tarascon. English ... Read more

Book Description
This book was converted from its physical edition to the digital format by a community of volunteers. You may find it for free on the web. Purchase of the Kindle edition includes wireless delivery.Download Description
In the first place you must know that everybody is shooting mad in these parts, from the greatest to the least. The chase is the local craze, and so it has ever been since the mythological times when the Tarasque, as the county dragon was called, flourished himself and his tail in the town marshes, and entertained shooting parties got up against him. So you see the passion has lasted a goodish bit. ... Read more

Customer Reviews (2)

Tartarin de Tarascon
Tartarin de Tarascon is a novel heavily inspired by Cervantes' masterpiece, Don Quixote. Tartarin, the hero of the novel, is as fuddled and as charmed as the great Don, though his adventures are necessarily less, being but a pale shadow of the true hero's.

Tartarin is the great hero of the small town of Tarascon. A popular sport where he lives is hunting, though unfortunately there are no wild animals left to shoot and kill. So, the men of Tarascon devise a new method for showing off their hunting prowess - they hunt each others hats. Every Sunday, without fail, they gather in a clear field and throw their hats in the air, for shooting. The man with the most holes in his hat is proclaimed the winner and, because he is as wonderful at shooting as he is at everything else, Tartarin is always the winner. Daudet allows that the hat industry in Tarascon makes a brisk trade.

We are shown the hobbies and quirks of Tarascon, always through the skewed vision of Tarascon. In every aspect, he is the man about town, a hero without an adventure, a winner without a challenge. Daudet is quite witty in his attack on the small-mindedness of some townsfolk, with the initial twenty pages or so of the novel proving quite hilarious. Tartarin is so revered about town that the stevedores on the quay declare he has 'double muscles', whatever they are. The narrator hastens to assure that he does not know the meaning of that confusing term.

So far so good. We are introduced to an appealing hero, a befuddled, Quixotic Tartarin. Indeed, the novel goes so far in its mimicry of Don Quixote that Tartarin is even referred to as 'Tartarin-Quixote' and 'Tartarin-Sancho', depending on his behaviour and actions. Daudet makes it clear that his work is a homage to that great Spanish novel, not a replacement. Indeed, it would be difficult to imagine that Tartarin de Tarascon could exist as a novel, without Don Quixote for inspiration.

Soon, of course, Tartarin becomes dissatisfied with his exploits in Tarascon. He desires greater challenges with larger rewards. 'The fact is that for an heroic nature such as his, for a daring and adventurous spirit which dreamt of battles, explorations, big game hunting, desert sands, hurricanes and typhoons, to go every Sunday hat shooting and for the rest of the time dispense justice at Costecalde the gunsmith's was... well... hardly satisfying.' He begins to talk of traveling to Africa to hunt lions, and soon the town is swept up with excitement at the prospect. Imagine, their very own hero, of to kill lions in that faraway land!

Tartarin, however, has no such plan. Stories have a way of becoming reality in Tarascon, something Tartarin hopes will happen with his tale of hunting lions. If it is repeated enough in the bars and homes of the people, then surely they will begin to believe it has already occurred, and that Tartarin has returned, valiant and victorious? Unfortunately, no. The townsfolk begin to lose faith in their hero, as the months go by and he hasn't budged.

He travels to Algiers, and this is where the novel runs out of steam. It is a shame, really, considering the promising beginning. Daudet had crafted a clever, witty, gentle novel that made fun of its hero and its surrounds without being crude, rude, or vulgar. There is gentle mockery, but that is all. When the novel transfers location to the land of the Moors, the humour largely disappears, and the elaborate ruses become contrived.

What goes wrong? Perhaps it is the locale. Daudet shows admirable skill in portraying the foibles of smaller folk, but he loses his way when discussing the exoticism of Islam. That there are no lions in Algiers is a joke that an astute - and even a poor - reader will see coming a mile away, yet Tartarin does not. We can believe in Don Quixote's blind spots, because of the sheer immensity of his personality. Yet Tartarin is merely a shadow, and thus our suspension of disbelief requires something more.

That is not to say that the last half of the novel is without humour. No, there are places that will make you smile, but they are further apart than at the start. Also, there is an undercurrent of racism throughout the novel that reads distastefully. I would not expect a 19th century author to possess or submit to the morals of the 21st century, but given the political and cultural climate of 2006, it is difficult to laugh as all of the Islamic characters are portrayed as thieves, liars, buffoons and worse. Satire is a wonderful device, but it can easily stray into ignorance and offense.

It is worth noting that Daudet's novel was immensely popular during his lifetime. Even today, the actual town of Tarascon holds an annual festival, celebrating their great fictional hero. Tartarin went on to star in two sequels, both of which were well received.

The novel is both easy and difficult to recommend. It is very short, and will not take much time to complete. The satire and humour at the beginning are well worth the price of admission, which is low, considering the book is no longer in copyright. But the later half drags, and there is a great question that must be asked - why read the pale shadow of a masterpiece? Who would read this novel instead of Don Quixote? Nobody should. Seek the original, better novel.

I feel blessed to have read it
Well, I read this book over 20 years ago and I still remember it, at least the main 'lines'... I was in 7th grade, in the classroom when a bunch of books were given to us. Since I always took the most available books from our friendship's inventory list to read, I was 'punished' this time to read what books others did not 'like' in our previous exchange readings.

I was blessed !!!! It happened I got "Tartarin Of Tarascon" .Went home not happy with what I got, till I read the first chapter.....

The author has a great style, very attractive to read and fires up the emotions what to read next.His approach to characters comes very smooth, slowly and naturally goes deeper and wider till the entire character comes out fully explained. He gets inside the characters and describes them in the most positive way, no matter what personality is "loaded" or "runs" his character. As such I just loved all the "personalities" shown at the main character (Tartarin), the "famous lion hunter" Tartarin and the looser - real Tartarin.

I think this book opened to me an entire world of how to better understanding people, characters and people's behavior over all.

Great book !!!! ... Read more

Book Description
This book was converted from its physical edition to the digital format by a community of volunteers. You may find it for free on the web. Purchase of the Kindle edition includes wireless delivery.Download Description
Bah! the Parisians do not look at things so closely. For them, every rich foreigner is a nabob, no matter whence he comes. Furthermore, this nabob has all the physical qualities for the part--a copper- coloured skin, eyes like burning coals, and, what is more, gigantic wealth, of which he makes, I do not fear to say it, the most noble and the most intelligent use. ... Read more

Book Description
As Julian Barnes writes in the introduction to his superb translation of Alphonse Daudet’s La Doulou, the mostly forgotten writer nowadays“ate at the top literary table” during his lifetime (1840–1897). Henry James described him as “the happiest novelist” and “the most charming story-teller” of his day. Yet if Daudet dined in the highest company, he was also “a member of a less enviable nineteenth-century French club: that of literary syphilitics.” In the Land of Pain—notes toward a book never written—is his timelessly resonant response to the disease.

In quick, sharp, unflinching strokes of his pen, Daudet wrote about his symptoms (“This is me: the one-man-band of pain”) and his treatments (“Mor-phine nights . . . thick black waves, sleepless on the surface of life, the void beneath”); about his fears and reflections (“Pain, you must be everything for me. Let me find in you all those foreign lands you will not let me visit. Be my philosophy, be my science”); his impressions of the patients, himself included, and their strange life at curative baths and spas (“Russians, both men and women, go into the baths naked . . . Alarm among the Southerners”); and about the “clever way in which death cuts us down, but makes it look like just a thinning-out.”

Given Barnes’s crystalline translation, these notes comprise a record—at once shattering and lighthearted, haunting and beguiling—of both the banal and the transformative experience of physical suffering, and a testament to the complex resiliency of the human spirit. ... Read more

Customer Reviews (5)

Morbid Yet Poignant
You can approach this book in two ways, first as a looker and secondly as an insider. For all you malady of the month types, this will certainly satisfy your curiousity and would please any gothic type. For those looking for something deeper, you will find substance in this book. As a person with tardive dystonia, a motor disorder, I can empathize with the pain and muscle spasms that the author of this book describes and how every moment of each day is spent trying to fend them off.People have mentioned that the author's neurosyphillis could now have been treated by medication. But I see something of greater importance. It would be almost a century before people began to think of themselves as "disabled" instead of sick and the shame attached to being in a dysfunctioning body would no longer place you in a seperate category of almost an untouchable, perhaps starting with F.D.R. rehabilitating from polio. In the Land of Pain, vividly depicts the gradual lose of humanity that was part of entering the world of people with disabilities that plagued humanity for centuries. This work is more significant than all the after the fact pseudo-scientific works that want to attribute syphillis to everyone from Napoleon to Beethoven to Hitler. This is a first person account of what it is like to be faced with a disorder that you know will eventually destroy your life. To quote from the book,
"I only know one thing, and that is to shout to my children, 'Long live life!' But it is so hard to do, while I am ripped apart by pain."

Schadenrelief is my basic reaction to just about everything
ALPHONSE DAUDET SAID: "My poor carcass is hollowed out, voided by anemia. Pain echoes thru it as a voice echoes in a house without furniture or curtains. There are days, long days, when the only part of me that's alive is my pain."

Schadenrelief is a word I coined myself. (Somebody had to.) Schadenrelief is a slightly less sinister version of schadenfreude. Schadenrelief is the selfish relief you feel in reaction to someone else's suffering. It's the relief that's expressed whenever you internally say to yourself those 5 magic words: "I'm glad it wasn't me".

ALPHONSE DAUDET SAID: "Very strange, the fear that pain inspires nowadays--or rather, this pain of mine. It's bearable, and yet I cannot bear it. It's sheer dread; and my resort to anaesthetics is like a cry for help, the squeal of a woman before danger actually strikes."

Julian Barnes's own stuff suffers from a surfeit of Anglo-Saxon stuffiness. He's pretty much a parody of a stuffy Englishman. So this translation comes as a well-needed boost to Barnes's reputation. I'd be curious to see him translate Cioran's aphorisms and compare them to Richard Howard's translations.

ALPHONSE DAUDET SAID: "Pain has a life of its own. The ingenious efforts a disease makes in order to survive. People say: 'Let nature take its course.' But death is as much a part of nature as life. The forces of survival and destruction are at war within us and are equally matched. I've seen impressive examples of the skill with which disease manages to propagate itself. The two TB cases who fell in love: how passionately they clung to one another. You could almost hear the disease saying to itself: 'Now here's a perfect match!' And just imagine the morbidity it would give birth to."

Barnes has a mixed opinion of Harold Brodkey's book about Brodkey's illness. So I guess I'll take a look at Brodkey next. It's funny how Daudet doesn't say much about the temptation of suicide. It's too bad they didn't have barbituates in the 1800s. And it's too bad we don't have them now in the 2000s. (Barbituates have been replaced with non-lethal sedatives and it's just a darn shame.)

ALPHONSE DAUDET SAID: "You have to die so many times before you die."

"My Anguish Is Great, and I Weep As I Write"
Books about pain can be excruciating to read, and this is one of them. It is fragmentary, brutally honest, and as direct as an uppercut to the jaw.

Other works in the same genre include Montaigne's long essay "Of Experience" and Tolstoy's novelette THE DEATH OF IVAN ILYICH. Somehow we would all like to think that we will escape pain and die softly like a snowflake evaporating in pure air. If we were all Zen masters, we could die like the sages in Yoel Hoffmann's brilliant collection, JAPANESE DEATH POEMS:

Inhale, exhale
Forward, back
Living, dying:
Arrows, let flown each to each
Meet midway and slice
The void in aimless flight --
Thus I return to the source.
-- Gesshu Soko (d. 1696)

Though not well known to English-speaking readers, Alphone Daudet was considered one of the greatest French novelists of the late 19th century. A full forty years before his death, he contracted syphilis around the age of 17. Around the age of 40, Daudet's illness reached the tertiary stage; and he was bedeviled by a symphony of pain that attacked his various organs, sometimes with brief remissions before new and more awful symptoms appeared.

It is ironical that, were he alive today, Daudet would be cured by antibiotics; and Montaigne's kidney stones, possibly by medications, possibly by a routine surgery.

British novelist Julian Barnes edited this collection of fragments. It takes only a couple of hours to read, but I guarantee that this book will leave echoes in your mind about the battles you yourself may face as you reach the endgame.

Insightful, poetic view of pain, death and graciousness
Third stage syphilis is an unlikely subject for an enchanting book - but this it is.First, one is impressed by the precision of observation and expression.While the symptoms are shared with other patients, this is always the description of a particular victim of the disease. Second, one is impressed by the ever-changing attitude of Daudet to the progression and feared progression of the diease.Third, one is impressed by Daudet himself in his concern for those around him.The result is an enjoyable, informative introduction to Daudet as a person and as an example of human response to continuous pain.

Julian Barnes' translation is excellent - footnotes are provided that identify people, places, medicines that are unfamilar.Two short essays on Daudet and syphlis complete the book.

While this book may not appear to be high on the to-be-read-list, it deserves a place near the top.

Riveting Literary Analysis of Chronic Physical Pain
I became interested in this short book because I admired Julian Barnes' earlier work ("Flaubert's Parrot", "A History of the World in 10 1/2 Chapters") and because of my own pain. I have neuropathy (nerve damage) in my hands, legs, and feet because of diabetes. Although my situation is not as dire as Alphonse Daudet's, I found myself nodding my head over and over at the accuracy of his perceptions. Daudet had ataxia: pain and progressive paralysis due to end-stage syphilis. He was a very popular comic writer in his day (the French late 19th century) but has been mostly forgotten except for this little book, which Barnes translated into English for the first time. Barnes also provides excellent commentary. This book combines lightness and literary weight in perfect proportion.

Daudet's weapon in his decade long struggle with his pain were his notebooks, which were filled with precise description and irony. (He finally died at age 57.) This sounds like a recipe for self-absorption, but there is very little ego in this book. Daudet approached his pain almost as a puzzle to be solved, not as an invitation for people to feel sorry for him. Barnes provides descriptions of Daudet's gallant response to his illness. Barnes quotes Philip Larkin: "courage is not frightening the others" and Daudet seems to have believed that as well. He was haunted by the thought of burdening his devoted wife and children, but agrees that his family responsibilities actually help him cope.

The effort of writing seems to have been cathartic for Daudet, and the reader is filled with a similar feeling of cheerfulness at having faced things squarely. Daudet had little use for religion: but at one point he admits that most people are not made happy by either good fortune or good health. He sighs, "all we lack is a sense of the divine." He carried on anyway, and this small, grim book may also help you too, in a way more sentimental books can't ... Read more