Status
Available
Call number
Genres
Publication
Amsterdam [etc.] : De Arbeiderspers; 574 p, 23 cm; http://opc4.kb.nl/DB=1/PPN?PPN=138791953
User reviews
LibraryThing member souva
Seldom you come across a book which is so magnificent in its scope, so disarmingly rich in style and variation, that after finishing it, you feel quite numb and dull. And later, when you try to reflect on the book, you are desperately short of words and expressions. Common examples include James
Recently, I’ve finished reading “Life: A User’s Manual” by Georges Perec and without hesitation, I’ve placed it in the aforementioned category.
I’m supposed to call “Life: A User’s Manual” a book, or a novel, but I prefer the word ‘tapestry’, and indeed, it is an ingenuous one. The title page describes it as “Novels”, in plural, and we’ll understand its significance a little later. The central character of the narrative is a wealthy Englishman called Bartlebooth (recently I've come to know that this is a cross between Herman Melville’s Bartleby and Valery Larbaud’s Barnabooth; such tongue-in-cheek references are abundant in this piece of work) living in a Parisian apartment at 11, Rue Simon-Crubellier. Not knowing what to do with his time or his fortune, he contrives an extensive plan which will keep him busy for the rest of his life. His plan goes as follows—
1) In the first 10 years he devotes himself learning the techniques of water-colour under the guidance of Valene, who also comes to live at 11 Rue Simon-Crubellier.
2) Then, he starts his voyage spanning a period of 20 years around the world, accompanied by his faithful butler Smautf (an obvious reference to Jules Verne’s “Around the World in Eighty Days”, bringing back the sweet memories of my childhood days) and painting 500 landscapes in different ports in different countries.
3) As soon as he finishes each of these canvases, it is sent to Gaspard Winckler, a clever and ingenuous craftsman (another resident of 11 Rue Simon-Crubellier) who converts it into a jigsaw puzzle, increasingly difficult in nature, and stores them for future.
4) After returning from his voyage, Bartlebooth solves those jigsaw puzzles.
5) Each of the solved puzzles is then transferred to Georges Morellet (still another resident of the same building) who then rebinds the paper with a special glue and restores the original painting, removing the support of the pasteboard.
6) This painting, which is in almost the identical state when Bartlebooth painted it, is then sent to the port where it was painted, exactly 20 years after the day of its creation.
7) The painting is then placed into seawater until the colour dissolves, leaving a plain virgin sheet of paper.
8) This blank sheet is then returned to Bartlebooth.
9) The whole process is repeated for all the 500 paintings.
Now, as the narrative progresses, it dawns upon the readers that the novel is set not only on the day of Bartlebooth’s death, but also, at the precise moment of his death. All the characters and objects, living in the microcosm of this Parisian apartment, are frozen in time and space by the author as he goes on painstakingly describing each of them, in each of the flats in the building, where they are and what they have been doing at that fateful moment, with elaborate references to their past, present and future. And this act of describing them is actually what the novel consists of. Probably now, the word “novels” makes some sense, because in the course of this narrative, we’ve come across more than 100 main stories (concerning all the residents and their lives), spanning almost 142 years (1833-1975).
But, what is the point of telling such a convoluted array of stories? And, moreover, what is the point of indulging oneself into such a tedious and futile endeavour like Bartlebooth? The answers are the same—NOTHING!
The most striking characteristic of this tapestry is its capability of referring to itself and its elements. The book itself is in the fashion of a vast jigsaw puzzle, similar to the ones Bartlebooth has been solving throughout his life. All the different stories and characters are the random pieces of the puzzle. As you are going through them, you engage yourself in joining them together, groping around in dark, unsure of yourself. Eventually, at the end, this tapestry emerges with full splendour.
The quixotic effort of Bartlebooth and that of the author touch upon yet another theme. However hard a person tries to attribute a meaning to an act, ultimately it is devoid of any significance, or rather, if it has any significance at all, that is purely random (remember Sassure’s “Signifier - Signified” duo which is random). We are nothing but preys of an illusory meaningfulness which we pursue till the end of our lives. The effort of both Bartlebooth and Perec is a mockery of this illusion. At the end, Bartlebooth dies without finishing the project, in the process of becoming aware of the impossibility of such a task.
While Bartlebooth’s bizarre project provides the central theme, 11 Rue Simon-Crubellier gives the book its structure. Supposedly, the narrative moves like a Knight in a chess game, one chapter for each room (thus, the more rooms an apartment has the more chapters are devoted to them). Perec haults in each room and tells us about the residents of the room, or the past residents of the room, or about some of their acquaintances. Perec devises the elevation of the building as a 10×10 grid: 10 storeys, including basements and attics and 10 rooms across, including 2 for the stairwell (the plan is given at the end of the book, along with a 58 pages long Index!). Each room is assigned to a chapter, and the order of the chapters is given by the knight's moves on the grid.
George Perec was a member of the OuLiPo ("Ouvroir de littérature potentielle", which translates roughly as "workshop of potential literature") group. The members of the group were devoted to “constrained writing” techniques (Perec himself wrote an entire book without using the vowel e for once). In this novel also, there are certain constraints that he subjects himself to, like the number of lists in each chapter, number of objects etc. Unfortunately, as an uninitiated reader, I couldn’t delve deep into such numerological nitty-gritty.
The book swarms with numerous references to other authors, books and characters, including Jules Verne, Captain Nemo, Passepartout, Kafka, Nabokov, Gaston Leroux, Cheri-Bibi, Marcel Proust and so on. As a novice reader it is an unpardonable audacity to even think of uncovering all those subtle nuances, but if you can, at least, sneak a peek at some of them, you will be justly rewarded. But be careful, there are plenty of red herrings, which may soon thwart you off the track.
Another nasty twist at the end of this post! It is not Perec, who is describing all these disparate elements of a story. Rather, he is just describing the concept behind an unfinished sketch by Valene (the art teacher of our old friend Bartlebooth), aspiring to depict the building and its residents in fullest possible details (yes, along with the incidents from their past lives). Valene stops working on this painting precisely at the moment of Bartlebooth’s death!
What should be said about this one-of-its-kind book, if not diabolic?
Show More
Joyce’s “Ulysses” or Dostoyevsky’s “Brothers Karamazov”.Recently, I’ve finished reading “Life: A User’s Manual” by Georges Perec and without hesitation, I’ve placed it in the aforementioned category.
I’m supposed to call “Life: A User’s Manual” a book, or a novel, but I prefer the word ‘tapestry’, and indeed, it is an ingenuous one. The title page describes it as “Novels”, in plural, and we’ll understand its significance a little later. The central character of the narrative is a wealthy Englishman called Bartlebooth (recently I've come to know that this is a cross between Herman Melville’s Bartleby and Valery Larbaud’s Barnabooth; such tongue-in-cheek references are abundant in this piece of work) living in a Parisian apartment at 11, Rue Simon-Crubellier. Not knowing what to do with his time or his fortune, he contrives an extensive plan which will keep him busy for the rest of his life. His plan goes as follows—
1) In the first 10 years he devotes himself learning the techniques of water-colour under the guidance of Valene, who also comes to live at 11 Rue Simon-Crubellier.
2) Then, he starts his voyage spanning a period of 20 years around the world, accompanied by his faithful butler Smautf (an obvious reference to Jules Verne’s “Around the World in Eighty Days”, bringing back the sweet memories of my childhood days) and painting 500 landscapes in different ports in different countries.
3) As soon as he finishes each of these canvases, it is sent to Gaspard Winckler, a clever and ingenuous craftsman (another resident of 11 Rue Simon-Crubellier) who converts it into a jigsaw puzzle, increasingly difficult in nature, and stores them for future.
4) After returning from his voyage, Bartlebooth solves those jigsaw puzzles.
5) Each of the solved puzzles is then transferred to Georges Morellet (still another resident of the same building) who then rebinds the paper with a special glue and restores the original painting, removing the support of the pasteboard.
6) This painting, which is in almost the identical state when Bartlebooth painted it, is then sent to the port where it was painted, exactly 20 years after the day of its creation.
7) The painting is then placed into seawater until the colour dissolves, leaving a plain virgin sheet of paper.
8) This blank sheet is then returned to Bartlebooth.
9) The whole process is repeated for all the 500 paintings.
Now, as the narrative progresses, it dawns upon the readers that the novel is set not only on the day of Bartlebooth’s death, but also, at the precise moment of his death. All the characters and objects, living in the microcosm of this Parisian apartment, are frozen in time and space by the author as he goes on painstakingly describing each of them, in each of the flats in the building, where they are and what they have been doing at that fateful moment, with elaborate references to their past, present and future. And this act of describing them is actually what the novel consists of. Probably now, the word “novels” makes some sense, because in the course of this narrative, we’ve come across more than 100 main stories (concerning all the residents and their lives), spanning almost 142 years (1833-1975).
But, what is the point of telling such a convoluted array of stories? And, moreover, what is the point of indulging oneself into such a tedious and futile endeavour like Bartlebooth? The answers are the same—NOTHING!
The most striking characteristic of this tapestry is its capability of referring to itself and its elements. The book itself is in the fashion of a vast jigsaw puzzle, similar to the ones Bartlebooth has been solving throughout his life. All the different stories and characters are the random pieces of the puzzle. As you are going through them, you engage yourself in joining them together, groping around in dark, unsure of yourself. Eventually, at the end, this tapestry emerges with full splendour.
The quixotic effort of Bartlebooth and that of the author touch upon yet another theme. However hard a person tries to attribute a meaning to an act, ultimately it is devoid of any significance, or rather, if it has any significance at all, that is purely random (remember Sassure’s “Signifier - Signified” duo which is random). We are nothing but preys of an illusory meaningfulness which we pursue till the end of our lives. The effort of both Bartlebooth and Perec is a mockery of this illusion. At the end, Bartlebooth dies without finishing the project, in the process of becoming aware of the impossibility of such a task.
While Bartlebooth’s bizarre project provides the central theme, 11 Rue Simon-Crubellier gives the book its structure. Supposedly, the narrative moves like a Knight in a chess game, one chapter for each room (thus, the more rooms an apartment has the more chapters are devoted to them). Perec haults in each room and tells us about the residents of the room, or the past residents of the room, or about some of their acquaintances. Perec devises the elevation of the building as a 10×10 grid: 10 storeys, including basements and attics and 10 rooms across, including 2 for the stairwell (the plan is given at the end of the book, along with a 58 pages long Index!). Each room is assigned to a chapter, and the order of the chapters is given by the knight's moves on the grid.
George Perec was a member of the OuLiPo ("Ouvroir de littérature potentielle", which translates roughly as "workshop of potential literature") group. The members of the group were devoted to “constrained writing” techniques (Perec himself wrote an entire book without using the vowel e for once). In this novel also, there are certain constraints that he subjects himself to, like the number of lists in each chapter, number of objects etc. Unfortunately, as an uninitiated reader, I couldn’t delve deep into such numerological nitty-gritty.
The book swarms with numerous references to other authors, books and characters, including Jules Verne, Captain Nemo, Passepartout, Kafka, Nabokov, Gaston Leroux, Cheri-Bibi, Marcel Proust and so on. As a novice reader it is an unpardonable audacity to even think of uncovering all those subtle nuances, but if you can, at least, sneak a peek at some of them, you will be justly rewarded. But be careful, there are plenty of red herrings, which may soon thwart you off the track.
Another nasty twist at the end of this post! It is not Perec, who is describing all these disparate elements of a story. Rather, he is just describing the concept behind an unfinished sketch by Valene (the art teacher of our old friend Bartlebooth), aspiring to depict the building and its residents in fullest possible details (yes, along with the incidents from their past lives). Valene stops working on this painting precisely at the moment of Bartlebooth’s death!
What should be said about this one-of-its-kind book, if not diabolic?
Show Less
LibraryThing member thorold
La Vie mode d'emploi, published in 1978, is probably the best-known work by the French writer Georges Perec (1936-1982). Perec was a member of the OULIPO group, which experimented with writing using various arbitrary formal constraints.
The book imagines what it would be like if we could take the
This approach takes a bit of getting used to. For a start, no time passes between the first and the last chapter. We jump arbitrarily from one room to another, according to a rule Perec has imposed on himself, but we could equally-well read the chapters in any order. Perec provides an index, diagram, chronology and table of contents that would allow the reader to map out any desired course through the book.
The stories are sometimes about major characters - the people who live in the building - but sometimes about apparently irrelevant things (the story illustrated by a painting hanging in the room; the plot of a novel; the text of a pamphlet...). Sometimes there is no story at all, just a collection of lists. We get five straight pages out of a hardware catalogue at one point; at another an itemised list of the food in the Altamonts' cellar. This is a wonderful book for someone like me, whose knowledge of French has its limitations: Perec draws vocabulary from every conceivable realm of life. We get detective stories and medieval romance; escapes from the harem and Kafkaesque struggles against bureaucracy; cooking recipes and bicycle racing...
Set against all this apparent randomness there are various unifying themes that run through the book. Puzzles (especially jigsaws) are particularly important: Perec is clearly fascinated by the way that they bring together concepts of order and randomness. Puzzles feature heavily in the story of the eccentric Bartlebooth, who has links to a number of the other residents and provides the book with the nearest thing it has toa conventional plot line. Recursion is another big theme - over and over again we find stories within a story, books within a book, or pictures within a picture.
This is a remarkable book, entertaining and very accessible despite its experimental nature and highly-constrained formal structure. It's quite fun to have some idea how Perec's "novel-writing machine" worked, but you certainly don't need to: the text is enough to keep you absorbed without any scaffolding.
The book imagines what it would be like if we could take the
Show More
front wall off a Paris apartment building (No.11 in the fictitious Rue Simon-Crubellier) and look simultaneously into each of its rooms to see what people are doing. Each of the 99 chapters presents a snapshot of a room, describing it and the objects and people that happen to be in it at a little before eight in the evening on the 23rd of June 1975. In most chapters Perec takes one or more objects or people associated with the room, and tells us a story about them. This approach takes a bit of getting used to. For a start, no time passes between the first and the last chapter. We jump arbitrarily from one room to another, according to a rule Perec has imposed on himself, but we could equally-well read the chapters in any order. Perec provides an index, diagram, chronology and table of contents that would allow the reader to map out any desired course through the book.
The stories are sometimes about major characters - the people who live in the building - but sometimes about apparently irrelevant things (the story illustrated by a painting hanging in the room; the plot of a novel; the text of a pamphlet...). Sometimes there is no story at all, just a collection of lists. We get five straight pages out of a hardware catalogue at one point; at another an itemised list of the food in the Altamonts' cellar. This is a wonderful book for someone like me, whose knowledge of French has its limitations: Perec draws vocabulary from every conceivable realm of life. We get detective stories and medieval romance; escapes from the harem and Kafkaesque struggles against bureaucracy; cooking recipes and bicycle racing...
Set against all this apparent randomness there are various unifying themes that run through the book. Puzzles (especially jigsaws) are particularly important: Perec is clearly fascinated by the way that they bring together concepts of order and randomness. Puzzles feature heavily in the story of the eccentric Bartlebooth, who has links to a number of the other residents and provides the book with the nearest thing it has toa conventional plot line. Recursion is another big theme - over and over again we find stories within a story, books within a book, or pictures within a picture.
This is a remarkable book, entertaining and very accessible despite its experimental nature and highly-constrained formal structure. It's quite fun to have some idea how Perec's "novel-writing machine" worked, but you certainly don't need to: the text is enough to keep you absorbed without any scaffolding.
Show Less
LibraryThing member eairo
I was expecting something interesting when I started Life A User's Manual. Beyond that, I was not sure. The book has been labeled 'experimental' and 'a masterwork'. Either one of the attributes alone could mean anything from a finest experience to difficult to frustrating to disappointing.
Life AUM
Every chapter begins in one of the rooms (or stairways or storage cabins) of the house but the lives and the histories of the characters or things encountered spread all over the world, or into a painting or a book: there are a few very detailed descriptions of pictures or stories about them, a couple of synopses of other novels, probably fictional, at least one of them written by one of the characters of this book, and some scientific articles and books.
You get the picture? A puzzle. A jigsaw puzzle to be exact. The foreword talks about jigsaw puzzles, jigsaw puzzles have a significant part in one of the longer stories in the book, and the whole structure of the book can been seen as a jigsaw puzzle. There are textual games and references, wordplay, language games and probably a lot more that I didn't recognize or realize. For example, characters have been hunting bears somewhere near Macondo, and the text of the foreword is repeated later in book but in a different context giving the reader a whole new range of possible interpretations.
The lists. There are lots of lists. Short lists and long list. Lists of things in the rooms now (for there is a now in the book), lists of things found in the staircases of the building through its history, things stored in the basement and lists of words as in a dictionary---which reminds me of one my favourite characters (though a minor one) in the book: Cinoc, whose name one one could pronounce, is a word-killer. He works for a publisher of dictionaries and his job is to find words that are not used any more and to be removed from the dictionaries in due time. He boasts he has killed thousands of words during his career--- to realize these forgotten words became dear to him. He is now editing his own private dictionary of lost words.
These lists are a bit tedious at times, exaggeration of the realism, or whatever they represent, and I skipped a few items on the list of hardware manufacturer's catalogue, I must confess. But I read the rest of them and in a strange way they began to feel meaningful at some point, the amount of detail provided a special sense of presence.
Masterwork? Yes, that can be said. Experimental? Surely. Not in a difficult but rather in a reader-friendly way; definately not frustrating, maybe a bit demanding on the reader's memory, the stories and character---and they are many---appearances are scattered all over the 550 pages of the book; a fine reading experience, book full of Life.
Life AUM
Show More
is a network of stories. Its sub-subtitle Novels describes the book well. This 'novels' is divided into 99 chapters, the appendix titled Some stories told in this book names more than a hundred of them; some of the stories are mere anecdotes told in a few sentences and some of them last the book's whole length. This network covers most of the world and several hundred years of history. Everything comes together at 11 Simon-Grubellier Street (an imaginary address) in Paris.Every chapter begins in one of the rooms (or stairways or storage cabins) of the house but the lives and the histories of the characters or things encountered spread all over the world, or into a painting or a book: there are a few very detailed descriptions of pictures or stories about them, a couple of synopses of other novels, probably fictional, at least one of them written by one of the characters of this book, and some scientific articles and books.
You get the picture? A puzzle. A jigsaw puzzle to be exact. The foreword talks about jigsaw puzzles, jigsaw puzzles have a significant part in one of the longer stories in the book, and the whole structure of the book can been seen as a jigsaw puzzle. There are textual games and references, wordplay, language games and probably a lot more that I didn't recognize or realize. For example, characters have been hunting bears somewhere near Macondo, and the text of the foreword is repeated later in book but in a different context giving the reader a whole new range of possible interpretations.
The lists. There are lots of lists. Short lists and long list. Lists of things in the rooms now (for there is a now in the book), lists of things found in the staircases of the building through its history, things stored in the basement and lists of words as in a dictionary---which reminds me of one my favourite characters (though a minor one) in the book: Cinoc, whose name one one could pronounce, is a word-killer. He works for a publisher of dictionaries and his job is to find words that are not used any more and to be removed from the dictionaries in due time. He boasts he has killed thousands of words during his career--- to realize these forgotten words became dear to him. He is now editing his own private dictionary of lost words.
These lists are a bit tedious at times, exaggeration of the realism, or whatever they represent, and I skipped a few items on the list of hardware manufacturer's catalogue, I must confess. But I read the rest of them and in a strange way they began to feel meaningful at some point, the amount of detail provided a special sense of presence.
Masterwork? Yes, that can be said. Experimental? Surely. Not in a difficult but rather in a reader-friendly way; definately not frustrating, maybe a bit demanding on the reader's memory, the stories and character---and they are many---appearances are scattered all over the 550 pages of the book; a fine reading experience, book full of Life.
Show Less
LibraryThing member KristianATJ
"One of the most singular literary personalities in the world, a writer who resembled absolutely no-one else" - Italo Calvino on Georges Perec
Taking inspiration from one of my more organised friends, I'm planning on spending at least part of my summer contemplating my dissertation, so as not to
It was this process that led me to Georges Perec's Life A User's Manual, a novel that fits my own brief perfectly, in that in terms of execution, it is both unconventional and hugely ambitious. Presented as a historical document - complete with index and chronology - it tells the story of the Rue Simon-Crubellier apartment block, and all the people who have ever been a part of the building. Perec takes the reader from room to room, describing everything - fixtures, fittings, furniture and all - in extensive detail in order to set the scene, before relaying the stories - which range from the relatively mundane to the bizarre - of those who have lived there. Indeed, description is a device Perec uses throughout, eschewing dialogue almost completely, a bold move that pays off because Perec crafts such a vivid narrative, leaving little to the imagination, as is appropriate for a novel presented as a definitive account.
It seems somehow fitting that I chose to read this novel the same week I saw Synecdoche, New York. Both pieces share the thematic link of death as a natural consequence of life - as the only possible ending to every story - whilst at the same time managing to celebrate the capacity of the human spirit. Caden Cotard is the sort of obsessive whose vision would have been perfectly at home in Rue Simon-Crubellier; after all, the novel spends a fair amount of its time dealing with obsession, an emotion the very nature of which means that a large number of the tales are devoid of happy endings; as each new story begins, you find yourself waiting for the 'but' that frequently signifies imminent tragedy. Never is this more apparent than in the story of Percival Bartlebooth, a central character of sorts whose fate is emblematic of much of the narrative. A millionaire concerned that his wealth will consign him to a life of idle boredom, he concocts a scheme that is entirely self-defeating, but will serve to keep him occupied for the rest of his days. He spends ten years learning the art of watercolour painting, before heading out on a twenty-year long world tour, during which time he produces five hundred paintings. Upon completion, each one is sent to an expert puzzle-maker, who converts each of them into a seven-hundred-and-fifty-piece jigsaw. Returning from his travels, Bartlebooth begins to put the puzzles back together, with each completed puzzle being converted back into a watercolour painting, before then being sent back to the place where it was created, where it undergoes a process that renders it as nothing more than the blank sheet of paper it once was so long ago.
The nature of this plan means that Bartlebooth, as intended, leaves no visible mark on the world, a desire on his part that is filled with a sense of melancholy and defeatism - after all, is there not within us all a longing to be remembered? In undertaking such a time-consuming yet ultimately useless task, Bartlebooth impresses upon the reader the suggestion that most of us end up leaving no lasting impact on the world whatsoever - he has fully accepted this as truth, and so dedicated his life to something which ends up removing him from society, whilst ostensibly leaving no trace of his existence. Yet that isn't the whole truth; after all, Bartlebooth's influence is felt throughout the novel, and he has clearly had an impact on a great number of people - not just those living within Rue Simon-Crubellier, but those who heard of the man purely by accident, such as the art critic Charles-Albert Beyssandre, whose interference eventually undermines the success of Bartlebooth's plan. The idea that all of the stories within the novel are connected even whilst they appear to be self-contained is crucial to its success, creating a sense of community that illuminates proceedings, and the air of inevitability of failure that hangs over the novel never detracts, because the journeys the characters undertake almost always have meaning, which lessens the impact of their eventual failure, whilst also ensuring that any successful outcome is a cause of great contentment to the reader.
In contemplating Perec, Warren Motte and Jean-Jacques Poucel defined the four directions that the author claimed to have pursued in his writing: "a concern for the everyday and its details; a tendency toward confession and autobiography; an impulse toward formal innovation; and a desire to tell engaging stories." Life A User's Manual is a triumphant blend of all of these directions, and has to be considered one of the most significant twentieth century literary achievements.
Taking inspiration from one of my more organised friends, I'm planning on spending at least part of my summer contemplating my dissertation, so as not to
Show More
find myself overburdened come next May. However, having had to desperately rush in order to get my preliminary title handed in - in order to meet the deadline - I panicked, which is why 'Experiments in Narrative Structure' is going to be my focus. An interesting topic, to be sure, but one that comes attached with numerous difficulties - at the moment, not only is my outline much too general, but actually selecting texts is no easy feat either.It was this process that led me to Georges Perec's Life A User's Manual, a novel that fits my own brief perfectly, in that in terms of execution, it is both unconventional and hugely ambitious. Presented as a historical document - complete with index and chronology - it tells the story of the Rue Simon-Crubellier apartment block, and all the people who have ever been a part of the building. Perec takes the reader from room to room, describing everything - fixtures, fittings, furniture and all - in extensive detail in order to set the scene, before relaying the stories - which range from the relatively mundane to the bizarre - of those who have lived there. Indeed, description is a device Perec uses throughout, eschewing dialogue almost completely, a bold move that pays off because Perec crafts such a vivid narrative, leaving little to the imagination, as is appropriate for a novel presented as a definitive account.
It seems somehow fitting that I chose to read this novel the same week I saw Synecdoche, New York. Both pieces share the thematic link of death as a natural consequence of life - as the only possible ending to every story - whilst at the same time managing to celebrate the capacity of the human spirit. Caden Cotard is the sort of obsessive whose vision would have been perfectly at home in Rue Simon-Crubellier; after all, the novel spends a fair amount of its time dealing with obsession, an emotion the very nature of which means that a large number of the tales are devoid of happy endings; as each new story begins, you find yourself waiting for the 'but' that frequently signifies imminent tragedy. Never is this more apparent than in the story of Percival Bartlebooth, a central character of sorts whose fate is emblematic of much of the narrative. A millionaire concerned that his wealth will consign him to a life of idle boredom, he concocts a scheme that is entirely self-defeating, but will serve to keep him occupied for the rest of his days. He spends ten years learning the art of watercolour painting, before heading out on a twenty-year long world tour, during which time he produces five hundred paintings. Upon completion, each one is sent to an expert puzzle-maker, who converts each of them into a seven-hundred-and-fifty-piece jigsaw. Returning from his travels, Bartlebooth begins to put the puzzles back together, with each completed puzzle being converted back into a watercolour painting, before then being sent back to the place where it was created, where it undergoes a process that renders it as nothing more than the blank sheet of paper it once was so long ago.
The nature of this plan means that Bartlebooth, as intended, leaves no visible mark on the world, a desire on his part that is filled with a sense of melancholy and defeatism - after all, is there not within us all a longing to be remembered? In undertaking such a time-consuming yet ultimately useless task, Bartlebooth impresses upon the reader the suggestion that most of us end up leaving no lasting impact on the world whatsoever - he has fully accepted this as truth, and so dedicated his life to something which ends up removing him from society, whilst ostensibly leaving no trace of his existence. Yet that isn't the whole truth; after all, Bartlebooth's influence is felt throughout the novel, and he has clearly had an impact on a great number of people - not just those living within Rue Simon-Crubellier, but those who heard of the man purely by accident, such as the art critic Charles-Albert Beyssandre, whose interference eventually undermines the success of Bartlebooth's plan. The idea that all of the stories within the novel are connected even whilst they appear to be self-contained is crucial to its success, creating a sense of community that illuminates proceedings, and the air of inevitability of failure that hangs over the novel never detracts, because the journeys the characters undertake almost always have meaning, which lessens the impact of their eventual failure, whilst also ensuring that any successful outcome is a cause of great contentment to the reader.
In contemplating Perec, Warren Motte and Jean-Jacques Poucel defined the four directions that the author claimed to have pursued in his writing: "a concern for the everyday and its details; a tendency toward confession and autobiography; an impulse toward formal innovation; and a desire to tell engaging stories." Life A User's Manual is a triumphant blend of all of these directions, and has to be considered one of the most significant twentieth century literary achievements.
Show Less
LibraryThing member santhony
I ordered this novel from Amazon by virtue of its near unanimous five star review status. After having read the work in its entirety, I must admit to being somewhat mystified by the accolades showered upon it. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t hate it or find it unreadable, but neither would I
The book consists of many very short chapters, each such chapter taking as its theme a room or location in an apartment building in Paris. Each chapter begins with a detailed description of the furniture, the wall coverings, the floor coverings, fabrics, knick-knacks, curios, paintings, inhabitants, what they are wearing and what they had for lunch. These descriptions sometimes extend for pages at a time. One involved the entire contents of a pantry, describing each can of food, its color, cover design and contents. Really?
Periodically, after “setting the stage”, a fascinating story ensues. Sometimes it doesn’t. Over the course of the novel, many of the key players are reintroduced, but it may be difficult to remember a minor character introduced 75 pages ago in a four page chapter. One reviewer confessed to keeping a notebook in order to remember the characters. I didn’t keep a notebook, hence my failure to maintain any continuity with some of the inhabitants of the building.
There are many fine and well told tales contained in this novel, however, the sometimes mind numbing level of descriptive detail, which make up a significant portion of the book, dilutes the effect of the tales, both with respect to the word count as well as the impact of the prose.
If forced to read every word of this novel, I would likely have ditched it mid-way through. However, the paragraphs of seemingly never ending picayune descriptions are easily identified and usually occur at the beginning of each chapter. When confronted with three paragraphs of detailed descriptions of every carving contained in a curio case, I simply scanned forward to the conclusion of the exercise and was often rewarded with captivating reading for the remainder of the chapter. Again, sometimes not.
I feel the need to point out that I am not by nature a contrarian. I don’t seek out universally well beloved works and trash them as a matter of course. However, I cannot, for the life of me, imagine what it is about this collection of minutia that has garnered such near unanimous accolades.
Show More
include it on my list of 500 greatest books either.The book consists of many very short chapters, each such chapter taking as its theme a room or location in an apartment building in Paris. Each chapter begins with a detailed description of the furniture, the wall coverings, the floor coverings, fabrics, knick-knacks, curios, paintings, inhabitants, what they are wearing and what they had for lunch. These descriptions sometimes extend for pages at a time. One involved the entire contents of a pantry, describing each can of food, its color, cover design and contents. Really?
Periodically, after “setting the stage”, a fascinating story ensues. Sometimes it doesn’t. Over the course of the novel, many of the key players are reintroduced, but it may be difficult to remember a minor character introduced 75 pages ago in a four page chapter. One reviewer confessed to keeping a notebook in order to remember the characters. I didn’t keep a notebook, hence my failure to maintain any continuity with some of the inhabitants of the building.
There are many fine and well told tales contained in this novel, however, the sometimes mind numbing level of descriptive detail, which make up a significant portion of the book, dilutes the effect of the tales, both with respect to the word count as well as the impact of the prose.
If forced to read every word of this novel, I would likely have ditched it mid-way through. However, the paragraphs of seemingly never ending picayune descriptions are easily identified and usually occur at the beginning of each chapter. When confronted with three paragraphs of detailed descriptions of every carving contained in a curio case, I simply scanned forward to the conclusion of the exercise and was often rewarded with captivating reading for the remainder of the chapter. Again, sometimes not.
I feel the need to point out that I am not by nature a contrarian. I don’t seek out universally well beloved works and trash them as a matter of course. However, I cannot, for the life of me, imagine what it is about this collection of minutia that has garnered such near unanimous accolades.
Show Less
LibraryThing member gwendolyndawson
Almost perfect structurally, this book is a puzzle to be solved. The interwoven stories of the people in a Parisian apartment complex are compelling in themselves, but the way the stories are pulled together, and the overriding form of the book is masterful. A delightful, if quite difficult, read.
Show More
At times, the lengthy lists in the book can get a bit tedious. Show Less
LibraryThing member donato
Oh my god, can I give this 6 stars? how about 9? Heck, I'll give it 11.
What an amazing book. It's like a Bruegel painting with every character and every character's back-story and every character's mother's back-story (and etc) described, lovingly, wonderfully, fully. It's practically the entire
In fact it's been 3 months since I started reading it. It took me this long because I practically read it 3 times. I'd read 100 pages, and then re-read them. Then another 100, and re-read those. I wanted to be stuck in this world. I wanted to be lost in this labyrinth of lunacy and obsession (and repeating images). I didn't want it to end, I didn't want to solve the puzzle, I just wanted to map it (in fact, I kept a notebook), and be in it (I even bought the original [2]).
But, as they say, all good things must come to and end... or do they?
The stories are always there, there in the book, and here, in real life (what's the difference?): as I was reading the book, Roman Opalka died, an artist straight out of the book practically, painting his numbers since 1965, right up until infinity (his death); at the Pompidou in Metz, France, an exhibit called "ERRE, variations labyrinthiques", and one Didier Beaufort, who traveled 20000 km in South America to follow the sun so that it was always perpendicular to where he was; [insert your story here]
[1] The story of Cyrille Altamont and Blanche Gardel in London reminded me of Marías's Tomorrow in the Battle Think On Me. Of course the stories are meant to remind you of other stories: "slightly modified citations from the following authors have been inserted into this book" Perec tells us at the end. So we see that the story-continuum goes backward and forward (and probably up and down too...)
[2] The Italian translation I have is, while not terrible, not exactly great either (I may post an update with the most egregious errors). But I think this book is so strong that even a translator deliberately trying to betray the work would fail. My french isn't good enough for me to be able to read it on its own, but after having already read and reread the Italian version, I can understand a good bit of it. And getting the original pieces of the puzzle is definitely worth it...
Update 1: I was also reminded of Bolaño's 2666 at times. All part of the continuum, all part of the continuum...
What an amazing book. It's like a Bruegel painting with every character and every character's back-story and every character's mother's back-story (and etc) described, lovingly, wonderfully, fully. It's practically the entire
Show More
world described, every story told, and retold, obsessively, necessarily (yes, I'm referencing my own review of Marías's A Heart So White, and there's a reason [1])... In fact it's been 3 months since I started reading it. It took me this long because I practically read it 3 times. I'd read 100 pages, and then re-read them. Then another 100, and re-read those. I wanted to be stuck in this world. I wanted to be lost in this labyrinth of lunacy and obsession (and repeating images). I didn't want it to end, I didn't want to solve the puzzle, I just wanted to map it (in fact, I kept a notebook), and be in it (I even bought the original [2]).
But, as they say, all good things must come to and end... or do they?
The stories are always there, there in the book, and here, in real life (what's the difference?): as I was reading the book, Roman Opalka died, an artist straight out of the book practically, painting his numbers since 1965, right up until infinity (his death); at the Pompidou in Metz, France, an exhibit called "ERRE, variations labyrinthiques", and one Didier Beaufort, who traveled 20000 km in South America to follow the sun so that it was always perpendicular to where he was; [insert your story here]
[1] The story of Cyrille Altamont and Blanche Gardel in London reminded me of Marías's Tomorrow in the Battle Think On Me. Of course the stories are meant to remind you of other stories: "slightly modified citations from the following authors have been inserted into this book" Perec tells us at the end. So we see that the story-continuum goes backward and forward (and probably up and down too...)
[2] The Italian translation I have is, while not terrible, not exactly great either (I may post an update with the most egregious errors). But I think this book is so strong that even a translator deliberately trying to betray the work would fail. My french isn't good enough for me to be able to read it on its own, but after having already read and reread the Italian version, I can understand a good bit of it. And getting the original pieces of the puzzle is definitely worth it...
Update 1: I was also reminded of Bolaño's 2666 at times. All part of the continuum, all part of the continuum...
Show Less
LibraryThing member xuebi
Life: A User's Manual is not a conventional novel but anything written by Georges Perec is unconventional. Herein, Perec recounts the lives of the inhabitants of an apartment complex, 17 Rue Simon-Crubellier, in Paris on 23rd June 1975 and as the narrative moves from one apartment to another, from
At the novel's heart there are two figures: Bartlebooth, the reclusive English millionaire who has devised a pastime that involves painting 500 watercolours of harbours across the world and have the pictures made into jigsaws, which he will then solve, and Serge Valène who is painting a picture of the apartment and its inhabitants on 23rd June 1975 (in effect, a meta commentary on the novel itself).
The imagery of a jigsaw is particularly apropos then, since Perec is not writing a traditional novel. Rather, he is filling the reader in, piece by piece, on the lives of these inhabitants and their stories that brought them to 17, Rue Simon-Crubellier on 23rd June 1975. Life then is a perfect choice of words for this novel since that is what Perec is showing us.
Show More
the lifts to the stairs to the cellars, the lives of past inhabitants are retold to create a densely-woven narrative that links the entire building together. At the novel's heart there are two figures: Bartlebooth, the reclusive English millionaire who has devised a pastime that involves painting 500 watercolours of harbours across the world and have the pictures made into jigsaws, which he will then solve, and Serge Valène who is painting a picture of the apartment and its inhabitants on 23rd June 1975 (in effect, a meta commentary on the novel itself).
The imagery of a jigsaw is particularly apropos then, since Perec is not writing a traditional novel. Rather, he is filling the reader in, piece by piece, on the lives of these inhabitants and their stories that brought them to 17, Rue Simon-Crubellier on 23rd June 1975. Life then is a perfect choice of words for this novel since that is what Perec is showing us.
Show Less
LibraryThing member missizicks
This is a wonderful puzzle of a book, with pieces of people's stories slotting together. It's no coincidence that jigsaws, crosswords and recursive images are scattered throughout the narrative. At times it made me think of Wes Anderson films, with their compartments and vignettes. I wonder if he
Show More
has read this novel. I felt sad when it ended. I enjoyed getting to know the inhabitants of this Parisian apartment block. They led extraordinary lives. Show Less
LibraryThing member RSTorney
A terrific, unique book
LibraryThing member daniilkharmsarms
This is one of the most anticipated 'books to read' in my collection. i am saving it.. and reading other shorter Perec works to prepare myself to enter this expansive work. The recently reissued collection of essays by Perec is outstanding in this regard. He is close to becoming my 'ideal' writer
Show More
in terms of philosophy and writing style. Show Less
LibraryThing member BALE
This is not a work of fiction I am able to read all at once. I read it in very small sections at a time and work on other novels in between. This book takes place over a moment in time. To understand how the details of each moment has come to be, the author works at each character's history. It is
Show More
a puzzle, like life, that needs reconstructing. If it does not get too neurotic, I will make charts for each character. So far, I list this book as among one of the very greats! Show Less
LibraryThing member slickdpdx
Its not so much a manual as it is a study. A comprehensive portrayal of life as it was lived in a certain time and place. Perec's attempt to preserve for the future a lifestyle that is passing away.
Lots of lists (the modern equivalent of the written landscapes of yore?) A series of tales about the
Lots of lists (the modern equivalent of the written landscapes of yore?) A series of tales about the
Show More
lives of people in a particular apartment building, connected by a series of present observations of the building and an extended metaphor for life. Fine writing. Interesting people. A few big ideas. Show Less
LibraryThing member RuthD.
A deeply absorbing work. The patterns of stories, re-tellings, the intricacies of the stories, and the deeply sad human condition, all measured with a cheerfulness that contradicts the depth of seriousness. I was both absorbed by the quality of the writing (and the translation) and by the exquisite
Show More
sadness. To be read once a decade. If one can wait ten years to re-visit. Show Less
LibraryThing member PZR
My favourite book of all time... Everything a novel should or ever could be. Big characters, ripping yarns, wonderful descriptions, word play, structural experimentation and a sad truth at its heart... To read and read again and never exhaust its possibilities. RIP, GP.
LibraryThing member jonfaith
Simultaneously so massive and yet so minute, allow a quick consulting of your Anti-Oedipus and then bring this to resolution. This novel brought considerable warmth and a curious attention to matters. Much like black bean hummus. Don't eat this book. Such requires a chuckle as I type.
LibraryThing member Cecrow
A series of scenes, snapshots of the same moment in time (almost 8:00 p.m. on June 23, 1975) in each room of an apartment complex in Paris, presented in a generally random order. I thought to read it as a series of short stories with some interlinking, but it doesn't really lend itself to that. For
Like any story told out of order, perceiving the whole in all its detail is possible but in this case requires more powers of memory and observation than I can bring to bear (I'm not terribly good at either.) An index is offered as an aid, but it runs to sixty pages. Perec at least somewhat relieves the task he's set by using straightforward language, making his pieces plain though very detailed, and he adds entertainment value to what threatens to be dry content with several nested stories that illuminate the occupants while also delving into the lives of several former residents and the building's history.
Why so many descriptions of the artworks in each room? I see a parallel between these and Perec's frozen-in-time rooms themselves; he is painting with literature. Laurence Sterne would have some satiric things to say about this, but Perec shows us the advantage of his medium: he can give us the backstory behind the scene, or at least clues with which to piece that backstory together. This metaphor also suggests a parallel between Perec and the declared aim of Bartlebooth as described in Chapter 26. He has made it his aim to produce scenes which can be perceived as puzzle pieces, that may be brought together to make a whole (a novel), but that whole does not need to have any ultimately deeper meaning in order to achieve his aesthetic aim.
The book offers another lesson or reminder; the mystery of the enormous variety in others' lives with which we are surrounded in our urban environments, as when you pass a few dozen cars on the freeway and have the idle thought of wondering about the business of each. I feel certain that Michael Hutchence was inspired by Perec when he co-wrote "The Stairs" for INXS. It is a melancholy song about isolation in the midst of a crowded space, a kind of starvation surrounded by plenty. Some of the song's lines are cribbed from this novel's opening scene (which is even titled "On the Stairs"). Conversely, Perec's denizens who surround one another are all explicitly linked together in some way, although what the whole looks like is left even more a mystery to them than it is to us. Hutchence and Perec reach the same conclusion, but Perec doesn't see any problem. His stairs, his entire building, is an end in itself that you are welcome to simply wash your mind clean of once more, like the empty building outline which Valene leaves behind.
Show More
one thing, 'scenes' is a better descriptor than stories since there is practically no dialogue in these. For another, Perec explicitly opens with an essay about jigsaw puzzles, describing how each piece on its own reveals nothing until it is made part of the whole. It would be possible to 'sort' the pieces based on chapter headings, but even then you would not succeed at getting the entire story for any one character that way since some bits about their lives appear in other chapters; thus the pieces may be said to interlink.Like any story told out of order, perceiving the whole in all its detail is possible but in this case requires more powers of memory and observation than I can bring to bear (I'm not terribly good at either.) An index is offered as an aid, but it runs to sixty pages. Perec at least somewhat relieves the task he's set by using straightforward language, making his pieces plain though very detailed, and he adds entertainment value to what threatens to be dry content with several nested stories that illuminate the occupants while also delving into the lives of several former residents and the building's history.
Why so many descriptions of the artworks in each room? I see a parallel between these and Perec's frozen-in-time rooms themselves; he is painting with literature. Laurence Sterne would have some satiric things to say about this, but Perec shows us the advantage of his medium: he can give us the backstory behind the scene, or at least clues with which to piece that backstory together. This metaphor also suggests a parallel between Perec and the declared aim of Bartlebooth as described in Chapter 26. He has made it his aim to produce scenes which can be perceived as puzzle pieces, that may be brought together to make a whole (a novel), but that whole does not need to have any ultimately deeper meaning in order to achieve his aesthetic aim.
The book offers another lesson or reminder; the mystery of the enormous variety in others' lives with which we are surrounded in our urban environments, as when you pass a few dozen cars on the freeway and have the idle thought of wondering about the business of each. I feel certain that Michael Hutchence was inspired by Perec when he co-wrote "The Stairs" for INXS. It is a melancholy song about isolation in the midst of a crowded space, a kind of starvation surrounded by plenty. Some of the song's lines are cribbed from this novel's opening scene (which is even titled "On the Stairs"). Conversely, Perec's denizens who surround one another are all explicitly linked together in some way, although what the whole looks like is left even more a mystery to them than it is to us. Hutchence and Perec reach the same conclusion, but Perec doesn't see any problem. His stairs, his entire building, is an end in itself that you are welcome to simply wash your mind clean of once more, like the empty building outline which Valene leaves behind.
Show Less
LibraryThing member therebelprince
One of the most bizarre books I have ever read. I'm not sure how to describe it, or whether it deserves one star or whether it deserves more stars than any rating system can provide. Laboriously cataloguing the lives, possessions, pasts and futures of the residents and rooms of an entire Parisian
Okay, this is the vaguest review I have EVER written, but I'm at a loss for words. It's certainly an astounding achievement, but I might need a few decades to figure out why I liked it... or even IF I did!
Show More
apartment building, Perec weaves little threads of puzzles throughout a dense narrative. It can be heavy-going to read, but at the same time feels immensely rewarding, even when you're not quite sure what that reward is.Okay, this is the vaguest review I have EVER written, but I'm at a loss for words. It's certainly an astounding achievement, but I might need a few decades to figure out why I liked it... or even IF I did!
Show Less
Subjects
Awards
Prix Médicis (1979)
French-American Foundation Translation Prize (Winner — 1988)
occamsrazorlibrary-award (2013)
Language
Original language
French
Original publication date
1978 (French)
1987 (English)
Physical description
574 p.; 22 cm
ISBN
9029534192 / 9789029534192