This chapter provides an extensive analysis of the 2016 drama and one of Ozon’s most recent and s... more This chapter provides an extensive analysis of the 2016 drama and one of Ozon’s most recent and successful films. An unusual film within his oeuvre, given its setting outside of France, for the most part, and the use of black-and-white, Frantz, this chapter argues, interrogates hegemonic masculinity – with the help of Kaja Silverman’s conceptualisation of historical trauma and overall work on marginal masculinities – and the notion that it should be crystallised by war. In doing so, the director unsettles heteronormative conventions. Further, this analysis pays particular attention to Édouard Manet’s Le Suicidé to identify connections between homosexuality and the death drive (established by the painting).
This article examines Philippe Claudel’s 2007 novel Le Rapport de Brodeck which, while alluding t... more This article examines Philippe Claudel’s 2007 novel Le Rapport de Brodeck which, while alluding to the events of the Holocaust, parodies tropes and narrative structures characteristic to fables and fairy tales. While analysing the author’s simultaneous inscription and subversion of the fabulous genre, I speculate about the possible reasons for his narrative choices and consider the meanings that Claudel’s indirect representation of the Nazi genocide potentially generates. Given the widespread view of the Holocaust as sacred and unique, the article problematises the novel’s universalisation of the Jewish tragedy, which Claudel achieves precisely by drawing on genres that shun historical and geographical specificity, and that aim to convey timeless and universal truths.
HD: Notre rencontre est née d’une polémique. En réponse à mon appel à contributions pour le numér... more HD: Notre rencontre est née d’une polémique. En réponse à mon appel à contributions pour le numéro spécial consacré à la littérature française et francophone de la Shoah des deux dernières décennies, un de nos collègues a exigé que je retire Le Wagon de la liste d’ouvrages mentionnés par l’appel. Il prétendait que votre récit, paru en 2010, ne concernait pas la Shoah, car le convoi no 7907, qui est parti le 2 juillet 1944 et qui fait l’objet de votre récit, transportait essentiellement—mais non pas uniquement—des résistants. Pourtant, le personnage principal du Wagon est juif; il s’appelle Weismann et commence son témoignage en signalant le “départ” de ses parents onze mois auparavant. Vu que les plus grandes arrestations des Juifs avaient eu lieu justement deux ans avant le départ du train no 7907, on devine facilement que les parents du personnage ont été victimes de la Rafle du Vel’ d’Hiv. De plus, évidemment conscient du sort que les Allemands ont réservé aux Juifs, Weismann craint qu’on ne le reconnaisse et se cache sous une fausse identité de citoyen suisse. Pour moi, il est donc clair que votre roman prend comme thème la déportation au sens le plus large. Cependant, avant d’en parler en détail, pourriez-vous esquisser la genèse de votre récit et l’histoire qu’il retrace? AR: Le Wagon raconte l’histoire d’un train particulier. Il s’agit du dernier convoi parti de Compiègne pour Dachau et du train le plus meurtrier. Selon certaines sources, il y eut 560, ou voire jusqu’à 1000 morts, à l’arrivée à Dachau sur 2000 personnes au départ, à savoir entre le tiers et la moitié des déportés. Un jour, j’ai découvert que dans ce train se trouvait quelqu’un que j’avais connu et aimé, le petit frère de mon grand-père. Et pourtant, je n’avais jamais rien su de cette histoire. Même mon père qui a vécu cette période (il avait huit ans, à la Libération) n’en avait jamais parlé, ou plus précisément on ne mentionnait que très vaguement le fait que cet
Although some comment on the detrimental effect of linguistic conversion on Nabokov’s style, the ... more Although some comment on the detrimental effect of linguistic conversion on Nabokov’s style, the author of Lolita remains the most successful Russian writer in a foreign language. However, that even Nabokov, who mastered English and French from a very young age, found it hard to change language, is clear from Sebastian Knight’s struggle to embrace Englishness, metaphorized by his pursuit of his elusive English mother, that is at the heart of the novel marking the writer’s linguistic transplantation. To every Nabokov there are therefore dozens of Russians for whom, to use Aleksandr Zinovyev’s words, emigration means ‘protracted torture’ or even ‘execution’ or, as Mariia Rozanova puts it, ‘a very terrible experience’. By presenting 18 Russian-born authors who at some point in their career wrote in French, Écrivains franco-russes wants to defy this reality. The long-standing tradition of Russians expressing themselves in French, states the preface, stems from mostly friendly Franco-Russian relations that go back to Anna Yaroslavna’s marriage to Henry I. Adopting a chronological approach and clearly guided by the principle of diversity, the collection includes essays on both well-known authors (Sarraute, Némirovsky, Troyat) and less famous ones (Comtesse de Ségur, Michel Matveev), presenting novelists, poets, playwrights (Arthur Adamov), explorers (Pierre de Tchihatchef) and salon writers (Zinaı̈da Volkonskaı̈a). Just as the level of their success, the authors’ involvement with French varies enormously; whilst Nabokov or Rawicz, who, born and educated in Poland, can in any case hardly be considered Russian, barely flirted with becoming French writers, Romain Gary, whose Russian origins are equally disputable, or Andreı̈ Makine never published in a language other than their adopted one. Diverse is also — and this the volume’s major weakness — the quality of the articles; whilst most contributors limit themselves to a more or less engaging résumé of the writer’s career, a few attempt an insightful analysis of his/her work. What is consistent (and highly irritating), however, is the poor quality of editing and proofing, which results in inconsistent referencing, awkwardly constructed sentences and spelling mistakes, including the notorious confusion between adjectives and nouns referring to nationalities. This is particularly ironic given that one essay investigates Serge Charchoune’s violation of French, which Annick Morrard ascribes to the Dadaist’s simultaneous unawareness of and desire to subvert grammatical rules. More serious though is the fact that despite being largely responsible for the writers’ geographic and linguistic migration, the Jewish origins of most of these ‘Franco-Russians’ are glossed over by Clément’s preface. Yet it is precisely their doublecultural appartenance that both made these writers subject to anti-Semitism and potentially diminished their commitment to Russian language, or at least made them less susceptible to the feeling of betrayal afflicting many Russian émigrés. It is therefore inexact to represent the output of the 18 authors uniquely as the fruit of the Franco-Russian entente cordiale, the Russians’ francophilia and the French readers’ penchant for Slavic exoticism, as does indeed Clément’s introduction, especially since many texts examined by the collection deal with the Jewish predicament, including its apogee, the Holocaust.
This chapter provides an extensive analysis of the 2016 drama and one of Ozon’s most recent and s... more This chapter provides an extensive analysis of the 2016 drama and one of Ozon’s most recent and successful films. An unusual film within his oeuvre, given its setting outside of France, for the most part, and the use of black-and-white, Frantz, this chapter argues, interrogates hegemonic masculinity – with the help of Kaja Silverman’s conceptualisation of historical trauma and overall work on marginal masculinities – and the notion that it should be crystallised by war. In doing so, the director unsettles heteronormative conventions. Further, this analysis pays particular attention to Édouard Manet’s Le Suicidé to identify connections between homosexuality and the death drive (established by the painting).
This article examines Philippe Claudel’s 2007 novel Le Rapport de Brodeck which, while alluding t... more This article examines Philippe Claudel’s 2007 novel Le Rapport de Brodeck which, while alluding to the events of the Holocaust, parodies tropes and narrative structures characteristic to fables and fairy tales. While analysing the author’s simultaneous inscription and subversion of the fabulous genre, I speculate about the possible reasons for his narrative choices and consider the meanings that Claudel’s indirect representation of the Nazi genocide potentially generates. Given the widespread view of the Holocaust as sacred and unique, the article problematises the novel’s universalisation of the Jewish tragedy, which Claudel achieves precisely by drawing on genres that shun historical and geographical specificity, and that aim to convey timeless and universal truths.
HD: Notre rencontre est née d’une polémique. En réponse à mon appel à contributions pour le numér... more HD: Notre rencontre est née d’une polémique. En réponse à mon appel à contributions pour le numéro spécial consacré à la littérature française et francophone de la Shoah des deux dernières décennies, un de nos collègues a exigé que je retire Le Wagon de la liste d’ouvrages mentionnés par l’appel. Il prétendait que votre récit, paru en 2010, ne concernait pas la Shoah, car le convoi no 7907, qui est parti le 2 juillet 1944 et qui fait l’objet de votre récit, transportait essentiellement—mais non pas uniquement—des résistants. Pourtant, le personnage principal du Wagon est juif; il s’appelle Weismann et commence son témoignage en signalant le “départ” de ses parents onze mois auparavant. Vu que les plus grandes arrestations des Juifs avaient eu lieu justement deux ans avant le départ du train no 7907, on devine facilement que les parents du personnage ont été victimes de la Rafle du Vel’ d’Hiv. De plus, évidemment conscient du sort que les Allemands ont réservé aux Juifs, Weismann craint qu’on ne le reconnaisse et se cache sous une fausse identité de citoyen suisse. Pour moi, il est donc clair que votre roman prend comme thème la déportation au sens le plus large. Cependant, avant d’en parler en détail, pourriez-vous esquisser la genèse de votre récit et l’histoire qu’il retrace? AR: Le Wagon raconte l’histoire d’un train particulier. Il s’agit du dernier convoi parti de Compiègne pour Dachau et du train le plus meurtrier. Selon certaines sources, il y eut 560, ou voire jusqu’à 1000 morts, à l’arrivée à Dachau sur 2000 personnes au départ, à savoir entre le tiers et la moitié des déportés. Un jour, j’ai découvert que dans ce train se trouvait quelqu’un que j’avais connu et aimé, le petit frère de mon grand-père. Et pourtant, je n’avais jamais rien su de cette histoire. Même mon père qui a vécu cette période (il avait huit ans, à la Libération) n’en avait jamais parlé, ou plus précisément on ne mentionnait que très vaguement le fait que cet
Although some comment on the detrimental effect of linguistic conversion on Nabokov’s style, the ... more Although some comment on the detrimental effect of linguistic conversion on Nabokov’s style, the author of Lolita remains the most successful Russian writer in a foreign language. However, that even Nabokov, who mastered English and French from a very young age, found it hard to change language, is clear from Sebastian Knight’s struggle to embrace Englishness, metaphorized by his pursuit of his elusive English mother, that is at the heart of the novel marking the writer’s linguistic transplantation. To every Nabokov there are therefore dozens of Russians for whom, to use Aleksandr Zinovyev’s words, emigration means ‘protracted torture’ or even ‘execution’ or, as Mariia Rozanova puts it, ‘a very terrible experience’. By presenting 18 Russian-born authors who at some point in their career wrote in French, Écrivains franco-russes wants to defy this reality. The long-standing tradition of Russians expressing themselves in French, states the preface, stems from mostly friendly Franco-Russian relations that go back to Anna Yaroslavna’s marriage to Henry I. Adopting a chronological approach and clearly guided by the principle of diversity, the collection includes essays on both well-known authors (Sarraute, Némirovsky, Troyat) and less famous ones (Comtesse de Ségur, Michel Matveev), presenting novelists, poets, playwrights (Arthur Adamov), explorers (Pierre de Tchihatchef) and salon writers (Zinaı̈da Volkonskaı̈a). Just as the level of their success, the authors’ involvement with French varies enormously; whilst Nabokov or Rawicz, who, born and educated in Poland, can in any case hardly be considered Russian, barely flirted with becoming French writers, Romain Gary, whose Russian origins are equally disputable, or Andreı̈ Makine never published in a language other than their adopted one. Diverse is also — and this the volume’s major weakness — the quality of the articles; whilst most contributors limit themselves to a more or less engaging résumé of the writer’s career, a few attempt an insightful analysis of his/her work. What is consistent (and highly irritating), however, is the poor quality of editing and proofing, which results in inconsistent referencing, awkwardly constructed sentences and spelling mistakes, including the notorious confusion between adjectives and nouns referring to nationalities. This is particularly ironic given that one essay investigates Serge Charchoune’s violation of French, which Annick Morrard ascribes to the Dadaist’s simultaneous unawareness of and desire to subvert grammatical rules. More serious though is the fact that despite being largely responsible for the writers’ geographic and linguistic migration, the Jewish origins of most of these ‘Franco-Russians’ are glossed over by Clément’s preface. Yet it is precisely their doublecultural appartenance that both made these writers subject to anti-Semitism and potentially diminished their commitment to Russian language, or at least made them less susceptible to the feeling of betrayal afflicting many Russian émigrés. It is therefore inexact to represent the output of the 18 authors uniquely as the fruit of the Franco-Russian entente cordiale, the Russians’ francophilia and the French readers’ penchant for Slavic exoticism, as does indeed Clément’s introduction, especially since many texts examined by the collection deal with the Jewish predicament, including its apogee, the Holocaust.
Andrei Makine is a highly prolific and successful Russian-born French-language writer whose 1995 ... more Andrei Makine is a highly prolific and successful Russian-born French-language writer whose 1995 novel Le Testament français won the Prix Goncourt, the Prix Médicis, and the Prix Goncourt des lycéens. Since then, Makine’s oeuvre has been rapidly growing and so has been Makine scholarship. However, little attention has been so far paid to the writer’s representation of World War II, or to his novels’ postmodern quality. In contrast to the existing studies, World War II in Andreï Makine’s Historiographic Metafiction not only draws attention to the Franco-Russian author’s commitment to postmodern aesthetics, but also problematises his figurations of the Great Fatherland War (1941-1945), as the Russians call their involvement in the worldwide struggle against Hitler. The monograph does so by focusing on Makine’s depiction of the war’s officially unrecognised and unmourned contributors: war invalids, Jews fighting in the Red Army, frontline nurses, or victims and survivors of the Holocaust and the siege of Leningrad. Framing my analyses of Makine’s prose with Anglophone metahistory and theories of postmodernism, I argue that despite the Franco-Russian writer’s espousal of the paradigm of historiographic metafiction, as Linda Hutcheon calls the postmodern novel, and his correlated attentiveness to individuals and communities silenced by dominant historiographies, his depiction of Russia’s role in World War II largely echoes the Soviet-time narrative of the USSR’s heroic, albeit costly, fight against fascism. The book thus points to the paradoxical character of Makine’s fiction and discusses its capacity to destabilise Hutcheon’s overwhelmingly positive evaluation of postmodernism as committed to dissident histories and progressive politics.
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In contrast to the existing studies, World War II in Andreï Makine’s Historiographic Metafiction not only draws attention to the Franco-Russian author’s commitment to postmodern aesthetics, but also problematises his figurations of the Great Fatherland War (1941-1945), as the Russians call their involvement in the worldwide struggle against Hitler. The monograph does so by focusing on Makine’s depiction of the war’s officially unrecognised and unmourned contributors: war invalids, Jews fighting in the Red Army, frontline nurses, or victims and survivors of the Holocaust and the siege of Leningrad. Framing my analyses of Makine’s prose with Anglophone metahistory and theories of postmodernism, I argue that despite the Franco-Russian writer’s espousal of the paradigm of historiographic metafiction, as Linda Hutcheon calls the postmodern novel, and his correlated attentiveness to individuals and communities silenced by dominant historiographies, his depiction of Russia’s role in World War II largely echoes the Soviet-time narrative of the USSR’s heroic, albeit costly, fight against fascism. The book thus points to the paradoxical character of Makine’s fiction and discusses its capacity to destabilise Hutcheon’s overwhelmingly positive evaluation of postmodernism as committed to dissident histories and progressive politics.
https://www.aup.edu/news-events/event/2021-03-15/part-i-narrating-violence-making-race-making-difference
https://www.aup.edu/news-events/event/2021-03-29/part-ii-narrating-violence-making-race-making-difference
This symposium will explore questions on the production, practice, and instrumentalization of violent narratives about racial, ethnic, religious, gender, sexual, and political minorities and groups.