Gourmet Rhapsody by Muriel Barbery

Ms. Barbery’s second novel is hardly a novel in form. Much is similar to her prior triumph with which I was so taken, “Elegance of a Hedgehog”. We are in the same fine apartment building, but in a different room. This could go on forever. Right up front, I should say this work of literature is for those who are not bothered by the absence of plot, action or dialogue. No, it is not “experimental” or “avant-garde.” But it is beautiful writing; and the translator is the same excellent one as last time. But we go from the teen to the doddering, both of course obsessed with death. That apartment building must have something in the wall paper. And my previous favorite, the curmudgeonly old concierge put in a brief appearance. She is Barbery’s philosopher avatar.

The streets are real as are several other things Ms. Barbery uses them to geographically anchor her work. You can visit all these. If you know central Paris, you have walked here, probably. It makes sense to me that she locates places carefully as she is from Casablanca of the old days and values place. More about this later.

The protagonist is the greatest food critic in the world, now on his death bed. He sets the stage by spluttering stuff about his greatness. He would otherwise be craven enough to sport for the Guise (ok, I should say ‘guide’) Michelin. The careful writing that comes through in this translation even lets us appreciate that he fancies himself as the Sun King. “Le Etat ce Moi”. Or as an old boxer has said “I am the greatest”.

Turns out that, in his final hours, he is groping for his culinary equivalent of the lost chord. But early on you have the clues something is not quite right with his image as suffered by others or imagined by himself. He characterizes daube and pot au feu as extravagant. Huh? I think we are in for a ride.

The structure of the book is a series of monologues, short, by each character. This is a kind of “Spoon River Anthology”, where all the characters come to say their piece. It could be a radio play. Each circles back to the “Great Man”, every other chapter. Chapters are short, from less than two pages to perhaps five from the protagonist. I have never seen mayonnaise used as a device of foreshadowing.

In his tomato homage, he no sooner reflects on fresh ones honored by oil, than he reverses himself and proclaims the nobility of oil to be false. Something deeper at work here. Words are never wasted; Flaubert would smile. I had to run out to my kitchen and eat three right on the spot!

This book is not for foodies. There is remarkably little actual discussion of food, despite the title. But she does give her thanks in a final note to Pierre Gagnaire, who may be found on 6 Rue de Balzac {Balzac? no coincidence there). The bakery Lenotre can there be found there as well. But Ms. Barbery’s musical reference bears mentioning as well. Laure’s entry, late in the book, begins with a song from 1964 . You can find the North African version by Natasha Atlas (as in the African mountain chain) here on Amazon. This is the one Ms. Barbery is likely to have grown-up with, but you can search for a more euro version y Francoise Hardy. In any case it is a song about life fleeting from the point of view of a droplet of dew.

Even sans plot, there is an ending I shall not spoil. Having said that about gastronomy, it should be remarked that the underlying theme of this story is brilliantly expressed through recollections by different voices, alternating with that of Pierre Arthens as he lay dying. Who the reader will discover in Pierre Arthens is a heartless, self-absorbed, arrogant hedonist who represents selfishness, vulgarity and excess of the “elite”. The irony that as he finds himself dying, his final desire is for one more, elusive taste sensation ~ “the only truth to be told” of his life, is a powerful statement, one to truly reflect upon.

Ms. Barbury has achieved an elegant work of small literature. Her focus is on each voice, uninterrupted. More, please.

Gourmet Rhapsody; Barbery, Muriel; Europa Editions; $15.00

The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery

Reflect for a moment upon the hedgehog – that small, prickly, reclusive little creature. When feeling safe and secure, the quills of the hedgehog lie flat against its body, but when threatened in any way, this little animal quickly curls itself into a small ball, protecting its soft underbelly, bravely extending its sharp quills outward to ward off all that might threaten it. How elegant is nature.

So are we all like versions of the hedgehog; guarding our innermost thoughts and feelings, protecting our vulnerabilities behind an emotional armor of sharp little spines. For which one of us, after being hurt in some way, have not curled in upon ourselves, forming tight little balls, all quills standing firmly out, in order to protect ourselves from a future encounter? Only, sometimes for us (unlike the hedgehog), the fear of the past or the trepidation of the future keeps us curled in that tight little ball, warding off all who would trespass into our hearts – and make us care again.

This observation is exquisitely, yet so quietly, expressed as in Muriel Barbery’s “The Elegance of the Hedgehog”. In contrast to other finely written books in which the prose flashes and sparkles like sharply etched facets of a brilliant diamond, the softly glowing quality of Barbery’s prose more closely resembles that of a luminous pearl, quietly hidden within its oyster home. I found myself reading passages more than once, simply to experience the beauty, harmony and symmetry of those lines.

Like pearls within oysters, Renee and Paloma are the two protagonists and we come to know them through their journals, the only place where they open their minds and souls, pouring their thoughts and feelings into lines and lines of prose that only they will ever read. Although vastly different in age (Renee is 54 and Paloma is 12), they share two important similarities: 1) they have perfected the art of the “hedgehogdom”, having both retreated inward into the vast richness of their intellects and 2) they have done this out of fear.

We can quickly pick up on Paloma’s fear – although she would be the last to admit it as a fear. It is a fear of the mundane, the ordinary, and the commonness of adulthood. She isn’t the first teenager who has looked upon adulthood as the time when one’s life is essentially over and all that waits is some kind of gradual crumbling of mind and body. But she separates herself from the rest of the teenage crowd in her decision to end her life on her 13th birthday; unless, that is, something, someone or some series of events causes her to change her mind. She isn’t exactly sure what that will be, but she feels she will know it if she finds it. Although hers is definitely an over-the-top decision (although she presents her case with seeming detached logic), we realize that such dramatic ruminations are very much a part of growing up. Paloma has a bright and inventive mind, and reading her journal pages is very entertaining, for they are filled with lively accounts of her thoughts and experiences. Some are quite humorous; others shine a light into the future and the sparkling young woman she will become (should she allow herself).

Renee’s retreat from the world and the panic she experiences whenever she feels someone comes to close to guessing her “secret” (which is how intelligent and well read she is) is a puzzle. The reasons for her intensely guarded interior existence are harder to fathom, and its elusiveness can be distracting at times as we move through the world she has created on the head of a pin. Her retreat from life would seem to go beyond the grief of a loving husband taken from her and the loneliness of a child whose parents did not understand her. The pieces Renee allows us to see simply do not add up. We cannot put our finger upon what happened to make this particular hedgehog curl so tightly upon herself in the first place or why she has remained so barricaded against the outside world for so many years. We sense there is more to the story than she is willing to acknowledge – even to herself.

Because of their fears – and because curled up hedgehogs aren’t very mobile – Renee and Paloma are observers, not participators. They watch, absorb and reflect. But underneath their quite considerable intellect, and all their protestations that keeping to themselves is the perfect state of being for them, they sense that all is not what it should be. In spite of their vast interior resources (books, music, poetry, philosophy, etc.), they understand that theirs is a limited world. In Paloma’s case, she views the world as something disappointing in its limitations, a world in which she does not feel there is a point to joining; and therein lays the basis for her decision to end it all at the ripe old age of 13. Renee, as befits a quietly intelligent woman who has experienced some of life’s quiet joys and her fair share of poignant sorrows has decided that she has had enough of those kinds of experiences, thank you very much, and she has firmly shut the door upon them. Hers is a deliberate, conscious decision to turn her back upon the outside world and furnish the interiors of her solitary existence with the vast resources of knowledge, beauty and wonder which can be found everywhere – if one but has the discernment (and the willingness to stand still enough) to detect it.

Which makes their blossoming (precipitated by the arrival of a new tenant) all the more of a quietly joyous awakening. It is deeply moving to watch these two prickly, elegant little hedgehogs gradually uncurl, lower their quills and take a cautious look around. Throughout this lovely book, we are treated to a lyrically expressed ode to the “greatness of the small”, an appreciation for the tiniest of things which, in and of themselves, can represent so much beauty – a steaming cup of jasmine tea, a beautifully rendered still life, the lovely, delicate strains of a piano motif. All small, all exquisite.

How disappointing then, to encounter an ending that feels stilted, contrived and inharmonious with the rest of the book. It is almost as if the book is the physical expression of Paloma’s fear: an ultimate slide into the mundane, the ordinary. Throughout the book, we have been wafted effortlessly higher and higher, floating upon the luminous prose, gentle, delicately drawn characters and the greatness of the small – that is, until the last pages of the book when our magic carpet drops us to the ground with a disconcerting thud. It feels as if the ending of another book has somehow found its way into this one. 

I found the end disappointing. Not because of the sudden sorrow introduced, but rather the loss of the glowing pearl this book represented. It loses its magic by employing an ending that, against the beautiful backdrop of the rest of the book, seems elementary, pedestrian and jarringly artificial, plunging the book from the sublime to the shallow. The plunge is all the greater when considering the heights to which this unassuming, luminous, glowing little book floated so effortlessly and yes, elegantly.

For me, this book cried out for a non-ending of sorts – an ending as delicate, uncertain and elusive as the rest of it. The beginning of a blossoming, an awakening, the tentative beginnings of a small, prickly hedgehog just beginning, very slowly and very carefully, uncurling, just a little at a time. Had we left our little hedgehogs in that magical instance of tentative awakening, what a perfect ending that would have been. Instead, the door is crudely slammed shut.

Alas, this gem of a little book, this journey of the interior, this delicate little hedgehog, deserved better. Still, I urge you to pick up a copy of this book and experience it for yourself.

If you are the kind of reader who loves to underline or highlight beautiful, evocative passages, you will find, as you look back through the pages, that you will have underlined more sentences than otherwise. The writing is that beautiful, that lyrical, that much of a work of art in and of itself. You get the feeling that Ms. Barbery could write an essay on the yellow pages and you’d still be reaching for your pencil…or rereading certain passages just to savor them once more before you turn the page. Perhaps with a cup of tea close at hand.

Read the book for all of its considerable beauty, imagery and meaning. For me it was a richly rewarding experience. If you find the ending to be poignant and bittersweet, so much the better for you; if you do not, don’t allow that to detract from your appreciation of this exquisitely-told story.

Elegance of the Hedgehog, The; Barbery, Muriel; Europa Editions; $15.00