<p>Black Venus<br />James MacManus<br />Duckworth Overlook<br />2015, pp 352, Rs 399<br /><br /></p>.<p>“Old Paris was made for revolution,” says journalist-novelist James MacManus in an early chapter of Black Venus, his novel about the renowned 19th century French poet, Charles Baudelaire and his muse, the Haitian-French cabaret singer Jeanne Duval.<br /><br />In this vivid re-creation of Baudelaire’s life and times, decadent Paris shares space with the lead pair, alongside a host of characters. There is the loyal publisher, Auguste Poulet-Malassis; there’s impressionist painter E’douard Manet. Both are present through Baudelaire’s wild journey, to the end. And there are the women — the rosy-white courtesan Apollonie Sabatier, favoured by the poet’s mother, Caroline Aupick, the bosomy childhood wellspring of Baudelaire’s adult excesses. <br /><br />The poet rediscovered his mother, in busty black-haired Jeanne, the Black Venus of the title. Despised by many, especially Caroline, Jeanne remained Baudelaire’s poetic-inspirer cum opiate-source. It was a tempestuous on-off romance that lasted two decades, right up to the dissolute conclusion. It defined Baudelaire’s poetry and life in many ways, even while causing grief and frustration to both mother and lover.<br /><br />Baudelaire (1821-1867) was under-appreciated during his lifetime, but is now considered one of the greats, the precursor to modern urban angst-ridden prose-poetry, appreciated by many like T S Eliot, besides of course a host of French literati that followed Baudelaire. He was also an essayist, art critic and pioneering translator of English to French, especially the works of Edgar Allan Poe, whose somber rhythmic Raven-like rhymes were in tune with Baudelaire’s own unromantic outlook on life. But he is chiefly remembered for his poetry collection titled, Les Fleurs Du Mal (The Flowers of Evil) — a dark, sometimes erotic, compendium that led to a court case, banning, fines, notoriety, and virtual bankruptcy for the publisher and poet during their lifetimes.<br /><br />However, in this historical re-imagining, it can initially get difficult to actually like the two principal characters, the poet and his muse; though in course of time they do grow on the reader, as one understands (and excuses) their actions. Still, how does one begin to care for a brattish dandy who contracts disease from his liaisons at a young age, who squanders away his fortune and continuously demands more from his mother, who follows his obsession till he has made her his own; is addicted to opium and drink (like many an unsuccessful bohemian or bourgeoisie in those uncertain times). But yes, he is also a genius thinker and writer, not too much of a hypocrite, an apolitical sympathiser of the poor and depressed, and, essentially, a harmless writer of licentious poetry that at second reading stuns the reader into understanding the dual God-Devil nature of life. <br /><br />Jeanne gets softer treatment. She is portrayed as a victim of circumstances, an immigrant survivor of desperate times, trying to live with dignity, but ultimately becoming a pursuing poet’s mistress and drug supplier. Yet she is a free spirit, one who will not let herself be tied down to a down-spiraling poet, but she does help him during the court case. Her witness-speech is of course a work of fiction, but the author insists that his version of the Baudelaire-Duval story is rooted in available historical records, and his own imagination-addition is minimal. Jeanne is also provided with a female friend Simone, far more likeable and noble than the main parade of characters. Jeanne’s compassionate final act towards this friend ultimately redeems her.<br /><br />To me, the value of this book lies in its re-creation of 19th century Paris — its streets and bars, the Seine that is shockingly a sewer too, the barricades and street-unrest during the revolutionary summer of 1848, the writers and painters of the period, some daring to speak up for the republic, a few taking refuge in Bourbon patronage, the few artists who did support Baudelaire during the obscenity trial, many who were scared to and changing Paris where “boulevards had been bulldozed through the slums, broad avenues across which it would be impossible to raise a barricade.” The canny Napoleon III and his city planner Baron Haussmann were readying a great city for a new world order.<br /><br />There is a lot of period detailing (street lighting with whale oil lamps, replaced by gas lighting); occasional sparks of humour — “I have friends in low places”, declares Jeanne as she bears witness during the obscenity trial, making a deliciously wicked revelation about the public prosecutor. There are a couple of erotic scenes; there’s illness, debt, unhappiness, anger, calm acceptance. <br /><br />And like any worthwhile historical novel, the book prompts the reader to look beyond, in this case, explore more of French history, writing and art. Black Venus works in its own way.<br /><br /><br /></p>
<p>Black Venus<br />James MacManus<br />Duckworth Overlook<br />2015, pp 352, Rs 399<br /><br /></p>.<p>“Old Paris was made for revolution,” says journalist-novelist James MacManus in an early chapter of Black Venus, his novel about the renowned 19th century French poet, Charles Baudelaire and his muse, the Haitian-French cabaret singer Jeanne Duval.<br /><br />In this vivid re-creation of Baudelaire’s life and times, decadent Paris shares space with the lead pair, alongside a host of characters. There is the loyal publisher, Auguste Poulet-Malassis; there’s impressionist painter E’douard Manet. Both are present through Baudelaire’s wild journey, to the end. And there are the women — the rosy-white courtesan Apollonie Sabatier, favoured by the poet’s mother, Caroline Aupick, the bosomy childhood wellspring of Baudelaire’s adult excesses. <br /><br />The poet rediscovered his mother, in busty black-haired Jeanne, the Black Venus of the title. Despised by many, especially Caroline, Jeanne remained Baudelaire’s poetic-inspirer cum opiate-source. It was a tempestuous on-off romance that lasted two decades, right up to the dissolute conclusion. It defined Baudelaire’s poetry and life in many ways, even while causing grief and frustration to both mother and lover.<br /><br />Baudelaire (1821-1867) was under-appreciated during his lifetime, but is now considered one of the greats, the precursor to modern urban angst-ridden prose-poetry, appreciated by many like T S Eliot, besides of course a host of French literati that followed Baudelaire. He was also an essayist, art critic and pioneering translator of English to French, especially the works of Edgar Allan Poe, whose somber rhythmic Raven-like rhymes were in tune with Baudelaire’s own unromantic outlook on life. But he is chiefly remembered for his poetry collection titled, Les Fleurs Du Mal (The Flowers of Evil) — a dark, sometimes erotic, compendium that led to a court case, banning, fines, notoriety, and virtual bankruptcy for the publisher and poet during their lifetimes.<br /><br />However, in this historical re-imagining, it can initially get difficult to actually like the two principal characters, the poet and his muse; though in course of time they do grow on the reader, as one understands (and excuses) their actions. Still, how does one begin to care for a brattish dandy who contracts disease from his liaisons at a young age, who squanders away his fortune and continuously demands more from his mother, who follows his obsession till he has made her his own; is addicted to opium and drink (like many an unsuccessful bohemian or bourgeoisie in those uncertain times). But yes, he is also a genius thinker and writer, not too much of a hypocrite, an apolitical sympathiser of the poor and depressed, and, essentially, a harmless writer of licentious poetry that at second reading stuns the reader into understanding the dual God-Devil nature of life. <br /><br />Jeanne gets softer treatment. She is portrayed as a victim of circumstances, an immigrant survivor of desperate times, trying to live with dignity, but ultimately becoming a pursuing poet’s mistress and drug supplier. Yet she is a free spirit, one who will not let herself be tied down to a down-spiraling poet, but she does help him during the court case. Her witness-speech is of course a work of fiction, but the author insists that his version of the Baudelaire-Duval story is rooted in available historical records, and his own imagination-addition is minimal. Jeanne is also provided with a female friend Simone, far more likeable and noble than the main parade of characters. Jeanne’s compassionate final act towards this friend ultimately redeems her.<br /><br />To me, the value of this book lies in its re-creation of 19th century Paris — its streets and bars, the Seine that is shockingly a sewer too, the barricades and street-unrest during the revolutionary summer of 1848, the writers and painters of the period, some daring to speak up for the republic, a few taking refuge in Bourbon patronage, the few artists who did support Baudelaire during the obscenity trial, many who were scared to and changing Paris where “boulevards had been bulldozed through the slums, broad avenues across which it would be impossible to raise a barricade.” The canny Napoleon III and his city planner Baron Haussmann were readying a great city for a new world order.<br /><br />There is a lot of period detailing (street lighting with whale oil lamps, replaced by gas lighting); occasional sparks of humour — “I have friends in low places”, declares Jeanne as she bears witness during the obscenity trial, making a deliciously wicked revelation about the public prosecutor. There are a couple of erotic scenes; there’s illness, debt, unhappiness, anger, calm acceptance. <br /><br />And like any worthwhile historical novel, the book prompts the reader to look beyond, in this case, explore more of French history, writing and art. Black Venus works in its own way.<br /><br /><br /></p>
