Muriel Barbery

This struck me as one of those books that looks better the closer you are to it. The language, the observation, the range of topics and the acuteness with which the two narrators comment on them are all a great pleasure. There's something eminently quotable on practically every page.

On the other hand, if you zoom out a bit and look at the book as a whole, there doesn't seem to be very much there. The notion of the narrator as the only clever person in a world full of unappreciative, stupid show more people is a literary trope as old as the hills, and having two such narrators in the same book just comes over as arrogant. There's also an odd incongruity between the narrative conventions applied to the two narrators, Renée and Paloma. Renée, the widowed, fifty-something concièrge who reads Tolstoy and Hegel, is a believable, naturalistic portrait: I've certainly met many people like that over the years (if you have anything to do with an institution like the Open University, you soon realise that the world is full of highly intelligent people who missed out on formal education). Only her somewhat Dickensian childhood seems a bit anachronistic for someone born in France in the 1950s. The adolescent Paloma, on the other hand, obviously isn't meant as a naturalistic portrait. Her insights into the world around her are clever and often very amusing, but they are those of an adult, based on an adult's experience of life. There's nothing wrong with this technique, in itself, but it's oddly disturbing side-by-side with Renée's narrative. Barbery foregrounds the difference by presenting Renée's narrative as a simple train of thought, but Paloma's as a series of written documents (numbered Pensées profondes and Journaux du mouvement du monde).

The central message of the book — that life is worth living after all, because it contains moments of beauty and the pleasure of helping others — is presented very cleverly, but it's ultimately rather a banal thought.

It's a very French book, moving at a glacial, Proustian pace for the most part, but with clever injections of action in the style of le chick-lit anglo-saxon here and there to take us off our guard. Essentially nothing happens in the first 200 pages or so, which are used to establish to the reader just how anti-social both Renée and Paloma are. Even when things do start to happen, the pace is kept tantalisingly slow. When Renée goes out to dinner, it takes her three chapters to get from the front door of her host's apartment to the kitchen, then a further two to go to the toilet. If you are happy to read it slowly and pause to enjoy the language, that's fine, but you would probably get very irritated with it if you were skimming through the philosophy and looking for the storyline. If you are a madeleines-and-tisane sort of reader, you'll probably enjoy this (especially if you can read it in French); if you're looking for fast-moving action or romance, other novels are available. show less

3 stars

Paloma and Renee live in the same building. Paloma is the daughter of rich parents, and Renee is the concierge. Both spend their lives hiding their intelligence, essentially who they are from those around them. Renee delights in misleading the paying residents of the building and playing to what she sees as stereotypes for a concierge. Paloma, for all her intelligence, is a typical 12 year old girl, with all the drama that entails.

When I first started reading this, I was not show more impressed. I thought the author was pretty sure that she was smarter than everyone around her, and was making sure that everyone knew they were beneath her. (I'm still not convinced that that isn't so.) And I thought that because it sounded smart, with words that are not commonly used and ideologies and someone who is cultured (*snort* Reads Tolstoy! Appreciates the Dutch artists! Loves Japanese filmmaker Ozu!), people might think it was smart. (I'm still not convinced that that isn't so.) And I thought it was pretentious, with really nothing new to say, or anything shocking, such as an idea that goes against the grain. (I'm still not convinced that it did.)
However, I kept reading. And while I didn't gain any appreciation for the author or the story or the characters, to be honest, something happened: I was completely shocked by a turn the book took. I cannot remember the last time that I was not at all prepared for something that happened while reading. Sometimes I might be surprised, or intrigued, or "oh! Huh. Didn't see that coming." But not completely thrown. And after I got over my shock, I started thinking. (Dangerous: very, very dangerous.) I'm not sure that the author really wanted me to start thinking, especially with the directions my thoughts took.
So. Renee hid herself because she thought that if she reached above her station, above the category she was born to, there would be retribution. And, I'm sorry, but the ending COMPLETELY reinforced that. So, essentially, the author is saying (I would be interested to know what category/class the author was born to), that ideology is right. Because pretty much the second that Renee did something that wasn't her stereotype of a concierge, took off her cloak of invisibility, she got punished. Drastically. I mean, maybe she did save Paloma in a way, but what good did that really do? If people are supposed to walk on their treadmills and never venture outside of it, what was really accomplished? Paloma can turn out just like she predicts/fears? Yeah, that sounds awesome.
So, to sum up: a whole BUNCH of navel gazing that never leads anywhere, a kind of cardboard catalyst, ... Oh, right. I never mentioned the catalyst. The catalyst is a new resident who is Japanese! (It's exciting because Paloma is half Japanese (not really, but she reads Manga, and eats Japanese food, loves Japanese poetry, and apparently that's enough? Don't get me started on the presumption of it all.) and Renee LOVES Yasujiro Ozu films.) He sees both Paloma and Renee, and effects to draw them out their hiding. Quite honestly, I was more taken with his assistant.
So, to sum up (again): navel gazing, pretentious faradiddle (redundancy, I know), pretend intellectualism, self-congratulatory writing, stagnant culturalism, cardboard catalyst, and a "don't get above yer raising" attitude. So why did I rate this 3 stars instead of 1 or 2? Basically because I am very rarely completely shocked by an ending anymore, and it was (a little) refreshing. Soooo, general reading ennui for the win? show less

Author Muriel Barbery combines a light touch with deep, enigmatic insights to propel a profound and moving story in One Hour of Fervor. It’s superb, another bravura performance from the novelist who enriched all our lives with The Elegance of the Hedgehog. She sets Fervor in Kyoto, a calm and beautiful city (in which Barbery has a residence), and the culture of this setting affects everything. It strips conversation and action to their essences, with the result that much philosophy and show more mysticism shine through.

Deep in his core, protagonist Haru is a merchant. But his poet friend passes judgment: he says that for a dumbass from the mountains, Haru has superior taste and a sensitive soul, and because of these virtues, he will be a success. And succeed he does. He nurtures young artists and helps them to material success, and his talent for grace, or its material form, beauty, thrusts him to the top of Kyoto’s art world, and to international recognition.

But at the center of Haru’s life and success lies a paradox. He will always fail at romantic love, but be a master of friendship. Indeed his friends are steadfast throughout the novel, just as his love life is a series of uncommitted relationships. One of these dalliances, with a French woman, is a pivotal moment, with repercussions that will last all his life.

The spare plot revolves around life-and-death moments, but is rendered cheerfully, and is leavened by frequent citations of Shinto and Buddhist principles, complete with their practical application to the lives of the characters. The entire book comes to us through Alison Anderson’s excellent translation, as low-key, oblique, and tinged with kindness and politesse.

Kindness and politesse graces the emotions and statements — or silences — of the players, and it never stints. It works for the reader, and it works for the characters. One Hour of Fervor stands, and will stand, as a genteel exemplar of right feeling, right thought, and right action. And Barbery’s benign diction shares with the diegesis this refined, almost rarified level of discourse.

This is a gem, a diverting piece of sophisticated storytelling, with memorable characters facing the best and worst that life can dish out. Its even keel feels like a miracle, and it keeps the characters, all of them, safely on board and at least pushing their lives in the right direction.

Again, I need to honor translator Alison Anderson, whose partnership with this author goes back some years. She also translated my only prior experience with Barbery: 2008’s The Elegance of the Hedgehog, and I will confess that my enthrallment with that novel led to my concern that Fervor would suffer by comparison. But no. This novel confirms for me Berbery’s mastery of plot, character, theme, image, mood, and structure. Not to mention tone, pacing, and wisdom. I’m urging you to take it up!

https://bassoprofundo1.blogspot.com/2024/03/one-hour-of-fervor-by-muriel-barbery... show less

Alternating between engaging, sharp, interesting writing and sentimental manipulation, this book drove me crazy. On the one hand, the main character was extremely interesting with so many fascinating inner debates about art, beautiful, class conflict, personal responsibility, happiness and more. On the other hand, the romance in the latter half of the book betrayed the convincing portrait of that main character and substituted maudlin, superficial romantic drivel for the philosophical show more musings that were so wonderful. I tore through it and found it hard to put down, but was annoyed about half the time. show less