Philippe Claudel

Is collaboration in wartime an act of self-preservation or an opportunity to let out one’s secret distrust of The Other? Is collusion a collective, social act or a collection of single, personal decisions? How do you live with betrayal?

These are some of the questions explored in Philippe Claudel’s book, Brodeck’s Report. In a fairy tale village in the woods, a stranger has been murdered. Brodeck, a man recently returned from the camps, is asked to represent the village and write an show more official report of what occurred. At the same time, Brodeck writes a secret report, in his own voice, about what he learns and about his own life and the decisions he has made. The book begins:

I’m Brodeck and I had nothing to do with it.
I insist on that. I want everyone to know.
I had no part in it, and once I learned what had happened, I would have preferred never to mention it again, I would have liked to bind my memory fast and keep it that way, as subdued and still as a weasel in an iron trap.
But the others forced me.

From the first lines, before the reader even knows what has happened, she is asked to take sides. Is Brodeck innocent? Should some memories be allowed to fade away, or is there a moral imperative or human compulsion to share the truth?

I loved this book for the very ambiguity that makes the answers to these questions so difficult. In haunting imagery and beautiful language, Claudel leads Brodeck to the brink of the abyss and asks the reader to join him in looking in. A Holocaust novel without ever saying the words, Brodeck’s Report is easily one of the best books I’ve read this year, and I recommend it for its plot, its language, and most importantly for its ability to make me think. show less

This is a haunting book that will stay with me. Monsieur Linh is in an unnamed country, living in a refugee centre for those who have, like him, fled on an elderly ship from his homeland which has become a war zone - surely Vietnam? His memories of home conjure up an east Asian destination in any case. His family members have all been killed - except for his baby granddaughter, whom he keeps close and cares for every second of the day and night. One one of his daily wanderings, he meets show more Monsieur Bark, similarly lonely and isolated since the death of his wife, and the two men, despite having no shared language, develop a deep bond of friendship. Then Monsieur Linh has to be re-homed ... This is a restrained and simply told story, which evokes a compelling picture of a gentle man, deeply traumatised by the loss not only of his community and family, but of his homeland, landscapes and daily rhythms. A compassionate, moving book, with an unexpected twist that reveals even more about the losses this elderly man has sustained. show less

A Volcanic Constellation

Translated by Euan Cameron
Read by: Nicholas Guy Smith
Length: 6 hrs and 7 mins

Seven people discover the washed-up bodies of three black men on the shores of a dog-shaped island in the southern Mediterranean.

In the centre of the island is a semi-dormant volcano which gushes out putrid fumes when it’s angry. It’s like a god, warning the humans on the island of their wrong-doing, and embodying the ever-present menace that is the book’s background atmosphere.

Of the show more seven people who discovered the bodies only four are significan in this parable of the heartlessness of humanity. The three insignificant islanders are an elderly woman who first notices the bodies - the observer, and the workers - two nondescripts who do the work of hiding the bodies under the direction of the other four.

The four are the island’s mayor, priest, doctor and school teacher. Why do they need to hide the bodies? It’s a matter of self-interest for all but the teacher, who objects both to the bodies being hidden, and to the inhumane method by which they are disposed.

The teacher decides to find out where the three black men came from, and why they died. He’s met with opposition from the mayor, the doctor and the priest. When he persists he’s the subject of vilification, and false information is spread about him. The volcano’s activity accelerates.

After being falsely accused of rape, teacher is imprisoned by the mayor and dies in custody as a result of neglect. The volcano rumbles.

The teacher’s wife and children leave the island. But all is not well for the for the mayor et al who have to account for themselves to an outsider who arrives on the island presenting himself as an inspector. The mayor, the doctor and the priest all lie to the inspector who knows the truth but doesn’t care. The story unravels.

The parable presents no real mystery. We all know of bodies being washed-up on the shores of Mediterranean islands. We’ve seen the photos and read the news reports. We know about human-trafficking. And it’s obvious that the mayor, the doctor and the priest are at a minimum, complicit in the deaths of the three black men and the white teacher.

As the mouth of the dog constellation spews out putrid fumes we are not surprised. And it is this, the fact that we are not surprised, that shows that Claudel has succeeded in telling us so vividly what we really already know, but who like the priest, the doctor and the mayor, prefer to hide from.

Highly recommended show less

Claudel is very good at parables and this, like many others he has written, fits that definition: “a short fictitious narrative of something which might really occur in life or nature, by means of which a moral is drawn.” Claudel has an extraordinary talent for telling what at first seems to be an uncomplicated story only to have the reader suddenly realize how layered, how subtle, and how impossibly complex that “simple” story truly is; tug on any one element and the entire edifice show more shakes. Nothing is unrelated. The bodies of three black men wash up on the shore of an isolated island in the Mediterranean. The small group of villagers who learn of this fact decide to dispose of the bodies, hoping to bury whatever secrets the men had with their bodies. Of course, it can’t work. The bodies aren’t discovered; they don’t need to be. The villagers themselves create mayhem unintentionally. Claudel is an absolute master of the chilling—not “chilling” as in causing you to be scared but “chilling” as in creating a fear for the future of us all. The characters are or could be Everyman; each embodying an aspect of our shared humanity--mostly by simply showing what we may all be capable of. We read along, recognizing, criticizing, even condemning the faults and flaws of the characters until suddenly it dawns on us: that’s us. show less