The Opposing Shore
Julien Gracq
Military defeat can loom large in the memory of a nation, and the lingering effects of World War II upon France are evident throughout Julien Gracq's The Opposing Shore, a deeply introspective novel considering the effects of long-term peace and looming conflict. Set in the fictional, but distinctly Mediterranean, city-state of Orsenna and its outlying territories in a period just before industrial mechanization, the novel recalls, in its way, the dominance and eventual collapse of Rome. A far lesser empire, Orsenna grapples with a centuries-long history of stagnation, exemplified not least in an ongoing cold war with Farghestan, which lays on the opposite shore of an unnamed sea. Though the novel's long and introspective passages do an excellent job of portraying the somnolence of Orsenna and its officials, seemingly endless passages unbroken by significant events, they are equally likely to provoke the same reaction in the reader. The ratio of action to introspection makes the novel somewhat difficult to grasp; though, again, the tone and the mood of Orsenna and its Syrtes outposts are suggestively rendered through Gracq's prose. That the book is dominated by a kind of narrative haze is a bit frustrating, as the author shows an ability to raise the level of action without greatly deviating from the general tone of the narration; even the simple act of displacing some observations by couching them in conversation lightens the onus upon the reader. While Gracq's dialogue is certainly not the crackling sort, or particularly true to life, it does have an ability to force the reader to think more than the long, boring descriptive passages that dominate the prose.
That said, the book holds some valuable insights and a fair bit of philosophical entertainment for those willing to engage it with a certain level of intellectual depth. Indeed, The Opposing Shore asks much of its readers but does provide ample rewards in its exploration of political drowsiness and death. Though the action of the novel takes too long to get going by most standards, its pace (once begun) is appropriate, its constituent events serving to illuminate the book's well-established themes. Its characters, however, are a bit ill-defined and have obscure motives that do not suffice to explain occasionally puzzling actions. Readers are indebted almost solely to narrator Aldo's descriptions of character, given Gracq's hesitancy to insert dialogue into such an overtly philosophically-minded story, and his insistence on certain traits sometimes appears distractingly at odds with characterization evinced by observed action. Richard Howard's translation, while (apparently) admirably maintaining a tone and weight throughout, occasionally becomes distracting, as in the absolute overuse of the word "somnolent" and its derivatives. Hardly a page passes by without this word, however appropriate, occurring at least once, and while it may be the most befitting lexical choice its constant appearance serves more to distract than to enlighten. Even the sleep/wakefulness metaphors that dot the book tend to lull the reader into an occasional stupor, and though the book is undoubtedly a fine work of literature it fails to sustain significant interest at a consistent level. The Opposing Shore is an interesting exploration of a nation's long sleep and gradual awakening, as well as a convincing exploration of the power of artificial boundaries, though its focus on introspection over plot makes it slightly inaccessible and, perhaps, more demanding on the reader than is really fair to ask.
Grade: B
Julien Gracq
Military defeat can loom large in the memory of a nation, and the lingering effects of World War II upon France are evident throughout Julien Gracq's The Opposing Shore, a deeply introspective novel considering the effects of long-term peace and looming conflict. Set in the fictional, but distinctly Mediterranean, city-state of Orsenna and its outlying territories in a period just before industrial mechanization, the novel recalls, in its way, the dominance and eventual collapse of Rome. A far lesser empire, Orsenna grapples with a centuries-long history of stagnation, exemplified not least in an ongoing cold war with Farghestan, which lays on the opposite shore of an unnamed sea. Though the novel's long and introspective passages do an excellent job of portraying the somnolence of Orsenna and its officials, seemingly endless passages unbroken by significant events, they are equally likely to provoke the same reaction in the reader. The ratio of action to introspection makes the novel somewhat difficult to grasp; though, again, the tone and the mood of Orsenna and its Syrtes outposts are suggestively rendered through Gracq's prose. That the book is dominated by a kind of narrative haze is a bit frustrating, as the author shows an ability to raise the level of action without greatly deviating from the general tone of the narration; even the simple act of displacing some observations by couching them in conversation lightens the onus upon the reader. While Gracq's dialogue is certainly not the crackling sort, or particularly true to life, it does have an ability to force the reader to think more than the long, boring descriptive passages that dominate the prose.
That said, the book holds some valuable insights and a fair bit of philosophical entertainment for those willing to engage it with a certain level of intellectual depth. Indeed, The Opposing Shore asks much of its readers but does provide ample rewards in its exploration of political drowsiness and death. Though the action of the novel takes too long to get going by most standards, its pace (once begun) is appropriate, its constituent events serving to illuminate the book's well-established themes. Its characters, however, are a bit ill-defined and have obscure motives that do not suffice to explain occasionally puzzling actions. Readers are indebted almost solely to narrator Aldo's descriptions of character, given Gracq's hesitancy to insert dialogue into such an overtly philosophically-minded story, and his insistence on certain traits sometimes appears distractingly at odds with characterization evinced by observed action. Richard Howard's translation, while (apparently) admirably maintaining a tone and weight throughout, occasionally becomes distracting, as in the absolute overuse of the word "somnolent" and its derivatives. Hardly a page passes by without this word, however appropriate, occurring at least once, and while it may be the most befitting lexical choice its constant appearance serves more to distract than to enlighten. Even the sleep/wakefulness metaphors that dot the book tend to lull the reader into an occasional stupor, and though the book is undoubtedly a fine work of literature it fails to sustain significant interest at a consistent level. The Opposing Shore is an interesting exploration of a nation's long sleep and gradual awakening, as well as a convincing exploration of the power of artificial boundaries, though its focus on introspection over plot makes it slightly inaccessible and, perhaps, more demanding on the reader than is really fair to ask.
Grade: B
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