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ROCKY AND THE ARMENIAN
London Review of Books
http://www.lrb.co.uk/blog/2012/08/28/joanna-biggs/rocky-and-the-armenian/
Aug 28 2012
UK
In the age of Bradley Manning and girls in Vegas with cameraphones,
it seems quaint that France should be getting its political gossip
from the literary invention of 1641, the roman a clef. Le Monarque, son
fils, son fief: Hauts-de-Seine - chronique d'un règlement des comptes
by Marie-Celie Guillaume has stayed on the non-fiction (nobody's
fooled) bestseller lists since it was published earlier in the summer
and has sold thirty thousand copies in France. Not content with having
caught Sarkozy leering at the Israeli model Bar Rafaeli, complaining
to Obama about Netanyahu, getting pissed with Putin, stealing a pen
from Romania's president and calling a group of journalists his 'amis
pedophiles', France wants to read about their ex-president accepting
blowjobs for subsidies, stabbing political allies in the back and
giving his son one of the most powerful positions in his old fiefdom.
The roman a clef came out of the literary salons of 17th-century
Paris. Madeleine de Scudery gained her introduction to the Marquise
de Rambouillet's salon in 1641, where she met Corneille, La Fontaine
and Madame de Sevigne, and began work on a novel that would run to ten
volumes and more than two million words, Artamène or Cyrus the Great.
A fashionable heroic novel set in ancient Persia, it was also
understood to incorporate pen portraits of the salonniers under
different names; a key was printed so nobody could miss the fact that
'Cyrus the Great' was also Le Grand Conde. It came out in 1649 and
was reprinted in 1650, 1653, 1654 and 1656. From 1657, Scudery's own
samedi on rue de Beauce brought visiting royalty such as Christina,
Queen of Sweden together with academicians, grammarians, Louis XIV's
advisers, as well as other women of letters such as the king's secret
second wife, Madame de Maintenon. Another novel, Clelie, or Clef-ly,
came out in 1654 and depicted Louis XIV, among others, in its story of
love lost and found in Tarquin's Rome. It became the bestselling book
of the century. The pattern was set: romans a clefs should be written
by posh insiders with a democratic impulse to let the world see power
as it is really is; the settings and names, playful but transparent,
should have an air of antiquity. And they should be bestsellers.
Guillaume's 'livre assassine' fits the pattern. She is the daughter
of a baron, niece of Chirac's justice minister and a descendant
of Napoleon Bonaparte's brother-in-law. She was chief of staff for
Patrick Devedjian, the depute for Hauts-de-Seine and an old ally of
Sarkozy's. Hauts-de-Seine, the second richest department in France,
was where Sarkozy started his political career and where he built his
stronghold. Sarkozy hung on to posts as the departement's president and
mayor of Neuilly while serving as finance and then interior minister
under Chirac.
The novel begins just after Sarkozy's 2007 election win in the Vieux
Pays (France). Monarque or Rocky (Sarkozy) summons his old friend
L'Armenien (Devedjian) to the Château (the Elysee Palace) to inform
him that he can't give him the Sceau regalien (the Garde des Sceaux,
the Keeper of the Seals a.k.a. the Justice Ministry) as promised,
because 'I am not a party man - I'm the Monarch now, the nation's man
. . . I want my government to be open, to show that I can bring people
together no matter their party.' When Devedjian was given the post of
president of Hauts-de-Seine (la Principaute) in 2007, and the Justice
Ministry went to Rachida Dati (Belle-Amie) instead, he told the papers,
including Le Figaro (La Pravda), that he was 'in favour of a government
open to a wide range of people - even Sarkozyists'. When she hears
the news, Baronne (Guillaume) is furious that her boss - 'a coiner
of killer lines and a tireless swashbuckler' - has been overlooked:
'But she's nothing but a little courtesan!' Rocky, meanwhile, is
already on the phone to the Tsar (Putin) about their bear-hunting trip.
The courtesans, the royalty, the stilted wit: it all hints at the
pre-Revolutionary France that inspired the first romans a clefs. Like
those it is also an inquiry into contemporary political conduct:
Guillaume, ickily on the side of her swashbuckling boss, is asking
whether France wants a president who believes that principles 'are
only for people who lack imagination' or someone of the 'old style,
who believes in friendship and keeping promises'.
When the book came out on 14 June, Guillaume still worked for Sarkozy's
party, but the book's success forced Devedjian, who for years had
resisted Sarkozy's requests for her head, to fire her. He has said
that Le Monarque, son fils, son fief 'is a woman's book, describing
an environment created by reptilian-minded men with a great deal of
natural brutality'. And the best sort of environment for a novelist,
especially the sort who's just writing down what you say.
Guillaume's novel, as UMP party loyalists realised, is un eloge
a la normalite. But the roman a clef may not be entirely dead
under Hollande: there are at least three novels about Dominique
Strauss-Kahn and two books about Valerie Trierweiler coming out this
rentree litteraire.
From: A. Papazian
London Review of Books
http://www.lrb.co.uk/blog/2012/08/28/joanna-biggs/rocky-and-the-armenian/
Aug 28 2012
UK
In the age of Bradley Manning and girls in Vegas with cameraphones,
it seems quaint that France should be getting its political gossip
from the literary invention of 1641, the roman a clef. Le Monarque, son
fils, son fief: Hauts-de-Seine - chronique d'un règlement des comptes
by Marie-Celie Guillaume has stayed on the non-fiction (nobody's
fooled) bestseller lists since it was published earlier in the summer
and has sold thirty thousand copies in France. Not content with having
caught Sarkozy leering at the Israeli model Bar Rafaeli, complaining
to Obama about Netanyahu, getting pissed with Putin, stealing a pen
from Romania's president and calling a group of journalists his 'amis
pedophiles', France wants to read about their ex-president accepting
blowjobs for subsidies, stabbing political allies in the back and
giving his son one of the most powerful positions in his old fiefdom.
The roman a clef came out of the literary salons of 17th-century
Paris. Madeleine de Scudery gained her introduction to the Marquise
de Rambouillet's salon in 1641, where she met Corneille, La Fontaine
and Madame de Sevigne, and began work on a novel that would run to ten
volumes and more than two million words, Artamène or Cyrus the Great.
A fashionable heroic novel set in ancient Persia, it was also
understood to incorporate pen portraits of the salonniers under
different names; a key was printed so nobody could miss the fact that
'Cyrus the Great' was also Le Grand Conde. It came out in 1649 and
was reprinted in 1650, 1653, 1654 and 1656. From 1657, Scudery's own
samedi on rue de Beauce brought visiting royalty such as Christina,
Queen of Sweden together with academicians, grammarians, Louis XIV's
advisers, as well as other women of letters such as the king's secret
second wife, Madame de Maintenon. Another novel, Clelie, or Clef-ly,
came out in 1654 and depicted Louis XIV, among others, in its story of
love lost and found in Tarquin's Rome. It became the bestselling book
of the century. The pattern was set: romans a clefs should be written
by posh insiders with a democratic impulse to let the world see power
as it is really is; the settings and names, playful but transparent,
should have an air of antiquity. And they should be bestsellers.
Guillaume's 'livre assassine' fits the pattern. She is the daughter
of a baron, niece of Chirac's justice minister and a descendant
of Napoleon Bonaparte's brother-in-law. She was chief of staff for
Patrick Devedjian, the depute for Hauts-de-Seine and an old ally of
Sarkozy's. Hauts-de-Seine, the second richest department in France,
was where Sarkozy started his political career and where he built his
stronghold. Sarkozy hung on to posts as the departement's president and
mayor of Neuilly while serving as finance and then interior minister
under Chirac.
The novel begins just after Sarkozy's 2007 election win in the Vieux
Pays (France). Monarque or Rocky (Sarkozy) summons his old friend
L'Armenien (Devedjian) to the Château (the Elysee Palace) to inform
him that he can't give him the Sceau regalien (the Garde des Sceaux,
the Keeper of the Seals a.k.a. the Justice Ministry) as promised,
because 'I am not a party man - I'm the Monarch now, the nation's man
. . . I want my government to be open, to show that I can bring people
together no matter their party.' When Devedjian was given the post of
president of Hauts-de-Seine (la Principaute) in 2007, and the Justice
Ministry went to Rachida Dati (Belle-Amie) instead, he told the papers,
including Le Figaro (La Pravda), that he was 'in favour of a government
open to a wide range of people - even Sarkozyists'. When she hears
the news, Baronne (Guillaume) is furious that her boss - 'a coiner
of killer lines and a tireless swashbuckler' - has been overlooked:
'But she's nothing but a little courtesan!' Rocky, meanwhile, is
already on the phone to the Tsar (Putin) about their bear-hunting trip.
The courtesans, the royalty, the stilted wit: it all hints at the
pre-Revolutionary France that inspired the first romans a clefs. Like
those it is also an inquiry into contemporary political conduct:
Guillaume, ickily on the side of her swashbuckling boss, is asking
whether France wants a president who believes that principles 'are
only for people who lack imagination' or someone of the 'old style,
who believes in friendship and keeping promises'.
When the book came out on 14 June, Guillaume still worked for Sarkozy's
party, but the book's success forced Devedjian, who for years had
resisted Sarkozy's requests for her head, to fire her. He has said
that Le Monarque, son fils, son fief 'is a woman's book, describing
an environment created by reptilian-minded men with a great deal of
natural brutality'. And the best sort of environment for a novelist,
especially the sort who's just writing down what you say.
Guillaume's novel, as UMP party loyalists realised, is un eloge
a la normalite. But the roman a clef may not be entirely dead
under Hollande: there are at least three novels about Dominique
Strauss-Kahn and two books about Valerie Trierweiler coming out this
rentree litteraire.
From: A. Papazian