Boris Vian: "The foam of the days"
The book
Colin enjoys the eccentric life, the parties, the girls. Nothing beats him about the love and music of Duke Elling ton. He meets Chloé at a party that gives a friend the birthday of her poodle. They fall head over heels in love and marry with a lavish party. But on the honeymoon Chloé suddenly feels a pressure in his chest. As it turns out, a water lily grows in her lungs, and no doctor seems to be able to cure this enigmatic disease. Boris Vian's novel from 1947 is full of puns and fantastic ideas. There are renewable soles and eels that like to snack on pineapple toothpaste. But one should not be fooled by this bizarre shell: it raises deep questions about the meaning of our existence and love.
A surreal world where mice can talk and mix pianos cocktails: heartbreaking and full of poetry? for those who do not want to forget the dream.
The author
Boris Vian was born in 1920 in Ville d? Avray. He studied engineering and practiced this profession until 1947. His first novels were published in 1946/47 and his patrons included Jean-Paul Sartre. Later, Vian also worked as a jazz trumpeter, chansonnier, actor, translator and head of the jazz record division at Philips. In 1959 he died in Paris.
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Leseprobe "The foam of the days"
Colin finished his toilet. After the bath, he had wrapped himself in a huge, soft terry cloth, from which only his legs and upper body looked out. He took the atomizer from the glass plate and sprayed fragrant oil on his fair hair. His amber comb divided the silky body into long strands of orange, just as the happy countryman's fork draws furrows in apricot jam. Colin put down the comb, reached for the nail scissors and cut the edges of his limp eyelids diagonally to surround his eyes with mystery. He often had to trim the eyelids, because they quickly grew again. He switched on the small lamp above the magnifying mirror and held his face close to the mirror to check the condition of his skin.
Some pimples rose around his nostrils. When they became aware of their ugliness in the magnifying mirror, they pulled themselves neatly under the skin, and Colin switched off the lamp satisfied. He untied the terry cloth covering his loins and rubbed the last traces of moisture between his toes with the tip of his scarf. In the mirror you could see who it resembled: the blonde, who plays Slim in Hollywood Canteen. His head was round, his ears small, his nose straight, and his complexion shimmering golden. He often smiled like a small child, so that in the long run a dimple had formed in his chin. His legs were long, he was tall, slim and very gentle. The name Colin suited him reasonably. He spoke softly to girls and happy to men. He was almost always in a good mood, the rest of the time he slept.
He let the bath water off by making a hole in the tub. The sloping pale yellow tiled floor of the bathroom led the water to a drain that was just above the tenant's desk on the lower floor. He had recently changed his desk without notifying Colin. Now the water was running on his dining buffet.
Slipping into his sharkskin sandals, Colin put on his elegant trouser suit, deep-green corduroy trousers, and a jacket of hazelnut-brown wool satin. He hung the towel over the pole, laid the bath mat on the edge of the bath, and sprinkled it with coarse salt to drain off the absorbed water. The rug began to drool and spit out bunches of small soap bubbles. He left the bathroom and turned to the kitchen to supervise the final preparations for the dinner. Like every Monday night, Chick, who lived nearby, came to dinner.
It was only Saturday, but Colin felt like seeing Chick and serving him the menu that his new cook Nicolas had put together with joy and dedication. Chick was a bachelor like Colin, the same age as this, twenty-two years, and he had the same literary preferences but less money. Colin had a fortune that would give him a good income without working for others.Chick, on the other hand, had to visit his uncle in the Ministry every eight days and borrow the money from him, for what earned him his position as an engineer was not enough for a standard of living like that of the workers whose superior he was. And it's difficult to give instructions to someone better dressed and better nourished than you. Colin helped him as much as possible by inviting him to dinner as often as possible, but Chick's pride forced him to act cautiously, not to him to show by too often favors that he wanted to support him.
The hall in front of the kitchen was light, with windows on both sides, and a sun shining on both sides, for Colin loved the light. Everywhere shone brightly polished brass taps. The sun-play on the taps produced magical effects, as the bright-sounding rays hit the faucets, the kitchen mice enjoyed dancing to that music, and when the sun-threads scattered like yellow mercury on the ground, the mice chased after the little ones Balls. Colin stroked one of the mice in passing; she had black whiskers for a very long time, was gray and tiny and had a wonderfully shimmering coat. The cook fed the mice copiously, but did not let them get too fat. The mice made no noise during the day and only played in the hallway.
Colin pushed open the enamelled kitchen door. Nicolas, the cook, watched his dashboard. He was sitting in front of an enamelled light-yellow control panel, with its dials belonging to the row of kitchen appliances. The pointer needle of the electric oven, set on roast turkey, trembled between "almost even" and "even". Soon it was time to pull the turkey out. Nicolas pressed a green button, which triggered the highly sensitive button; it penetrated smoothly through the meat, and the pointer jumped to "even". With a quick hand movement, Nicolas turned off the oven and turned on the plate warmer.
"Will she be okay?" Colin asked. "Monsieur can be sure of that!" assured Nicolas. Nicolas said, "This time I did not invent anything new, I was content to plagiarize Gouffé." "They could have chosen a worse role model," said Colin. "And what part of his work do you imitate?" "It is page 638 of his Livre de Cuisine, and I will read the relevant section to Monsieur."
Colin sat down on a foam-upholstered stool whose glossy silk cover matched the color of the walls, and Nicolas began with the following words:
"Make a warm puff pastry pasty as used for pre-cooked dishes, prepare a thick eel and cut into three-inch pieces, add the pieces of eel in a casserole and add white wine, salt and pepper, onion rings, parsley twigs, Add thyme, laurel and a pinch of garlic. "I could not sharpen them as I would have liked," said Nicolas, "the whetstone is very worn out." "I'll have him replaced," Colin said.
Nicolas continued:
The whole thing is brought to a boil, then the eel is removed and placed in a frying pan, passing through the broth through a silk screen, adding cornstarch and setting the sauce until it gets stuck on the spoon The cloth is so much over the eel that it is covered, let it boil for two minutes and set it in the pate around the sliced patties of champignons, as a decoration comes in the middle of a bunch carp carpenter retained portion of the sauce. " "Agreed," Colin said, "I think Chick likes to eat it."
"I do not have the merit of knowing Monsieur Chick," remarked Nicolas, "but if he does not like the pate, I'll cook something else next time, and that will almost certainly enable me to find out his likes and dislikes. " "Well," Colin said, "I'm leaving you, Nicolas, I'll take care of the tablecloth."
