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Spanning from 1887 to a month before his death in 1910, The Journal of Jules Renard is a unique autobiographical masterpiece that, though celebrated abroad and cited as a principle influence by writers as varying as Somerset Maugham and Donald Barthelme, remains largely undiscovered in the United States. Throughout his journal, Renard develops not only his artistic convictSpanning from 1887 to a month before his death in 1910, The Journal of Jules Renard is a unique autobiographical masterpiece that, though celebrated abroad and cited as a principle influence by writers as varying as Somerset Maugham and Donald Barthelme, remains largely undiscovered in the United States. Throughout his journal, Renard develops not only his artistic convictions but also his humanity as he reflects on the nineteenth-century French literary and art scene, and on the emergence of his position as an important novelist and playwright in that world. Renard provides aphorisms and quips, and portrays the details of his personal life—his love interests, his position as a socialist mayor of Chitry, the suicide of his father—that often appear in his work....

Title : The Journal of Jules Renard
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ISBN : 9780979419874
Format Type : Paperback
Number of Pages : 304 Pages
Status : Available For Download
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The Journal of Jules Renard Reviews

  • Cristina Boncea
    2018-11-11 03:14

    Jules Renard e un naturalist. Acum înțeleg de unde s-au inspirat autorii români clasici și de ce învățătoarea mea din I-IV tot insista pe diferite lucrări semnate de autori francezi, precum "Morcoveață".Acest jurnal, de care am observat că s-au plâns chiar câțiva oameni, este structurat mai degrabă pe scurte idei și notițe, în locul unor confesiuni propriu-zise, cum ar fi fost de așteptat. Mie una mi-a plăcut toate mult această idee a celor care au lucrat pentru realizarea ediției de la Nemira și mi s-a părut că a fost mult mai ușor de citit, astfel, cartea. Sunt mai mult ca sigură că dacă mă forțam un pic și citeam mai multe de un an pe zi, aș fi terminat multe mai repede de citit - apropo, jurnalul se întinde din anul 1887 până în 1910, anul morții autorului. Fiind o carte non fictivă, voi presupune că oamenii știu deja cum a sfârșit aceast om al literaturii, așa că nu poate fi vorba despre spoilere, cum ar fi fost pentru o carte de ficțiune.Cel mai frapant lucru mi s-a părut tocmai intuirea propriei morți, chiar cu câțiva ani înainte ca Renard să afle faptul că era bolnav cu inima. Acesta moare la 46 de ani iar însemnările din jurnal se opresc cu o lună înaintea acestui eveniment, așa că nu pot oferi date exacte cu privire la înmormântare ș.a.m.d. Ideea e că Renard suferea veșnic de bătrânețe, încă de la vârsta de treizeci de ani, deși el ne declară faptul că diferența dintre aceste perioade (tinerețe, bătrânețe) e o minciună și că nu știi cu adevărat mai multe lucruri la patruzeci de ani decât la douăzeci, sau cel puțin, că tocmai în asta constă tinerețea; puțin contradictoriu, nu-i așa? Am început recenzia prin a-l numi naturalist, curent în care se autoîncadrează autorul de mai multe ori pe parcursul însemnărilor sale. O foarte mare parte a Jurnalului este ocupată de descrieri ale naturii și aprecierea scriitorului francez pentru elementele menționate. O altă mare parte este ocupată de critică și ironie cu privire la colegii săi de breaslă, având o mare admirație pentru Victor Hugo și fiind plin de antipatie pentru Oscar Wilde. Pe parcursul anilor, Jules își reproșează lenea, ce poate fi mai degrabă considerată o depresie rezultată din moartea tatălui și al fratelui său, Maurice, cât și a diferitor prieteni iar la final, a mamei sale. Autorul a dus o viață sărăcăcioasă, împreună cu soția sa Marinette și cei doi copii ai lor; iubirea pe care i-o nutrea soției sale a fost plină de loialitate așa că nu au existat probleme pe acest plan în notițele sale. Frustrarea autorului este acest reproș despre care vă spuneam mai devreme, faptul că nu e în stare să mai scrie ceva cel puțin la fel de bun ca "Morcoveață" și moare renunțând de tot la încercarea de a face acest lucru. În Jurnal ne este prezentată de asemenea și atmosfera din lumea literară și în general din Parisul de la începutul secolului XX, la fel de plină de fast, parveniți și oameni vanitoși pe cât mă așteptam. Pe de altă parte, pe parcursul vieții sale Jules Renard a fost numit primar la Chitry, localitate unde se retrăgea deseori pentru a se simți ca acasă, în mediul rural. Am găsit foarte multe citate demne de memorat printre aceste notițe scurte și mi-am putut crea o imagine de ansamblu foarte bună asupra acestui autor, cât și a mai multor scrieri franțuzești din perioada aceea. Renard a fost genul de autor căruia nu i-a plăcut lingușeala și acesta a fost probabil motivul pentru care nu a fost extraordinar de apreciat în perioada în care a trăit. Am uitat să menționez că eu nu am citit nimic din ce a scris înainte de a pune mâna pe acest Jurnal însă ceva îmi spune că e probabil cununa muncii sale și poate chiar cea mai relevantă dintre scrieri, căci este de asemenea și o mini lecție de istorie. De asemenea, îl găsesc pe Renard și gândirea lui (susținător al feminismului, chiar) foarte actual și mă bucur că am avut ocazia să trăiesc în mintea sa pentru câteva zile. Din peste cele 550 de pagini mai pot scoate faptul că valorile după care și-a trăit viața acest om nu erau apreciate de societatea în care trăia iar acesta ar putea fi unul dintre motivele pentru care Renard nu a avut foarte mulți prieteni apropiați sau oameni pe care să-i simpatizeze; asta și caracterul său puțin mizantropic care ni-l fac instant mai simpatic nouă și ne ajută să empatizăm cu temerile și slăbiciunile lui.Recomand cartea asta tuturor celor care sunt pasionați de mărturii sincere provenite de la mari oameni ai lumii și care, la fel ca mine, caută să fie iluminați de gândiri mai avansate, din care pot extrage idei pe care să le aplice în viața de zi cu zi.

  • Chuck LoPresti
    2018-11-13 02:23

    Montaigne for your libraryAurelius in your lodgetake LaRouchefoucauld walkingbut leave Renard on your night stand so it can leaven your dreams and illuminate your mind when you wake before the sun rises.

  • Francisco H. González
    2018-10-20 01:33

    Leyendo Nada que temer de Julian Barnes, descubrí al escritor francés Jules Renard. Barnes acaba su novela yendo a la localidad donde murió Renard, rindiéndole así su particular tributo. Luego Jaime Fernández, autor de El poeta que prefería ser nadie y de la muy recomendable blog https://enlenguapropia.wordpress.com/, me habló de los Diarios de Renard, animándolos a leerlos. Dicho y hecho. Renard como nos explican en el prólogo parece haber quedado al margen de las corrientes literarias en las que se enclavan grandes autores franceses, que han alcanzado la posteridad como Victor Hugo, Balzac, Flaubert, etc. De Renard nos quedan un sinfín de agudos aforismos. Estos Diarios recogen los años que van de 1887 a 1910, desde los 23 años hasta el año de su muerte, a los 46 años.Estos diarios recogen bien ese anhelo de Renard de hacerse un hueco en el mundo de las letras, objetivo que consigue a medida que sus obras son cada vez más conocidas, son llevadas al teatro, y consigue ser condecorado y formar incluso parte de la Academia Goncourt y ser alcalde de su pueblo, Chitry. Todo el diario es literatura, porque para Renard el acto de escribir es toda su vida y sus reflexiones giran una y otra vez en torno a conceptos como la vanidad, la soberbia, la gloria, el talento, el reconocimiento, todo aquello que da relieve a un escritor y deja a otros muchos en la sombra, sin el reconocimiento a sus obras que algunos deberían tener. Y se mueve al mismo tiempo Renard en la contradicción permanente, porque si no quiere otra cosa que pasar a la Historia de las Letras, vive en la certeza de que nunca llegará a nada, que jamás será nada.Los diarios son sinceros y Renard una vez escrito, y dicho lo dicho, no parece hacer nada para corregirse, para enmascararse, para rectificar o dulcificar sus opiniones y reflexiones sobre los distintos asuntos que maneja. Con respecto a sus hijos, no se ve ni de lejos como el padre ideal, sino más bien como alguien distante, afanado en escribir, en vivir no a través de sus vástagos, sino a través de sus libros, que es otra forma de inmortalidad. No esconde tampoco Renard el sentimiento antisemita que rodea los círculos literarios en los que se mueve, a finales del siglo XIX. La lealtad hacia su mujer, sus no infidelidades, es su particular manera de corresponderla, de quererla, a su manera. Muestra Renard también muy a las claras su ego, su vanidad, su necesidad de que le reconozcan, de que admiren su inteligencia, su talento en cada obra que pergeña, su necesidad de ganar dinero, de tener riquezas, que le permitan llevar una vida desahogada, y sobre estos asuntos nos deja para el recuerdo aforismos hilarantes, agudos y muy lúcidos. Reconoce también Renard lo fácil que es ser socialista de salón, teórico, porque él reconoce no tener el arrojo necesario para entregar su vida a los demás y renunciar a todo lo que tiene para beneficiar a quienes están mucho peor que él.Son diarios que muestran además cómo es el mundo literario de ese último cuarto del siglo XIX, y todas las zancadillas y trampolines en el que todos los artistas se mueven, sus deseos de entrar en la Academia francesa o en su defecto en la Academia Goncourt.Respecto a la idea que Renard tenía de sus diarios, lo resume así:"Leo páginas de este Diario: a fin de cuentas es lo mejor y más útil que he hecho en la vida"Gracias a ese empeño, quizás un acto de soberbia consistente en pensar que su vida era relevante, tanto o más que sus libros, hoy podemos leer y disfrutar de estos Diarios de Renard ("cartas a mí mismo que os permito leer") que como los buenos libros no se agotan en una sola lectura y deben estar siempre a mano, para recurrir a ellos una y otra vez.

  • Caroline
    2018-11-08 04:31

    This selection from Jules Renard’s journals is beautiful in itself, but also an invitation to read the full journals and some of his other works as well. He was a man whose whole life, to judge from these pages, was lived in reaction to his harridan of a mother. One of his best known works is Poil de Carotte, a ‘fiction’ about his life as a boy in the small town where they lived. His father, the mayor, solved the harridan problem by ceasing to speak to his wife--literally and absolutely- early in the marriage; their son had no such tool at his disposal. Yet what did Renard do as a man? Buy a small house in the same small town (or nearby?) and take his family there to live every summer under the constant watch of his mother. Very strange.In part his return to the country is due to a profound love of nature. His Nature Stories are snippets of life that give various animals and insects a moment of close attention--their quotidian actions become poetic as he gives the animals full worth in creation. Equally fascinating is his attitude toward peasants and servants. Nowhere else have I read such an honest and inclusive portrayal of actually living with servants in one’s house, their moving in and out of the rooms and commenting on one’s life and their lives. Hiring them, disciplining, firing, watching their slow decline and death. For Renard, some are comical adolescents, others pathetic declining dependents. He may describe living in close proximity with them, but for him they are also a different species; he speaks about peasants as a species somewhere between the animals in Nature Stories and the educated humans he sees as equals.But Renard was also un homme de lettres complet in Paris. He was fully engaged in the theater, turning his novels into plays and writing other plays as original works. Many of the entries are about the perils of getting a play into shape on paper and on stage. Sarah Bernhardt and many others pepper the entries: Rostand, Mallarme, Daudet, Goncourt. Finally there are the epigrams. This is a book to open again and again for a thought to carry about for the day, or to plunder for quotes.For my Goodreads companions:‘You have read everything, but they have read a book you ought to read, that makes them superior, and annuls all you have read.’[early in his career] ‘The friendship of a talented man of letters would be a great benefaction. It is a pity that those whose good graces we long for are always dead.’‘A little premontory shiver that comes when a beautiful sentence is about to take shape.’‘My style, full of tours de force that no one notices.'

  • Kevin Shannon
    2018-11-03 04:26

    I am an avid reader, and have been since I was an asthmatic and myopic youth and found refuge in the world of ideas. In 3 decades, at say 50 books a year, I must be up to 1500 under my belt. This I would place in my top 5, I absolutely loved everything about this work, the character of the author, it is a journal, and the glimpses into the literary world of 1900s Paris. Mellarme, Verlain are there, Gide has a cold, and Lautrec and sarah Bernhardt are mentioned in snippets interspersed with aphorisms on , well everything, eg "the cat is the furniture of life" or "taste ripens at the expense of happiness". He writes about hie servants at home, the death of his brother, and suicide of his father, and the impossible temperament of his mother. This is the most human book I have read. Now I have to recall the other 4 top books.....

  • Alisu'
    2018-11-18 01:33

    "Sa pictezi pe pinze de paianjen.""Nu sintem fericiti: fericirea noastra este doar tacerea nefericirii.""Reveria este clarul de luna al gindirii.""Luna, medalion la gitul noptii.""Ploaia aseza pe jos oglinzi pentru stele.""Cind ma gindesc la toate cartile pe care mai trebuie sa le citesc, am certitudinea ca mai sint inca fericit.""Felinarul: o luminare in inchisoare.""Dupa o reverie pe banca, sa adormi cu ochii plini de stele.""O ploaie amestecata cu picuri de pian."

  • Troy Rutman
    2018-11-13 04:40

    Peace in a paperback

  • Christin Lee
    2018-11-07 23:34

    possibly not an exaggeration to say that my writing life will be divided into the time before I read this book and after.

  • Terence
    2018-11-18 21:34

    It’s not Jules Renard that I’m giving two stars to in this review but to the editors/translators who put this compilation from his Journal together. The biggest complaint I have is the book’s lack of context. There’s only the sketchiest of biographies in the introduction. From this book you would have only the merest hints about Renard’s decidedly dysfunctional family, or the circle he ran with in Paris, or his career as a politician in Chitry (a rural French village). The nuggets you can extrapolate are frustratingly incomplete. And the stage-setting paragraphs at the beginning of each year are laughable . Examples: “1897 – Jules Renard began his Journal this year, at the age of twenty-three,” or “1910 – By the end of February, severe worsening of JR’s condition. May 22: death of JR in Paris of arteriosclerosis. Burial in Chitry.”Bogan writes in the Preface, “Renard’s Journal, from its beginning, shows a young writer who is consciously moving away from early mistakes, whose goal is cleanness of style and precision of language” (p. 10). This may be true but one wouldn’t get that impression from the fragments reproduced here. She also writes, “Renard’s passion for factual truth and stylistic exactitude…remained central to his work throughout his career” and “(t)ruth about life…had been distorted by literature. He applied himself to correct that distortion…by an analysis based on sympathy, warmth, and tenderness” (p. 11). Again, the editors may be correct but the always-too-short selections translated here give only the faintest glimmer of that sensibility. In fact, from the extracts concerning the deaths of his father, brother and mother, one could develop exactly the opposite opinion.And then there’s the problem that a reader in 2009 (especially an English-language one), unless they’re very exceptional, has little familiarity with the late-19th century French artistic scene, and the editors give us no help in this matter. Thus, names appear out of nowhere – some familiar enough (Rostand, Sarah Bernhardt), others less so (Goncourt, Guitry, Antoine). What’s worse, the “unknowns” of Renard’s life (his servants, family and friends) make cameos, disappear for long stretches and then pop back up in the author’s life. For example, it takes several entries to realize that “Philippe” and “Ragotte” are the couple who maintains Renard’s country estate, La Gloriette.That said, the glimpses we do get of Renard as a writer, humanist and observer are interesting enough that I want to find a more complete translation of the Journal and perhaps read other examples of his writing.There are pithy, little observations that become fewer and fewer as they years go by – “At twenty, one thinks profoundly and badly”; “He is deaf in the left ear; he does not hear on the side of the heart”; or “The fear of boredom is the only excuse for working” (pp. 54-5). As I’ve been emphasizing, it’s a bit hard to follow the evolution but Renard’s insights become deeper and more nuanced, and he begins to articulate his feelings without relying on the words of others. By the 1900s, Renard is confident enough to put his thoughts into his own words.In 1906, at the age of 42, Renard produced an entry that reflected on what he had accomplished in his life. A subject of particular pertinence as I approach that benchmark this year (2009). Some of the more interesting (or depressing) observations:“Forty-two years old. What have I achieved? Almost nothing, and already I am no longer achieving anything at all….“Am I a better man? Not much. I have not the energy to do wrong….“Out of forty-two years, I have spent eighteen with Marinette (his wife). I have become incapable of hurting her, but am I capable of any effort to do her good?....“I still do certain good things pretty well: sleeping, eating, daydreaming….“On the whole, I don’t care about women. Now and then, a romantic dream or so….“There is nothing I desire ardently: I’d have to struggle too hard to get it….“Nowadays, I am afraid of action itself, or, rather, I have acquired a taste for inaction….”Observations on hunting:“It is dangerous to carry a gun. You think it doesn’t kill. I shoot, not in order to kill the lark, but to see what will happen. I come near. It is lying on its belly; its claws flutter, its beak opens and closes, yawns open: the tiny scissors are cutting blood.“Lark, may you become the subtlest of my thoughts and the dearest of my regrets!“It died for the others.“I have torn up my permit and hung my rifle on a nail”and“Advice to hunters: to go out some time without their gun and walk through the fields where they have killed. The magpie becomes familiar. The partridges sit still until one comes quite near. The prunelles wait to be picked, and the juicy little wild pear.“The ox stops and looks around, and the ox that follows him licks his hindquarters with a lazy tongue.“The meadow draws to itself the entire green blanket.“And one has not murdered: that at least is something.”A few random thoughts:“I am in no great hurry to see the society of the future: ours is helpful to writers. By its absurdities, its injustices, its vices, its stupidities, it feeds a writer’s observation. The better men will become, the more colorless man will be” (p. 249);“Imagine life without death. Every day, you would try to kill yourself out of despair” (p. 234); and (one of my favorites)“`I have no religion,’ says Borneau, ‘but I respect the religion of others. Religion is sacred.’ Why this privilege, this immunity?... A believer creates God in his own image; if he is ugly, his God will be morally ugly. Why should moral ugliness be respectable?” (Apropos of this sentiment, I would recommend Tanith Lee’s “Paid Piper,” which traces a god’s descent into such a condition.)And, finally, returning to my theme of incompleteness, there’s the frustrating instance of the lack of context about Renard’s marriage. Apparently, he was blessed with a truly happy marriage, the clearest indication being the following passage: “When I was ten years old I didn’t dream. Or, rather, I wanted to be happy day by day, no matter how. It is no secret that, for twenty years I have had the best of wives. My other dreams have never come true. No doubt it would be better not to say it, but it is thanks to her that, now and then, it has seemed to me that my other dreams might also be coming true” (p. 294).On the whole, the reader would have been better served with a more complete and more fully annotated translation. As it stands, a better title for this book would be “The Witty Observations of Jules Renard, Without Context or Deeper Meaning.”

  • Anna
    2018-10-27 01:32

    French authors are amazing. Compared to the other author notebooks I've read so far, the French authors (Renard, Camus, Joubert) have been the move lovely and interesting.Jules Renard was easy to read and incredibly talented. I had sticky notes all over my copy to refer to so many of his beautiful notes and aphorisms. I wonder if any of his works have been translated into English.

  • Richard
    2018-10-31 02:37

    Requires some skimming, but still, I would have parts of this book tattooed on my body.

  • AnaVlădescu
    2018-11-02 03:31

    why have i put this book on hold for such a long time? i guess i forgot that i had it on my shelf. review to come!

  • Don
    2018-10-19 23:36

    The book the inspired Maugham to write The Writer's Notebook. Fantastic read.

  • A. Khare
    2018-11-10 03:17

    it will be foolish to express opinions about this book.

  • Thomas
    2018-11-18 21:28

    This review is for the newly re-issued version by Tin House Books, November 2017.Required reading for writers and would be writers."The yellowing leaves make the trees look as though they were ripe."There are beautiful memorable lines on every page of this journal/collection of quotes/aphorisms. Some of the best treat of nature, laziness, the writer "in town", and peasants.It would have helped if I had read Poil de Carotte beforehand, owing to the frequent references to this book and play, but the Journal was still easy to enjoy and it is not a pre-requisite.Mostly light hearted... Learned about this book by Canetti's mention of it in one of his own books of aphorisms. Those are worth checking out as well. If you enjoyed "The Journal of Jules Renard", look up Canetti's "The Agony of Flies" or "Notes from Hampstead" for a similar scrapbook look into the mind of the writer.

  • Terry
    2018-11-17 22:16

    Loveliest prose ever!!!!!!

  • Aveugle Vogel
    2018-10-25 04:15

    "rhymes with alcove"

  • August
    2018-11-18 21:28

    "I am no longer capable of dying young."Next to Emerson's journals, which is very different than almost all journals as a work in itself, "The Journal of Jules Renard," is a masterpiece worthy of Oscar Wilde and Pascal. It spans from 1887 to his death in 1910."[After an interview given to a reporter.] I told him that peasants often marry for love, and he prints the exact opposite." 1905 journal I had never heard about this book before reading through Louise Bogan's prose and her bio; Bogan translates "The Journal of Jules Renard" from the French. After reading, I found out that it was loved by several great writers, one of which was Somerset Maugham who talked about it being a fertile poaching ground. I also found that Barthelme often mentioned his love of this book. It's comic, dramatic and everything in between. If you like books about the turn of phrase, read this one. "The affecting life of a tree, that throws itself desperately about as if trying to take a step."**the above quotes were pulled from his 1905 and 1906 journals.

  • Armando Merayo
    2018-10-28 01:32

    CITAS: 29 de julio. Toda nuestra crítica consiste en reprochar a otros que no tengan las cualidades que nosotros creemos tener.24 de abril. Subir al cielo por la soga de un ahorcado. 2 de enero. Se puede ser poeta y llevar el pelo corto. 28 de enero. Los burgueses son los demás.16 de junio. Parece que esté uno obligado a escribir una novela, como a hacer el servicio militar. 12 de diciembre. Yo nací para el éxito en el periodismo, la gloria cotidiana, la literatura abundante: leer a los grandes escritores lo cambió todo. De ahí, la desgracia de mi vida. 11 de junio. Me siento triste como un Verlaine de pueblo. 3 de noviembre. Versos, versos, y ni una línea de poesía. 9 de junio. Los hombres como papá solo estiman a los que se enriquecen, y solo admiran a los que mueren pobres. 29 de setiembre. Hay hombres que parecen haberse casado solo para impedir a sus esposas casarse con otros. 1 de marzo. Mallarme, intraducible, incluso al francés.

  • Stefanie
    2018-11-01 03:29

    Renard seems like an interesting person I'd like to know more about and he is a good writer. But the editing of this book was not very good. Instead of including full journal entries, the editor chose to highlight frequently aphoristic sentences. This makes the book less of a journal and more a book of quotations.

  • C.
    2018-10-24 02:17

    "When I think of all the books still left for me to read, I am certain of further happiness.The writer must create his own language, and not use that of his neighbour. He must be able to watch it grow."-stolen from TEV

  • Tommy
    2018-11-04 00:20

    More of a collection of quotes than a coherent journal. Some of the quotes are great and interesting, others feel like he's trying a bit to be witty. When he writes about nature though it is beautiful. I was interested enough to plan to read more by him.

  • kathryn
    2018-10-30 01:20

    Liked..reads random notes jotted down but it still gets to be a narrative.

  • Marvin
    2018-10-22 03:32

    On ouvre à n'importe quelle page, et on lit sans pouvoir s'arrêter. Un livre inépuisable, qui restera dans ma bibliothèque de chevet pour toujours.

  • Liam Duffy
    2018-11-03 02:13

    This is my Eat, Pray, Love.

  • Jesús Gallegos
    2018-11-10 23:24

    Me impresionó la escena en que muere el padre.

  • Jay
    2018-10-25 22:30

    journals