Scan barcode
A review by generalheff
Rameau's Nephew and d'Alembert's Dream by Denis Diderot
2.0
Full disclosure: this is a review only of the first work in this book - Rameau’s Nephew. To have claimed the venerated status of Goodreads ‘read’ with only 125 of 237 pages read is, I’m aware, deceptive. But as I purchased this book only because I couldn’t find a Rameau’s Nephew exclusive edition should, I hope, mitigate some of the mendaciousness of my claim.
On to the review. Rameau’s Nephew is a dialogue by famed encyclopaedist Denis Diderot. In it, we hear a discussion between Rameau and the author - Mr Philosopher to Rameau. The discussion itself, in a Paris chess cafe, is mildly amusing as it goes. The younger Rameau (a real person, son of a real composer) is an inveterate scrounger, proudly living off the largess of others.
The book is Rameau’s description of his life, couched in his highly materialistic philosophy. In essence: man should get rich in order to be able to enjoy the material (read: sensuous) pleasures of this world. The book is at its best when Rameau is diving into descriptions of his work as a quasi-professional sycophant, running errands for the great and good of Paris in the hope for a seat at their table. He tells us of the great flatterers who he emulates and admires.
A particularly memorable sequence sees him describe the less pleasant sides of his job - it’s not all free dinners of course. This includes procuring parts for untalented actress-patrons of his. Not only must he demean himself by inveigling upon the playwrights to put these hacks in their plays, but he must then attend the shows as well:
“I had to make my solitary claps resound, make everybody look at me, sometimes steal the hisses from the actress herself and hear them whispering round me: ‘It’s one of the lackeys of the chap who sleeps with her; why won’t the wretch shut up?’ … All I could do was to pass a few sarcastic remarks in order to cover up the absurdity of my solitary applause … You must admit that you need a powerful incentive to brave the whole assembled public in this way, and that each of these ordeals was worth more than half a crown.”
Interspersed among these tales of his craft, we are treated to Rameau jumping up and belting out whole arias or orchestral works - taking on all the parts at once somehow - much to the amusement of passers-by. These brief interludes offer a useful breakup of the action and counterweight to Rameau’s monologues. Indeed, Diderot (the writer’s) tendency to use himself simply as a foil for Rameau’s stories and ‘outrageous’ views is one of the key issues in the book. There is no real sense of ‘dialogue’ here - just a madman raving. A more balanced discussion with a better-rounded-out Diderot character would have made this a little more compelling.
As it is, the work tends towards the sententious. Diderot (both character and author) is a man who values reason and cool judgement. Whether Rameau represents his flirtation with a more hedonistic, base lifestyle that Diderot never could adopt or is meant as a straight inculpation of that lifestyle is unclear. What is clear is that the framing of lots of Rameau’s views as risqué is clearly a product of the time. Much of what the eccentric nephew says will be seen as anything but shocking today. Throw in a shedload of highly specific references to contemporary Parisians and you have a book that might well be important for Diderot fans but is fairly irrelevant read for the modern, non-specialist reader.
On to the review. Rameau’s Nephew is a dialogue by famed encyclopaedist Denis Diderot. In it, we hear a discussion between Rameau and the author - Mr Philosopher to Rameau. The discussion itself, in a Paris chess cafe, is mildly amusing as it goes. The younger Rameau (a real person, son of a real composer) is an inveterate scrounger, proudly living off the largess of others.
The book is Rameau’s description of his life, couched in his highly materialistic philosophy. In essence: man should get rich in order to be able to enjoy the material (read: sensuous) pleasures of this world. The book is at its best when Rameau is diving into descriptions of his work as a quasi-professional sycophant, running errands for the great and good of Paris in the hope for a seat at their table. He tells us of the great flatterers who he emulates and admires.
A particularly memorable sequence sees him describe the less pleasant sides of his job - it’s not all free dinners of course. This includes procuring parts for untalented actress-patrons of his. Not only must he demean himself by inveigling upon the playwrights to put these hacks in their plays, but he must then attend the shows as well:
“I had to make my solitary claps resound, make everybody look at me, sometimes steal the hisses from the actress herself and hear them whispering round me: ‘It’s one of the lackeys of the chap who sleeps with her; why won’t the wretch shut up?’ … All I could do was to pass a few sarcastic remarks in order to cover up the absurdity of my solitary applause … You must admit that you need a powerful incentive to brave the whole assembled public in this way, and that each of these ordeals was worth more than half a crown.”
Interspersed among these tales of his craft, we are treated to Rameau jumping up and belting out whole arias or orchestral works - taking on all the parts at once somehow - much to the amusement of passers-by. These brief interludes offer a useful breakup of the action and counterweight to Rameau’s monologues. Indeed, Diderot (the writer’s) tendency to use himself simply as a foil for Rameau’s stories and ‘outrageous’ views is one of the key issues in the book. There is no real sense of ‘dialogue’ here - just a madman raving. A more balanced discussion with a better-rounded-out Diderot character would have made this a little more compelling.
As it is, the work tends towards the sententious. Diderot (both character and author) is a man who values reason and cool judgement. Whether Rameau represents his flirtation with a more hedonistic, base lifestyle that Diderot never could adopt or is meant as a straight inculpation of that lifestyle is unclear. What is clear is that the framing of lots of Rameau’s views as risqué is clearly a product of the time. Much of what the eccentric nephew says will be seen as anything but shocking today. Throw in a shedload of highly specific references to contemporary Parisians and you have a book that might well be important for Diderot fans but is fairly irrelevant read for the modern, non-specialist reader.