| Title | : | The Enormous Room |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 1406936537 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9781406936537 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 200 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1922 |
The Enormous Room Reviews
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Authors who only wrote one single novel are a curious lot. Some came up with a masterpiece and then died (Emily Bronte, Sylvia Plath). So that's a pretty good excuse. ( Ill-informed interviewer to Emily Bronte : "Why didn't you write a follow up to your fabulous novel Wuthering Heights? " I died." "Oh, okay. I did not know that.") Some were so stunned by their one novel’s success they were struck dumb (Harper Lee, Margaret Mitchell). Some were playwrights who must have thought heck, this novel business can’t be that hard, I can do that, and found they actually couldn’t very well (Oscar Wilde, Berthold Brecht). One took about 25 years to come up with a novel which is The Worst Book In the World – yes, Marguerite Young! - it’s really an achievement, you try and write the Worst Book in the World, it sounds easy but it ain’t).
E E Cummings turned out to be a very interesting but often irritating poet but aged 23 he over-wrote this 200 page memoir about being wrongly imprisoned as a spy in World War 1 France and it was published as a novel.
Ugh, it isn’t good. I thought it would be quirky, like his poetry, but it’s hoity-toity and leadenfooted, like a vicar made to dance a tango at gunpoint. I was struggling to get to page 40 so I found an audiobook version on Youtube and tried that but that was even worse, like a vicar trying to balance a wedding cake on his head whilst dancing the tango at gunpoint.
The shrinking light which my guide held had become suddenly minute; it was beating, senseless and futile, with shrill fists upon a thick enormous moisture of gloom. To the left and right through lean oblongs of stained glass burst dirty burglars of moonlight.
Abandoned with relief. -
War-time Japes
The Enormous Room, the fictionalised account of Cummings's arrest and incarceration by the French on charges of sedition during WWI, reads like a Billy Bunter story. The protagonist is obnoxious and endearing in about equal measure.
The various French authorities (and for that matter American, Cummings accommodates everyone), from the snobbish regional police chief to his medievally minded jailers are more or less treated with the disdain a clever 12 year old feels, but rarely shows, for his boarding school headmaster.
But Cummings does show what he feels on every possible occasion. One finds it necessary to be more English than the English if sufficiently provoked, '"Very well, gentlemen," I said. "You will allow me to tell you something." (I was beet-colored.) "In America that sort of thing isn't done."' His Back Bay breeding can't be faulted for lack of pluck.
Cummings was nothing if not an all-appreciating aesthete: "The door was massively made, all of iron or steel I should think. It delighted me. The can excited my curiosity. I looked over the edge of it. At the bottom reposefully lay a new human turd." Quickly, however, Cummings engages more fully with his Kafka-esque situation. He doesn't know why he has been arrested or where he is to be detained. But even then the mystery is another opportunity for appreciative admiration, "everything seemed ridiculously suppressed, beautifully abnormal, deliciously insane."
The adventures in a French underworld of deserters, spies, war prisoners, and various unfortunates continue like a sequel to the Count of Monte Cristo. Cummings never loses his Bostonian noblesse oblige and sang froid : "I contemplate the bowl which contemplates me. A glaze of greenish grease seals the mystery of its content, I induce two fingers to penetrate the seal. They bring me up a flat sliver of cabbage and a large, hard, thoughtful, solemn, uncooked bean. To pour the water off (it is warmish and sticky) without committing a nuisance is to lift the cover off Ça Pue. I did."
And of course one's true calling can never be denied even in extreme duress: Lacking a pencil or other suitable drawing instrument, he must make do: "So I took matches, burnt, and with just 60 of them wrote the first stanza of a ballade. To-morrow I will write the second. Day after to-morrow the third.Next day the refrain. After—oh, well." The finest etiquette must always be observed, even, no perhaps especially, when it serves no social purpose: "I did not sing out loud, simply because the moon was like a mademoiselle, and I did not want to offend the moon."
The Enormous Room is, I believe, Cummings first literary effort. It is a practice piece in sustained irony that suggests much about where he is going and some of where he did not. An interesting, periodically entertaining, piece of dark humour. And probably excellent therapy for his PTSD. -
E.E. Cummings is best known as a poet but his first published work was actually an autobiographical novel. It was based on his experiences of incarceration at the desolate, La Ferté-Macé detention camp in Normandy during WW1. Despite his pacifist leanings, Cummings had travelled to wartime France to become an ambulance driver but once there, letters home from his close friend and colleague B. were intercepted by the French authorities. Their interpretation of the contents as anti-war, and possibly pro-German, led to Cummings and B being arrested on suspicion of espionage. Cummings’s title refers to the enormous room he shared with a group of his fellow prisoners in the months leading up to his trial.
Cummings’s account doesn’t follow standard novelistic conventions, its structure’s based on Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress so that it’s couched as a slightly ironic, semi-spiritual, journey towards an odd form of personal enlightenment, a process shaped by encounters with the camp’s numerous inmates and staff. Chapters move between isolated scenes and prolonged character studies. The meandering style reflects the impact of captivity on the flow, and sense, of time passing. Cummings himself veers between contempt and amusement as he chronicles the outbursts of violence, the sadism, petty cruelties and squalor of daily life in the c& and the friendships that made his existence bearable from The Bear a hapless anarchist to the down-at-heel Count Bragard who claimed to know Cezanne. The result’s an unusual, mish-mash of self-consciously, modernist elements and more traditional prose including numerous nods to popular authors like Charles Dickens. When The Enormous Room was published in 1922, it drew praise from writers like Fitzgerald, Dos Passos and T. E. Lawrence but its actual sales were dismal.
Anyone familiar with prison-based narratives will recognise certain details of Cummings’ story: the hierarchical structures, small-scale corruption that can make the day bearable or a torment, moments of rebellion, and the joy of unexpected, albeit miniature, victories over oppression. Cummings’s descriptions of the enormous room sometimes have a phantasmagorical flavour, represented by his use of painterly imagery and his many striking, memorable phrases. This bizarre, hallucinatory aspect mingles with more mundane depictions of mealtimes and periods of recreation in the small, outside yard. There are episodes too that have an almost-sociological feel, particularly the ones outlining the guards’ brutal treatment of the women held in the adjoining camp, presided over by the power-crazed camp director, nicknamed Apollyon after Bunyan’s satanic villain.
It’s a very difficult book to assess, there are some marvellous, hypnotic passages, and others that really drag. There are also a number of elements that made me extremely uncomfortable: countless, awkward invocations of stereotypes involving Jewish people, and the deeply-patronising rendering of Cummings’s fellow prisoner dubbed “Jean Le Negre”. These highlighted some of the reasons why Cummings’s work has fuelled debates over whether or not he was essentially racist – not just in terms of the prevailing attitudes of his time but in a more developed, individual sense. It’s clear Cummings was fond of Jean, perhaps even admired him, but at the same time the way he talks about him has an unpleasant, “benignly” racist tinge, underlined by his repeated references to Jean as childish or child-like - perhaps foreshadowing Cummings’ later political conservatism and his promoting of right-wing perspectives. Overall, it’s a fascinating feat of writing, and an invaluable historical record, but equally it’s very much a problem piece. This NYRB edition comes with a useful introduction by Nicholas Delblanco.
Thanks to Edelweiss and publisher NYRB Classics for an ARC -
If I had the power to describe e.e. cummings's prose, I'd be even more of a genius than he was. I can't understand why he spent so much time writing poetry instead. Who else speaks of "a spic, not to say span, gentleman"? Observes a man "buckle his personality" and "bang forward with bigger and bigger feet"? Explains that he "hoisted my suspicious utterances upon my shoulder, which recognized the renewal of hostilities with a neuralgic throb"? Says that "rain did, from time to time, not fall: from time to time a sort of unhealthy almost-light leaked from the large uncrisp corpse of the sky"? And introduces a character thus: "By some mistake he had three mustaches, two of them being eyebrows. In speaking to you his kind face is reduced to triangles. And his tie buttons on every morning with a Bang! And off he goes; led about by his celluloid collar, gently worried about himself, delicately worried about the world" . . . ?
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Halfway through, even two-thirds of the way through, I was struggling with this book. I was struggling until almost the very end when all of a sudden, I realized two things. Firstly, what the book was really about - friendship and the sense of freedom and confidence felt when one has gotten through a terrible experience alive. Secondly, that the author had made me emotionally struggle when he was struggling and I felt emotionally relieved, revived and so alive when he felt so too. The emotional contrast was palpable. His words had made me feel what he had felt.
This is said to be an autobiographical novel. It describes e.e. cummings’ three-and- a-half-month imprisonment at a “dépot de triage”, a military sorting / detention camp at La Ferté-Macé, Normandy, in the fall and winter of 1917. Edward Estlin Cummings (1894 - 1962) and his friend, William Slater Brown (1896 – 1997), were awaiting the verdict of a military commission that would rule on their guilt. Release or transfer to prison is what awaited them. The two friends were working with the American Red Cross in France, serving as ambulance drivers during the First World War. Several of Brown’s letters, expressing anti-war sentiments, had been intercepted by military censors. Questioned by authorities, Cummings staunchly supported and reconfirmed his close friendship with Brown; both were arrested, Brown on the basis of his letters and Cummings merely on the basis of his friendship with Brown. Clearly, Cummings was young and naïve and had no conception of the danger his insubordinance and smart-aleck talk would place him in. It was wartime; you do not play around with the military!
While the book might be about the incompetence of the French, Cummings having been arrested on weak grounds, , instead the book is about the inmates of the camp, inmates of many nationalities sharing the large but cramped, filthy room where they slept, ate and came to know each other. See the title; the enormous room is the room in which they lived. For me, the injustices they shared and the friendships that arose are the primary focus of the book. e.e. cummings writes so you experience the deplorable, appreciate small kindnesses and the glory of surviving.
The audiobook I listened to was narrated by Luis Moreno. The narration I have given five stars. He speaks French as the French speak it.
You must know French to read this book. French terms, phrases and sentences are interspersed throughout; they are in every paragraph. Often there are French and English words in one sentence. I loved this. It is a book written in two languages, each language used when it fits best. You must know French idioms and how they are to be interpreted. Nothing is translated. If you do not know French it will be a glorious pain to have to look up every word. You need to understand the words to appreciate the book.
The style of the book is experimental. For good and for bad. Individuals are referred to by their initials or nicknames. Cummings’ experience is described in subjective terms. The writing is creative and not necessarily objective or clear. It can feel disjointed and choppy and quite often confusing. Remember, I said the book gave me lots of trouble. This is why! What we experience is upsetting, but when at the end the hopeful tone comes through I marveled at the extent to which my emotions were in the author’s hands.
Is this fiction or non-fiction? The framing events, Cummings’ travel to and exit from the detention camp is not fictionalized, but his reaction to the inmates is subjective. Neither do we know if what the inmates told him is true.
Most of this book was difficult to read. Do not give up before the end. That e.e. cummings could make me feel so uncomfortable and edgy and then so happy and glad at the end, strikes me as remarkable. -
He preferred that his name be written as “e. e. cummings” because some of his poems were also all in lowercase. I’ve read some of those and I really liked them so when I saw this book, even at a regular price, I immediately bought and read this.
Edward Estlin Cummings (1894-1962) was an American poet, painter, essayist, author, and playwright. He wrote poetry daily from the age of 8 to 22. During World War I, when he was 23, he volunteered as ambulance driver in France. He went there with a friend and colleague, William Slater Brown (who he referred to simply as B in this book). Brown wrote and sent letters back home with anti-war sentiments. The French government opened all the outgoing letters so Brown was arrested. Cummings was invited for questioning. He defended his friend and stood pat for his innocence so he was also arrested and incarcerated. This book, The Enormous Room details his experience inside the jail that lasted for 4 months.
What was this thing about young American artists who joined WWI as ambulance drivers? Hemingway at 19 went to Italy to work as ambulance driver and he captured his experience in his beautiful novel Farewell to Arms. Then here came Cummings, who at 23, went to Paris also to work as ambulance driver and capture his experience in this semi-autobiographical novel The Enormous Room.
Being more known as poet rather that a novelist, I was expecting to see many elements of poetry in this book. I particularly enjoy reading his poems as they are brief but still create vivid imageries in my mind. An example is this opening of the second chapter En Route:”I Put the bed-roll down. I stood up.
However, these short poetic verses came far and between. The book was not able to satisfy my hunger for his beautiful poetic lines.
I was myself.”
I also had to read this twice. During my first reading, I ignored the many French phrases. I reasoned to myself that I did not bother knowing the translation of the Indian words in Kiran Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss and yet I found the book amazing (5 stars). So I just went on and on reading the pages until I came to the Appendix and saw the Glossary and found the phrases there. Then after the Glossary was a letter of Cumming’s father writing to President Woodrow Wilson asking for help to locate his missing son. The letter struck me as very poignant and I was able to relate to it as a father myself. I thought I missed the whole point of the story because there was no mention of his father looking for him during the whole 4 years that he was in jail. I thought that I missed the emotional aspect of the story because if you read this book only on the contextual aspect, it is so plain and simple: just as case of injustice and insensitivity done to an American youth by some people of the French government. A government that was supposed to be an ally rather than an enemy.
So, I decided to read the book the second time. It was an arduous and slow read because I had to refer to the Glossary almost every paragraph. Cummings put a lot of French words and phrases to give that foreign authenticity to his story. I have no background on French language but I learned so many words, although prison words, from this book.
Which artist-volunteered-as-ambulance-driver book is better? I still prefer Farewell to Arms because it was a love story. Cummings did not have any love interest here. The women and men have separate facilities. Also, there was no openly gay inmate so there was no gay-thing in the jail like in Manuel Puig’s Kiss of the Spider Woman. This was just like reading a straightforward jail drama like Borstal Boy the 1958 semi-autobiographical novel by Brendan Behan. That’s was the only other serious all-male jail drama that I’ve read so far.
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It struck me at the time as intensely interesting that, in the case of a certain type of human being, the more cruel are the miseries inflicted upon him the more cruel does he become toward anyone who is so unfortunate as to be weaker or more miserable than himself."
― E.E. Cummings, The Enormous Room
Prison Literature as a genre is fascinating. Like war literature, there is this gap between those who have actually lived in prison and their experiences and those who imagine. Certainly the job of the fiction writer is to explore spaces unknown to most, and perhaps unknown even to the author. Science Fiction is filled with writing that follows that pattern. However, from the several novels I've read by authors who have actually been in prison (like books written by those who have actually fought in war), the experience seems to create an almost surreal or absurd view of things. E.E. Cummings who was incarcerated by the French during WWI because of letters written by his friend, portrays this absurdity of confinement in this novel, and just as Dostoevsky does in
Notes from a Dead House or Solzhenitsyn does in
One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. I could continue the list with works by Paul Bunyan, Cervantes, Marque de Sade, Chester Himes, O. Henry, Jack London, Jean Genet, Oscar Wilde, etc. I could also include the political writing and books by Napoleon, Hitler, Malcom X, Mussolini, etc.
Obviously, the political tracts written in prison (or even the religious tracts too) deserve a lot of attention, but 'The Enormous Room' has more in common with Kafka and the modernists than it does with any protest writing. It is the attempt by the trapped artist to create something from an experience. It is a scratch to explain, a scribble to remember, a set of words meant to make sense of the absurdity of the cell. This isn't a perfect book and I will be the first to admit I prefer E.E. Cummings poetry to his prose. But it is also an important marker. It is a novel that shows just how warped even good systems can get during war, and just how pleasant some captives really are. In many ways Cummings wasn't writing to right some wrong, or to expose some evil. He seemed to treat his experience in France as almost an illness, a temporary convalescence that served as a puparium. It wasn't an obvious transformation. He didn't walk in an innocent and exit an artist, but it seemed to be a vector of growth, an accelerant toward the artist.
As I write this I also think there is a natural pull of artist and prison. Does that seem harsh? Prisons represent the ultimate impulse to control for conformity. It is natural that this impulse seeks out and grabs the artist; the ultimate non-conformist. Society is always trying to keep the artist in check, and when the odd, the aberrant, the avante-garde appears too far ahead, too dangerous for the masses, it is often easier for society to just lock the odd up. I don't think this is likely to ever change. There will always be conflict between Pan and Panopticon. -
Here's a revelation: cummings could write! Hey: the Astros are scumfuck cheaters! (me with the insights this morning.) His sole novel is a look at what may have been had old e.e. decided to write straight prose rather than 'pomes.' The end result is an exceptionally well-written, if a tad overlong, curio of a genius not generally recognized for his polymathic abilities (well beyond 'letters' and 'words,' whatever the fuck those are).
If it's overlong, you can't blame him. It is the story of his imprisonment, and we each get to create the edifices by which our individual mythologies may be worshipped by others. Eazy-e.e. does a fine job here, and I light upon his a votive rather than 'teach 10,000 stars how not to dance' ("you shall above all things be glad and young;” New Poems, 1940). -
Imagine if "A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich" was funny. Yeah, that's kind of what "The Enormous Room" is like. I'm glad I read it. But I'm also really glad Cummings stuck to poetry after this. Fiction is definitely not his thing. He spends most of the book writing character sketches of all the other inmates, and giving them cute nicknames. And I suppose it's easy to be light-hearted about the time you spent in a French prison/detention center if you were only there for 4 months. There's nothing really disturbing about "The Enormous Room." The guards are assholes some of the time, but mostly he just describes them as being moronic. There's no real villain here, other than the French government, as you discover the piddly things most of these men (and women) did to get thrown in prison. Cummings never really becomes despondent over his time there. And actually he rejoices a little over not being at the front any more. Who wouldn't? Still, a pleasant diversion of a novel.
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Ugh. Not finishing and NOT going to.
I absolutely adore e.e.cummings poetry. But this memoir of his months in a French prison during WWI just does absolutely nothing for me. I was pushing myself to keep going, and kept pushing, but after getting about 60% of the way through, I give up.
I can see why this would work for other people, but it just didn't work for me. It comes off as a series of barely organized anecdotes, with a thin thread of only semi-chronological narrative winding through. Sure, the way he analyzes and describes people might be interesting and funny - and I normally appreciate the use of irony, cynicism. This reminds me of Vonnegut, only - for whatever reason - Vonnegut "works" for me, and this does not. I found it disjointed and highly annoying. It was about as meaningful to me as reading someone else's notes taken in shorthand.
I'm at least glad to see that others really enjoyed this, and that it comes by its classic status appropriately. We all can't like everything - even every good thing! (That's right, I don't like carrots - the harmless healthy carrot.) -
Although I have always been a tremendous fan of cummings' poetry, even going so far as to purchase one of his paintings, I was truly pleased when one of my professors loaned me his personal copy of this book. It soon became uncomfortably clear that cummings and I had certain similarities, mosty centered around insisting that we do things which only fit our narrow moral compass...and making flippant remarks concerning such to those in charge of our lives.
While this story is about cummings when he went to WWI as an ambulance driver in France, his lack of enthusiasm for the cause of war in general got him thrown into a French jail for 4 months. He was, after all, a suspicious character and it is the easiest thing in the world to round up suspicious characters.
The jail is a real... hole and the reader feels the sinking feeling being forced upon him quickly as he realizes just how much stark reality of depravity is staring him in the face. Nevertheless, this book is a story about not just coming to grips with his cell mates, but humanizing each of them in a wonderful way. cummings achieves a kind of solitude, one guesses, which he had always sought, but had been unable to find. In truth finding solitude at a young age is next to impossible only because of the things playing on in one's own head.
In a way, this is a story of Dante's own pathway through hell and finally a kind of heavenly modern salvation. It was at least something I could understand in my opinionated twentieth century soul... and the sounds rang perfectly clear. cummings essentially does find a kind of salvation by having everything reasonable about the world wrested from him... and he rises to the occasion to achieve it. While no doubt the experience was far more terrible than this book depicts, one can understand not only the generation of his thoughts, but his friendships with others there... and the impression he must have made finally on them.
As I recall, cummings would never say anything further about this period of his life in public or to his friends. When one is tempted, it seems to me, to ask a question, one should simply read this book again and find the answer. It is in prose, of course, but it is written much like a poem. It is evocative and it is powerful beyond the words used in it.
While I have suggested that in this he achieved a kind of salvation, perhaps it is better put another way: one has to achieve this kind of salvation before one understands what the real thing actually is. If nothing else, this book is quite capable of shutting down that spurious noise of the life you think is important and forcing you to look hard into the darkness for one's own answers. -
This book can sometimes get a little tedious. The author’s subject matter, his own military imprisonment in France during World War I, isn’t inherently all that interesting. On the author hand, I was greatly impressed by e.e. Cummings’ objectivity, attention to detail, sense of existential humor, and powers of observation and analysis. Cummings’ excellent prose even at this early age makes it clear that he might have been a major prose writer had he not privileged poetry. His later snd more experimental travelogue on Russia proves that point.
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This as my second attempt, didn't beyond a third of the way through on the first go. This time with the help of serial reader I've finished. For me this could have been so much more enjoyable if I'd felt empathy with the characters.
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ugh.
if anyone says this is their favorite book, it is the only book they’ve ever read. and even then i would question their judgment.
maybe it was unfair to think i would get a rosa luxemburg out of this but seriously, how boring can 3 months as a prisoner of war be? and how obnoxiously this man described the other prisoners, as if europeans are some sort of alien species. nope, this wasn’t for me. -
In my opinion, THE ENORMOUS ROOM is absolutely a must-read for every aspiring writer. Perhaps because Cummings was an artist as well, fond of sketching the characters and situations he describes in his book, he has a gift, better than any author I have ever read, for capturing and recording both the physical aspect and the personality of each of his characters.
THE ENORMOUS ROOM is an eclectic jumble of many things. On the one hand, it is a war story. It takes place over the three months of autumn, roughly, of 1917. Cummings’ and his friend B had volunteered to serve in the French Red Cross, Section Sanitaire, No. 21, during World War I, and they had completed three of their requisite six months of service when the book begins. On the other hand, the book is far less about the war itself, and far more about the administrative idiocy of the French Government during the war. It is, perhaps, a prison story — it is Cummings’ general account of the three months he spent at La Ferté-Macé, which was sort of a temporary holding place for those people the French government suspected of wrongdoing but had not yet been proven criminals. The whole account is told with such joy, such cheerfulness and amiability, that one almost forgets how horrifying the conditions really were for the prisoners.
At its heart, the book is a series of portraits. They might even be called caricatures, for their peculiarly laughable and exaggerated quality. It is a marvelous collection of in-depth, often chapter-long descriptions of the various characters from all walks of life who have been deemed, for some reason or other, a threat to the French government and therefore worthy of imprisonment. If nothing else (though it is, in fact, many other things as well) it is a technical study in how to describe personalities and physiques engagingly and accurately; how to paint a visual picture of a character and at the same time study his or her psychology.
As an added persuasion to pick this one up from the dusty shelves of the classics, I might also point out the undercurrents of political commentary on the wartime treatment of prisoners and the blatant and overwhelming idiocy of bureaucracy; the themes of innocence and simplicity that run through the book like little silver streams; or the fact that Cummings was the first author to use two languages at the same time in this style, for French is incorporated easily and fluidly alongside the English (after all, they were in a French prison, maintained by French gendarmes, and at the mercy of the French government), with a full glossary at the end of all the French terms and their translations. There are so many reasons to read this, all of them equally valuable.
What a magical, artistic, delightful book.
To read the full review I wrote of the book, click here.
Enjoy! -
I read this book based on some random internet recommendation. It was in a list of "books you have to read you've never heard of before" type list. The author of that list was correct in that I'd never heard of it before. I'm not sure it was one I had to read though.
I actually haven't read anything by cummings before so I had no idea what to expect in terms of style or content. In fact, I knew very little to nothing about cummings beyond his name and reputation. I didn't even know his gender before reading this book. I had always thought e.e. was a woman.
I learned quite a bit about the author as I read this book which describes his time in a french prison camp during the first world war. I also was reminded, quite frequently, that I don't know French very well. I could pick out the odd phrase or word but, for the most part, there were major sections of dialog that transpired where I knew nothing of the contents.
I suppose, to some extent, that is my own fault. I could have kept a computer handy and used google translate to get the gist. But, that isn't really how I read so there are, undoubtedly, many parts of the book I just didn't get.
At times the author seems to ramble and I think, maybe, the formatting for the kindle and my lack of knowledge of French combine to make this rambling seem even more disjointed.
Overall, I enjoyed the book and I'd love to know -
3.5 stars. An interesting autobiographical novel about the American author's experiences as a prisoner in France for four months in 1917. 'Enormous Room' refers to a large room where Cummings slept beside 30 or so other prisoners. At the time the author was 23 years old. He volunteered as ambulance driver in France and went with a friend, William Brown. Brown wrote and sent letters with anti-war sentiments to his relations/friends in the USA. Brown's letters were opened by French authorities and the authorities deemed the letters acts of treason. Brown was arrested and Cummings was questioned. He defended his friend and was also arrested.
The characters Cummings associated with are well described. Mexique, the Zulu, the Wanderer and Jean Le Negre are all memorable individuals. Whilst an interesting read, there is little in the way of plot momentum. -
Cummings, imprisoned for supporting anti-war sentiments in France, describes the strange and poorly-run prison where he spent the end of the war.
Though he's devastatingly clever and does his fair share of attacking the madness and incompetence of the French government and the modern world in general, what's really striking about this book is the voice of the speaker. He's full of amusement and wonder, despite the awful things going on around him, and choosing to focus on the memorable characters he met in prison. There's an acceptance and a sense of adventure that permeates the book, and in the end he's actually disappointed to be released. It seems Cummings would rather be locked up with the weirdos than running free with the mindless masses. -
I am calling this book 'finished' even though I have not finished it. I don't get it. It's by E.E. Cummings, the humerous poet. But I don't know if this is comedy, satire, drama, tragedy. Mostly I just found the 100+ pages that I read kind of boring. Not much happens, and I am not sure what happens when it does. It feels like a WWI 'Catch-22' in some way, but I really am not sure if it's satire. If anybody knows, do let me know!
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Not at all what I expected, easy to read and enjoyable, plus auto-biographical.
Interesting for the subject material but found the sense of humour a bit trying from time to time. -
My review for the Time Literary Supplement:
https://www.the-tls.co.uk/articles/th... -
"But if he could describe it all
He would be an artist.
But if he were an artist there would he deeper wounds
Which he could not describe."
--from "Silence" by Edgar Lee Masters
I discovered that poem when I was younger, and those lines at the end of a stanza about a former solider who's unable to talk about what WWI was like for him have stuck with me. Every time I opened this book, I couldn't help them running through my head.
e.e. cummings is one of my favorite poets, but until earlier this year I'd had no idea that he'd spent nearly 5 months in a French prison camp during WWI, let alone that he'd written a book about it. What sets this book apart from other prison memoirs is the lightness and hope and humor with which it is told. Cummings is truly an artist, and he is able to describe everything (people, surroundings, circumstances, events) in the most amazing ways. What impressed me most about this book was the number of layers Cummings was able to create with his words. The events and circumstances he relates are truly horrific, but the way he describes them takes the horror out and frequently makes them almost humorous--until you stop and think about what he's really saying, and what he's not saying.
I'm not an artist, and therefore lack the words or the ability to convey just how much reading this book impacted me. What the blurb doesn't say is that Cummings CHOSE to go to prison with his friend (called simply B. throughout the book). I'm convinced that it's this inherent generosity of spirit, combined with spectacular artistry with words, that make this book so hopeful.
Since I don't have the words, I'll leave some of Cummings' to give an idea at least of the genius here.
About his purpose in writing this book:
"I do not purpose to inflict upon the reader a diary of my alternative aliveness and non-existence at La Ferte"
About walking through the night with his two guards to reach La Ferte Mace:
"Everything seemed ridiculously suppressed, beautifully abnormal, deliciously insane."
"the delicious silence of the night (in which our words rattled queerly like tin soldiers in a plush-lined box)"
"I banged forward with bigger and bigger feet."
About the yard (Cummings calls it the cour) where the prisoners are let out to walk:
"on my right, grey sameness of stone, the ennui of the regular and the perpendicular, the ponderous ferocity of silence...."
About people at La Ferte:
"Behind me the bedslippered rooster uhahingly shuffled."
"By some mistake he had three moustaches, two of them being eyebrows."
"Lessons hide in his wrinkles. Bells ding in the oldness of his eyes."
"The Bear.... A big, shaggy person, a farmer.... I hardly think he was a dangerous bear. Had I been the French Government I should have let him go berrying, as a bear must and should, to his heart's content."
"You did not know Afrique suddenly. You became cognizant of Afrique gradually."
"When the Fighting Sheeny grinned you felt that he desired to eat you, and was prevented from eating you only by a superior desire to eat everybody at once."
"neither of these things killed him--on the contrary, he merely turned into a ghost, thereby fooling the excellent French Government within an inch of its foolable life."
"As Bill the Hollander's thunder crescendoed steadily, cramming the utmost corners of The Enormous Room with Gottverdummers which echoingly telescoped one another, producing a dim huge shaggy mass of vocal anger"
"watch him scratching his back (exactly like a bear) on the wall ... or in the cour, speaking to no one, sunning his soul...."
"and laughed throughout his whole body"
"She struck me immediately as being not only intelligent but alive."
About politics:
"the [great] and [good] nations demanded of their respective peoples the exact antithesis to thinking; said antitheses being vulgarly called Belief."
"in finding us unworthy of helping to carry forward the banner of progress, alias the tricolour, the inimitable and excellent French government was conferring upon B. and myself--albeit with other intent--the ultimate compliment."
"it takes a good and great government perfectly to negate mercy."
Awesomesauce:
"There are certain things in which one is unable to believe for the simple reason that he never ceases to feel them. Things of this sort--things which are always inside of us and, in fact, are us and which consequently will not be pushed off or away where we can begin thinking about them--are no longer things; they, and the us which they are, equals A Verb; an IS."
"And I say Yes, feeling that Yes in my belly and in my head at the same instant"
"His eyes opened. I have never seen eyes since"
"my blood was bombarding the roots of my toes and the summits of my hair."
"I gave him a pleasant smile, which said, If I could see your intestines very slowly embracing a large wooden drum rotated by means of a small iron crank turned gently and softly by myself, I should be extraordinarily happy"
"in front of and on and within my eyes lived suddenly a violent and gentle and dark silence."
"I am standing in The Enormous Room for the last time. I am saying good-bye. No, it is not I who am saying good-bye. It is in fact somebody else, possibly myself." -
Cummings was an ambulance driver in France in WWI, and when his friend's letters fell foul of the censor he was interned at La Ferte under suspicion of spying. Amidst the great tragedies of that war, a few months of unpleasantness while his family tracked him down and secured his release is but a minor inconvenience and Cummings does downplay its importance. Indeed this is an almost cheerful, insouciant view into the world of this almost-prison laid bare - the food, the plantons (guards), the fights, the conniving ways of glimpsing the women's camp next door, the exercise yard, the random punishments, the lice, the cold, the petty quarrels. The ever-changing inmates of the Enormous Room are the chief source of fascination - Jean Le Negre, the Mexique, the Holland Skipper. An interesting work: this is the chaos of war writ small. Sort of without the attention-grabbing shoutiness of capital letters.
-
It’s not THAT big.
-
E. E. Cummings, The Enormous Room (Liveright, 1921)
Cummings became famous for his poetry, but before that he wrote a now obscure novel-cum-memoir about his temporary imprisonment during World War I, The Enormous Room. Modeled loosely after Bunyan's magnum opus, Pilgrim's Progress, Cummings gives us the arrest and detention (for he is never sent to prison, only detained awaiting the word of the Commission on whether he is to be imprisoned or freed) of a friend of his and himself. The friend is charged with treason after writing letters home critical of the French government; Cummings is charged with nothing but being his friend.
The book touches all the expected bases; the horrors of war, problems with authority, etc., etc. Nothing here you haven't seen before. What causes it to stand out is Cummings' treatment of the whole thing. Cummings takes an horrific experience and makes it a whimsical way to pass the time, only allowing enough of the horror to show through so that the reader can understand the irony of Cummings' presentation here.
The book is well-written, though a bit jarring in places; it is written rather like you would hear the story from someone sitting next to you at the club smoking a cigar, although all too overeager at times. Cummings' enthusiasm for his subject, though, is a refreshing change from the usual war novel. This is not a book that is easy to digest, but is worth the effort. *** ½ -
So this is what you get when a poet writes a fictionalized (?) account of his 4 months' detention in France during WWI. There's little of 'story' here - just a constellation of character sketches (including Cummings' actual drawings of his fellow inmates), the lovely occasional insight, and a lot of clever and delightful phrases. Hard to read all at once; I confess I skimmed the last 50 pages, but it's worth the time to go at a more pedestrian pace and savor all the little bits of humor in the way he writes (but note that he uses French liberally, a la Cormac McCarthy and l'espanol, so it helps to speak some francais to get the most out of this).
Also, nice for thinking about wartime detention and all its problems. "For who was eligible to La Ferte? Anyone whom the police could find in the lovely country of France (a) who was not guilty of treason (b) who could not prove that he was not guilty of treason. By treason I refer to any little annoying habits of independent thought or action which en temps de guerre are put in a hole and covered over, with the somewhat naive idea that from their cadavers violets will grow whereof the perfume will delight all good men and true and make such worthy citizens forget their sorrows." -
In the last few months I've read two extraordinary first hand accounts of life in the trenches of the first world war, Junger's "Storm of Steel" and Barbusse's "Under Fire." Cummings's tale is every bit as vivid as those and - surprisingly - no less horrifying, despite taking place hundreds of miles behind the front lines. I would have preferred to take my chances in the trenches rather than in the "enormous room" described here...
Cummings writes with a strange, semi-detached kind of irony which I think makes the writing especially powerful, particularly on those occasions when he just can't keep up the bantering style and breaks down into real passion. And make no mistake, he has every right to be angry - at the stupidity and injustice of the ungrateful French and the treacherous Americans who landed him in their penal system and then appeared to forget him for far too long. I doubt if a single one of the inmates of the enormous room deserved incarceration, and certainly not in a place run on such corrupt and cruel lines. The accounts of racial injustice are heartbreaking, but mitigated by Cummings's obvious decency and humanity. Powerful stuff. -
OK, maybe 2.5 stars.
This book has excellent prose. If this fulfills your needs then this by all means you'll love it. The English is floral seasoned with a lot of French. Still it reminds me of Cheech & Chong:
The first day of my summer vacation:
I woke up, then I went downtown to look for a job. Then I hung out in front of the drug store.
The second day of my summer vacation:
I woke up, then I went downtown to look for a job. Then I hung out in front of the drug store.
The third day of my summer vacation:
I woke up, then I went downtown to look for a job. The I hung out in front of the drug store....
I read after all the character development that is gets better.
At 54% in I no longer care.
