Boris Vian

Boris Vian was a novelist, jazz musician, jazz critic, poet, playwright, a friend of Miles Davis, Duke Ellington, Raymond Queneau, Jean Cocteau, Louis Malle, Jean Paul Sartre, and numerous others of forties and fifties Parisian cultural society. He was also a French translator of American hard-boiled crime novels. One of his discoveries was an African-American writer by the name of Vernon Sullivan. Vian translated Sullivan's I Spit on Your Graves. The book is about a 'white Negro' who acts out an act of revenge against a small Southern town, in repayment for the death of his brother, who was lynched by an all white mob. Upon its release, I Spit on Your Graves became a bestseller in France, as well as a instruction manual for a copycat killer whose copy of I Spit on Your Graves was found by the murdered body of a prostitute with certain violent passages underlined. A censorship trail also came up where Sullivan as the author was held responsible for the material. It was later disclosed that Vian himself wrote the book and made up the identity of Vernon Sullivan! This edition is a translation by Vian, that was never published in America. I Spit on Your Graves is an extremely violent sexy hard-boiled novel about racial and class prejudice, revenge, justice, and is itself a literary oddity due to the fact that it was written by a jazz-loving white Frenchman, who had never been to America.

Chick, Alise, Chloé et Colin passent leur temps à dire des choses rigolotes, à écouter Duke Ellington et à patiner. Dans ce monde où les pianos sont des mélangeurs à cocktails, la réalité semble ne pas avoir de prise. On se marie à l'église comme on va à la fête foraine et on ignore le travail, qui se réduit à une usine monstrueuse faisant tache sur le paysage. Pied de nez aux conventions romanesques et à la morale commune, L'Écume des jours est un délice verbal et un festin poétique. Jeux de mots, néologismes, décalages incongrus... Vian surenchérit sans cesse, faisant naître comme un vertige chez le lecteur hébété, qui sourit quand il peut. Mais le véritable malaise vient d'ailleurs : ces adolescents éternels à la sensibilité exacerbée constituent des victimes de choix. L'obsession consumériste de Chick, née d'une idolâtrie frénétique pour un certain Jean-Sol Partre, semble vouloir dire que le bonheur ne saurait durer. En effet, l'asphyxie gagne du terrain, et l'on assiste avec effroi au rétrécissement inexorable des appartements. On en veut presque à Vian d'être aussi lucide et de ne pas s'être contenté d'une expérience ludique sur fond de roman d'amour. --Sana Tang-Léopold Wauters