A delightful little french book which for years I imagined far longer and more philosophically, essay oriented; rather than an artfully compact picturesque novel full of clever philosophy and historical insight.
It appears that Voltaire published tons, however little divulged in the mass spotlight over the centuries. Many of the concepts and happenings referred to in Candide reappear in those other, less fictionalized texts if the footnotes have anything to say. Ie, there’s endless intriguing reference to Siècle de Louis XIV and Louis XV.
A lot of Candide projects remarkable Quijote influence. Manifold are the refrains and repetitions to principles, beliefs and passed trials; likewise the distinctly episodic and geographically ranging chapter progression. Though where Don Quijote strictly roams Spain, Candide (the protagonist) covers much of the world in the otherwise compacter narrative but likewise abounding in constant change of fortune.
And though philosophies are numerous, the one predominant coincides: frame your reality positively, constructively, despite the horrid motley of setbacks at every step. And good things will come. Or rather, things to be perceived as generally good, if properly framed.
Candide is also a darkly satirical novel in ways far more explicit than Quijote. But enough of juxtaposing the two.
There’s much ugliness, vulgarity and arguably offensive innuendo depicted, however honest, in ways I suppose not common for the eighteenth century; from where I imagine the difficulty with publishing, the anonymity and the supposed ‘German translation’ gimmick.
Candide is, for the most part, a severe social critique. The atrocities of war and colonization, poor governing, female inequality, the Inquisition, Jews, are among the subjects receiving notable reprimand. Islam (in more the secular fashion rather than religious of the Arabian Nights) is, on the other hand, more positively conveyed, a growing trend in stark contrast to the older European tradition.
The novel is extravagantly paced. The phenomenal literary byproduct and the underlying sordidness aside, the ultra-hyper setting metamorphosis (along with the other ultra - the satire) reminds me of something closer to Rick and Morty, if I may slip a near vulgar contemporary reference.
Goethe’s Faust would make for the less vulgar, albeit with tons of sinister, metaphysical development, whereas Candide only philosophizes metaphysics.
(Without having research, I’m near certain plenty of graphic adaptions have leveraged Candide’s accommodating comic structure.)
The narrative opens in Germany close to the Seven Year War and develops from there in a religiously intolerant Western Europe; the voice cycling between Candide’s inexperienced naïveness and the semi opaque, not too invasive narrator.
Leading characters engage in philosophical discourse, all the while exposed to the ugliest of affairs chronicled in a stoically disconnected voice. The setbacks, the swindles, the murders, the butchery, the barbarism, the rape, the acts of war, all reflect the honest side of our human nature, without romantic pretense.
Much obscure history referenced, I didn’t find it strictly inhibiting to enjoy the overall development.
Sometimes the events take on a fantastique, allegorical twist; a poetic diversion, if you will, to contrast the otherwise fast paced realism.
For the most part, despite the bleakness depicted, the pacing and the attitude inspire the comical more than anything. Such is the power of well handled satire. Something of Swift and Moliere lies within.
Speaking of which, if you enjoy Moliere, Swift, Balzac, Flaubert, Cervantes, Goethe, or any of those particularly heavy satirists; if you enjoy the Arabian Nights, whose narrative structure also influences much of Candide’s (something I’m coming to identify across much of Western storytelling); and, as a bonus, if you take to the challenge of reading French, causing you to even more diligently plunge; Candide is of incredible value.
Questions, comments? Connect.