Product Description

Biting and bawdy, smart and smutty, lofty and low, Gargantua and Pantagruel is fantasy on the grandest of scales, told with an unquenchable thirst for all of human experience. Rabelais's vigorous examination of the life of his times—from bizarre battles to great drinking bouts, from satire on religion and education to matter-of-fact descriptions of bodily functions and desires—is one of the great comic masterpieces of literature.

Parts of Gargantua and Pantagruel were banned upon their publication, and the whole of it has suffered in our century at the hands of translators too timid to say in modern English what Rabelais so frankly wrote in Middle French. Master translator Burton Raffel unapologetically brings to life in today's American idiom all the gusto of Rabelais's language. Raffel succeeds in making Gargantua and Pantagruel, so long a great unread classic, accessible and alive to the contemporary reader.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #278370 in Books
• Published on: 1991-09-17
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 640 pages

Features

• ISBN13: 9780393308068
• Condition: NEW
• Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.
• Click here to view our Condition Guide and Shipping Prices

Review
Collective title of five comic novels by Francois Rabelais, published between 1532 and 1564. The novels present the comic and satiric story of the giant Gargantua and his son Pantagruel. The first two novels were published under the anagrammatic pseudonym Alcofribas (Alcofrybas) Nasier. The first book, commonly called Pantagruel (1532), deals with some of the fantastic incidents of the early years of Pantagruel. While at the University of Paris he receives a letter from his father that is still considered an essential exposition of French Renaissance ideals. In Paris Pantagruel also meets the cunning rogue Panurge, who becomes his companion throughout the series. In Gargantua (1534), old-fashioned scholastic pedagogy is ridiculed and contrasted with the humanist ideal of King Francis I, whose efforts to reform the French church Rabelais supported. Le Tiers Livre (1546; "The Third Book") is Rabelais's most profound and erudite work. In it Pantagruel has become a sage; Panurge is self-absorbed and bedeviled, wondering if he should marry. He consults various prognosticators, allowing Rabelais to hold forth on sex, love, and marriage, and to satirize fortune tellers, judges, and poets. Panurge persuades Pantagruel and friends to join him on a voyage to the Oracle of the Holy Bottle in Cathay for an answer. This they do in Le Quart Livre (1552; "The Fourth Book"), which reflects the era's interest in exploration; the Pantagruelians encounter a series of islands that present opportunities for the author to satirize the religious and political forces wreaking havoc on 16th-century Christendom. In a fifth book, Le Cinquieme Livre (1564; of doubtful authenticity), the band arrives at the temple of the Holy Bottle, where the oracle answers Panurge with a single word: "Drink!" -- The Merriam-Webster Encyclopedia of Literature

Grand to see this new rendition of a work full of what life is all about and translated with an equal authenticity. (J. P. Donleavy )

Raffel has done the impossible. . . . [He] has produced a text which is amazingly true to the meaning and the linguistic gusto of the original. (Alain Renoir )

[Raffel] has provided us with a classic work, restored to its original complexity, humor, and gusto. (Library Journal )

Language Notes
Text: English (translation)
Original Language: French

About the Author
Burton Raffel is Distinguished Professor of Humanities at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette Emeritus. He is the translator of many works, including Gargantua and Pantagruel (awarded the French-American Foundation Translation Prize), Père Goriot, Beowulf, and the five romances of Chrétien de Troyes.

Customer Reviews

Review of the Everyman's Library edition
Some of the other reviews summarize the plot and discuss Rabelais' style; my review is directed to people trying to decide which edition to buy. The Everyman's Library edition, which I just received, uses a late seventeenth-century English translation by Sir Thomas Urquhart and Pierre Le Motteux, not the recent Burton Raffel translation. (One might be led to assume that it reprints Raffel, given that the "Search Inside" feature on the Everyman's edition leads you to his translation in a Norton paperback edition.) One should approach the Urquhart/Le Motteux translation with some caution. Terence Cave points out in his (excellent) introduction to the edition that the translation is "extremely free" and expands the first three books by 50%, but at the same time he calls the translation "an extraordinary feat . . . a literary work in its own right." My sense after reading the first book is that he's right--the language has a lively and strange effect--but this is probably not the ideal introduction to Rabelais. There are no editor's notes. Moreover, the snippets of Latin, Greek, and other languages which riddle the text are left untranslated. Perhaps the phrase "charitatis nos faciemus bonum cherubin; ego occidit unum porcum, et ego habet bonum vino" gives you no problems, but if it does, I would recommend a different translation, like Donald Frame's, which Cave specifically recommends in the bibliographical note in his introduction.

I don't want to make this review too long, but it might be useful to see brief excerpts from the Urquhart/Le Motteux, Donald Frame, and Burton Raffel translations for you to judge for yourself which one you would enjoy spending time with. (I don't have the Cohen translation published by Penguin). Here's the description of Gargantua's conception at the opening of Book 1, chapter 3, as rendered by Urquhart/Le Motteux (remember, late seventeenth-century English):

"GRANDGOUSIER was a good fellow in his time, and notable jester; he loved to drink neat, as much as any man that then was in the world, and would willingly eate salt meat: to this intent he was ordinarily well furnished with gammons of Bacon, both of Westphalia, Mayence and Bayone; with store of dried Neats tongues, plenty of Links, Chitterlings and Puddings in their season; together with salt Beef and mustard, a good deale of hard rows of powdered mullet called Botargos, great provision of Sauciges, not of Bolonia (for he feared the Lombard boccone) but of Bigorre, Longaulnauy, Brene, and Rouargue. In the vigor of his age he married Gargamelle, daughter to the King of the Parpaillons, a jolly pug, and well mouthed wench. These two did often times do the two backed beast together, joyfully rubbing & frotting their Bacon 'gainst one another, insofarre, that at last she became great with childe of a faire sonne, and went with him unto the eleventh month . . ."

Donald Frame's version, in up-to-date English:

"GRANDGOUSIER was a great joker in his time, loving to drink hearty as well as any man who was then in the world, and fond of eating salty. To this end, he ordinarily had on hand a good supply of Mainz and Bayonne hams, plenty of smoked ox tongues, an abundance of salted mullets, a provision of sausages (not those of Bologna, for he feared Lombard mouthfuls), but of Bigorre, of Longaulnay, of La Brenne, and of La Rouergue. In his prime, he married Gargamelle, daughter of the king of the Parpaillons, a good looking wench, and these two together often played the two-backed beast, so that she became pregnant with a handsome son and carried him until the eleventh month."

Here is the passage as it stands in the original 1534 edition of Gargantua (following the original orthography):

"Grandgouzier estoit bon raillard en son temps, aymant a boyre net autant que home qui pour lors feust on monde, & mangeoyt volentiers salé. A ceste fin avoit ordinairement bonne munition de jambons de Magence et de Baionne, force langues de beuf fumees, abondance de andouilles en la saison et beuf salé a la moustarde. Renfort de boutargues, provision de saulcisses, non de Bouloigne (car il craignoit ly bouconé de Lombard) mais de bigorre, de Lonquaulnay, de la Brene, & de Rouargue. En son eage virile espousa Gargamelle fille du roy des Parpaillos, belle gouge & de bonne troigne et faisoient eulx deux souvent ensemble la beste a deux douz, joyesement se frotans leur lard, tant qu'elle engroissa dun beau filz, & le porta jusques a lunziesme mois."

Notice that that the ribald detail "joyesement se frotans leur lard," rendered by Urquhart/Le Motteux as "joyfully rubbing & frotting their Bacon 'gainst one another," is altogether missing in Frame's version. Perhaps Frame's version is too genteel in omitting this passage. It's not only a delightful example of what Bakhtin described as the "lower bodily stratum" in Rabelais, but it links Grangousier's culinary preferences that open the passage with the conception of Gargantua (who will turn out to be quite a glutton himself). With this in mind, consider Burton Raffel's translation:

"In his time, Grandgousier was a fine tippler and a good friend, as fond of draining his glass as any man walking the earth, cheerfully tossing down salted tidbits to keep up his thirst. Which is why he usually kept a good supply of Mainz and Bayonne hams, plenty of smoked beef tongues, lots of whatever chitterlings were in season and beef pickled in mustard, reinforced by a special cavier from Provence, a good stock of sausages, not the ones from Bologna (because he was afraid of the poisons Italians often use for seasoning), but those from Bigorre and Longaulnay (near Saint-Malo), from Brenne and Rouergue. When he became a man, he married Gargamelle, daughter of the King of the Butterflies, a fine, serviceable female--with a good-looking face, too. And they whacked away at making the beast with two backs, happily whipping their lard together, so successfully that she conceived a handsome boy and carried him for eleven months."

Notice that in addition to preserving the bawdy language, Raffel resolves the name of Gargamelle's father, the king of the "Parpaillons," to "Butterflies." (In modern French, "papillons.")

Hopefully these examples give you a sense of which translation you would most enjoy. I like the Urquhart/Le Motteux version but would have preferred editor's notes to explain unfamiliar terms and translations of at least the Latin and Greek citations. I think Frame or Raffel would likely be preferable for first-time readers of Rabelais.

A note on the translation
This is not about the work of Rabelais itself, which does not need promotion, but about Cohen's translation, which a reviewer below has maligned. Because 22 of 27 people so far have found his/her review "helpful" I feel obliged to put in a word, though not on account of any agenda. Opinions on translation are nearly as personal as opinions on more recognizable arts, yet some objections are also clearly mistaken.

The reviewer below complains that paragraphs have been invented. S/he uses this as a representative example of the numerous 'mistakes'. Yes, paragraphs have been invented but if you look at other modern translations - here on Amazon, where you can use the Look Inside feature - you will notice the paragraphs in Frame's and Raffel's versions break off at the same point as Cohen's, for whatever common purpose they have in mind (I assume readability). Urquhart's translation (incomplete, 17th century, finished by Motteux) is regarded as a classic, but it is not the "best", the most accurate or the most readable. The reviewer also insists Cohen's translation is not literal enough, as if this were a major fault. Literalness is not the most important, much less the only principle by which to judge a translation, it is one among many. Many readers who pick up the Urquhart today would probably be put off by Rabelais. (I am put off by the Raffel, though it is recent, so contemporaneity is not an overriding concern either.) Also remember Rabelais was writing in the early 16th century, and the language has changed significantly, so even the average French reader today engages in a certain degree of "translation" - comparing every word and syntactical deviation between the French and English texts is misleading. Literary translation is an inherently faulty art, and the translator has priorities that differ from the author's (you can't always be faithful to the author when the reader needs more attention); s/he is bound to make compromises. Not that comparison is impossible, nor that there is no such thing as a poor translation, but Cohen was one of the best in his trade and this translation, which I too have compared with the original text, is not particularly "worse" or "better" than Frame et al. Each of them lapses where another succeeds, each of them make choices that may be more or less accurate, reader-friendly, or grammatically consistent. To pick the first paragraph as an example again, Rabelais alludes to a popular saying of "Flacce" in the original - Frame translates the name as Flaccus, Cohen as Horace. The latter choice may seem egregious at first, but consider: Flaccus was a popular name in Rome and may stand for nearly any one of the several Roman personalities with Flaccus as a last name, whereas it would be quite clear to Latin readers, which most or all literate people of Rabelais' period and society were, that Rabelais is talking about Horace, whose full name was Quintus Horatius Flaccus. Frame remains literal, but Cohen opts to remove a possible early stumble for the contemporary reader. Yet, on the next page, Cohen does not translate the inscription HIC BIBITUR, but Frame does: "Here you drink".

If you want to choose a suitable translation, in this case, you have to decide which one appeals to you most by browsing several first; the scholarly-minded will have to learn the language anyway if they want to carry out a textual analysis. There are also previous versions by LeClerq and Putnam (one of the highly recommended translators of Cervantes). And of course, once you read Rabelais, the irony of discussing academic questions about his work won't evade you; though if it does, then you probably did pick a bad translation ...

Broad, Common, Vulgar, Crass and Unspeakably Funny!
If you thought the vulgar humor in such films as PORKY'S and AMERICAN PIE was a modern phenomena, you're in for a shock: both are fairly mild in comparison with the works of Rabelais, which plumb the depths of human crassness in full Renaissance style. Writing before European authors had codified the novel as a form, Rabelais presents a series of very episodic tales about the adventures of the giant Gargantua, his son Pantagruel, and Pantagruel's trickster friend Panurge--and the three vomit, belch, fart, and engage in a number of equally distasteful bodily functions across page after page in some of the funniest writings found in the whole of Western literature.

But unlike contemporary bad-taste comedy, Rabelais is hardly willing to let his reader go with just a laugh. There is sharp intelligence behind his naughty laughter--and he directs his considerable wit at everything from education to fashionable society in page after page of unspeakably hilarious incident. (My own favorite passage concerns the trick Panurge plays upon the fashionable, church-going lady who spurns his attentions; it never fails to throw me into near-hysterical laughter.) Vividly written and extremely memorable, GARGANTUA AND PANTAGRUEL is the sort of stuff they don't teach in highschool... and more's the pity: it would probably convert more students to the classics than all the Romantics combined. Truly serious scholars should, of course, compare various translations, but the Cohen translation will do the trick for the more casual reader. Strongly recommended.