Monsieur Linh and His Child
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'Like all good fables, it conveys the sense of a greater significance beyond itself' Daniel Hahn, Independent.
'There is nothing sentimental about the prose, which is as restrained and delicate as a piece of Indochinese artwork' Ophelia Field, Guardian.
'This is an extraordinary, powerful and moving novel of the refugee experience, not just from the viewpoint of those who become refugees but also exploring what is best, and worst, in the way in which refugees are welcomed and looked after in their destination countries ... Another outstanding novel by the winner of the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize in 2010 for Brodeck's Report. Highly recommended' Sarah Bower, Historical Novels Society.
'There is nothing sentimental about the prose, which is as restrained and delicate as a piece of Indochinese artwork' Ophelia Field, Guardian.
'This is an extraordinary, powerful and moving novel of the refugee experience, not just from the viewpoint of those who become refugees but also exploring what is best, and worst, in the way in which refugees are welcomed and looked after in their destination countries ... Another outstanding novel by the winner of the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize in 2010 for Brodeck's Report. Highly recommended' Sarah Bower, Historical Novels Society.
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Traumatized by memories of his war-ravaged country, and with his son and daughter-in-law dead, Monsieur Linh travels to a foreign land to bring the child in his arms to safety. The other refugees in the detention centre are unsure how to help the old man; his caseworkers are compassionate, but overworked. Monsieur Linh struggles beneath the weight of his sorrow, and becomes increasingly bewildered and isolated in this strange, fast-moving town. And then he encounters Monsieur Bark. Neither speaks the other's language, but Monsieur Bark is sympathetic to the foreigner's need to care for the child. Recently widowed and equally alone, he is eager to talk, and Monsieur Linh knows how to listen. The two men share their solitude, and find friendship in an unlikely dialogue between two very different cultures. Delicate and restrained, but with an extraordinary twist, Monsieur Linh and His Child is another limpid, immensely moving novel of perfect simplicity, by the author of Brodeck's Report.
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8 of 8 people found the following review helpful
Format:Hardcover
"An old man is standing on the after-deck of a ship. In his arms he clasps a flimsy suitcase and a newborn baby, even lighter than the suitcase. The old man's name is Monseiur Linh. He is the only person who knows this is his name because all those who once knew it are dead." (p.1)
So begins Monsieur Linh and His Child: bitter and sweet and wistful - the very notes on which the curtain closes, come the occasion - it is a Kafka-esque elegy of friendship which handily sustains the sense of uncomplicated beauty evidenced above over its abbreviated course. A 2005 novella, lately translated from the French by Euan Cameron, from Philippe Claudel, author of Brodeck's Report and erstwhile director of the sublime foreign-language film I've Loved You So Long, at 100 small-format pages of oversized font, Monseiur Linh and His Child is in stature hardly more than a short story, but it has all the emotional impact of a gut-punch to the soul.
There is an old man, and a fat man. A doddering refugee from a war-torn state whose only reason for living is the infant girl he clutches tight against his chest, rescued miraculously from the battlefield on which her entire family lay dead, and a cheery chain-smoker with a penchant for hot toddies who hasn't connected with anyone since his wife passed away. One day, they sit on the same bench. So begins a friendship that will come to mean much to Monsieur Linh and his bench-fellow, Bark.
"He recalls the touch of the old man's hand when he placed it on his shoulder. He then remembers that he is alone in the world, with his little girl. Alone together. That his country is far away. That his country is no longer there, so to speak. That it is nothing but fragments of memories and dreams that survive on in his weary old man's head." (p.42)
Both men have been certain of their identities, in their lives, only to have tragedy steal everything away. Bark and Linh have lost their selves, in a sense, and though they share neither a language common between them nor even their names - a miscommunication leaves each calling the other "good day" - what each of the men have lost, the simple truth and goodness of sharing a moment with another living soul helps them begin to come to terms with.
But as Monsieur Linh reflects, staring out at the "thousands of lights in the city that sparkle and seem to move about [...] as if they were stars that had fallen to earth and were trying to fly back into the sky once more," "you can never fly back to what you have lost." (p.87) There is thus an ineffable impression of sadness about Monsieur Linh and His Child, building and swelling like a lump in the throat even as the old man and the fat man find some measure of solace in unexpected company.
Canny readers will likely see a rug-from-under twist I hardly dare discuss coming, and while such premonition perhaps robs Monsieur Linh and His Child of some of the sense of revelation Claudel seems to be shooting for in the final scene, this isn't The Sixth Sense; there's more, much more, to Monsieur Linh and His Child than a tidy trick. It is a timeless testament to the enduring beauty of friendship, and in its powerful last moments, an ode to - of all things - better tomorrows for us all. For "miracles can sometimes happen, and there can be riches, and laughter, and hope once more just when you think that everything around you is nothing but destruction and silence." (p.119)
So begins Monsieur Linh and His Child: bitter and sweet and wistful - the very notes on which the curtain closes, come the occasion - it is a Kafka-esque elegy of friendship which handily sustains the sense of uncomplicated beauty evidenced above over its abbreviated course. A 2005 novella, lately translated from the French by Euan Cameron, from Philippe Claudel, author of Brodeck's Report and erstwhile director of the sublime foreign-language film I've Loved You So Long, at 100 small-format pages of oversized font, Monseiur Linh and His Child is in stature hardly more than a short story, but it has all the emotional impact of a gut-punch to the soul.
There is an old man, and a fat man. A doddering refugee from a war-torn state whose only reason for living is the infant girl he clutches tight against his chest, rescued miraculously from the battlefield on which her entire family lay dead, and a cheery chain-smoker with a penchant for hot toddies who hasn't connected with anyone since his wife passed away. One day, they sit on the same bench. So begins a friendship that will come to mean much to Monsieur Linh and his bench-fellow, Bark.
"He recalls the touch of the old man's hand when he placed it on his shoulder. He then remembers that he is alone in the world, with his little girl. Alone together. That his country is far away. That his country is no longer there, so to speak. That it is nothing but fragments of memories and dreams that survive on in his weary old man's head." (p.42)
Both men have been certain of their identities, in their lives, only to have tragedy steal everything away. Bark and Linh have lost their selves, in a sense, and though they share neither a language common between them nor even their names - a miscommunication leaves each calling the other "good day" - what each of the men have lost, the simple truth and goodness of sharing a moment with another living soul helps them begin to come to terms with.
But as Monsieur Linh reflects, staring out at the "thousands of lights in the city that sparkle and seem to move about [...] as if they were stars that had fallen to earth and were trying to fly back into the sky once more," "you can never fly back to what you have lost." (p.87) There is thus an ineffable impression of sadness about Monsieur Linh and His Child, building and swelling like a lump in the throat even as the old man and the fat man find some measure of solace in unexpected company.
Canny readers will likely see a rug-from-under twist I hardly dare discuss coming, and while such premonition perhaps robs Monsieur Linh and His Child of some of the sense of revelation Claudel seems to be shooting for in the final scene, this isn't The Sixth Sense; there's more, much more, to Monsieur Linh and His Child than a tidy trick. It is a timeless testament to the enduring beauty of friendship, and in its powerful last moments, an ode to - of all things - better tomorrows for us all. For "miracles can sometimes happen, and there can be riches, and laughter, and hope once more just when you think that everything around you is nothing but destruction and silence." (p.119)
3 of 3 people found the following review helpful
Format:Hardcover
Having rushed around like a loon this morning catching up on my day off tasks I sat down a couple of hours ago with a well-deserved cup of coffee and idly picked up 'Monsieur Linh and His Child'. I read it in one sitting, my coffee forgotten and felt genuinely moved by this perfect little novel. I loved this tale of Linh's separation from his homeland finding himself adrift in a strange country, alienated at first by his lack of knowledge of this new environment and culture and his further alienation by language until his meeting with Bark. The descriptive passages of his homeland and the murders of his family were evocative and heartwrenching and the playing out of his new friendship with Bark (himself affected by personal loss and his experiences in Linh's homeland) were perfectly weighted and affecting. The unveiling of the true nature of his 'granddaughter' was so carefully placed within the narrative and added even further to the poignancy of the story. A book that achieved more in 130 pages than many books I've read three times the length. A wonderful study of the human essence and how we can all connect at some point with others despite our differences...
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
Format:Hardcover
Translated from the French by Euan Cameron
"Sitting on this bench which, within the space of just two days, has become a familiar little spot, a chunk of floating wood he could cling to in the midst of a strange, broad, swirling torrent. And nestling cosily against him he clasps the last twig of the branch, sleeping its fearless sleep for the time being, without melancholy or sadness; that sleep of a satisfied infant, happy to have found the warmth of the skin it loves, its pleasant smoothness and the caress of a loving voice."
Monsieur Linh has lost almost everything: his wife, his son, and even his city, as war has displaced him and made him a refugee in a French city. To his joy, he has one remaining connection to the past and a hope for the future: his infant granddaughter. Brought with him on the rough journey to France, his only concern is her safety and welfare. In the crowded refugee center, he quietly launders her baby clothes, holds her as she sleeps, and in his traditional garb, becomes an eccentric sight to the other visitors. During the day, he takes her out walking for fresh air.
"'I am your grandfather,' Monsieur Linh tells her, `and we are together, there are two of us, the only two, the last two. But don't be afraid, I am here, nothing can happen to you. I am old, but I'll still have enough strength, as long as it is needed, as long as you are a little green mango in need of an old mango tree.'"
It's on these walks that he finds the wood park bench described above, where he watches the city go by and tries to make sense of its foreign tongue. Soon he meets Monsieur Bark, another man beset by losses, and both find the bench to be their place to come to grips with their pasts and the uncertain future. They become virtually inseparable, despite the fact that neither of them can speak each other's language. Theirs becomes a friendship made up of the language of nods, shared sighs, and companionship. And when difficult changes occur, this unique bond becomes unbreakable.
This is an impossibly elegant novel, one that makes you sort of wistful at the beauty of the words and their meaning. It's only appropriate that this be an example of translated literature, because the translation of feelings, gestures and moods is at the heart of it, far beyond the translation of mere words. I actually (this is super corny) put it down and sighed a few times...it's that gorgeous.
The author, Philippe Claudel, has crafted something that manages to combine melancholy and sentimentality without becoming mawkish. The writing is lean and powerful and each character retains a mystery. The mystery is what pushes you on to understand how each man will survive their loss, and how mysterious the nature of friendship can be. The novel asks the reader to examine what makes two people feel connected. Does loss leave a mark that only another kindred spirit can discern? Do the words we speak mean less than who we are? I couldn't help but think that the story would be entirely different if the two men did share a language, and that Claudel may be commenting on how, very often, words can get in the way.
"Sitting on this bench which, within the space of just two days, has become a familiar little spot, a chunk of floating wood he could cling to in the midst of a strange, broad, swirling torrent. And nestling cosily against him he clasps the last twig of the branch, sleeping its fearless sleep for the time being, without melancholy or sadness; that sleep of a satisfied infant, happy to have found the warmth of the skin it loves, its pleasant smoothness and the caress of a loving voice."
Monsieur Linh has lost almost everything: his wife, his son, and even his city, as war has displaced him and made him a refugee in a French city. To his joy, he has one remaining connection to the past and a hope for the future: his infant granddaughter. Brought with him on the rough journey to France, his only concern is her safety and welfare. In the crowded refugee center, he quietly launders her baby clothes, holds her as she sleeps, and in his traditional garb, becomes an eccentric sight to the other visitors. During the day, he takes her out walking for fresh air.
"'I am your grandfather,' Monsieur Linh tells her, `and we are together, there are two of us, the only two, the last two. But don't be afraid, I am here, nothing can happen to you. I am old, but I'll still have enough strength, as long as it is needed, as long as you are a little green mango in need of an old mango tree.'"
It's on these walks that he finds the wood park bench described above, where he watches the city go by and tries to make sense of its foreign tongue. Soon he meets Monsieur Bark, another man beset by losses, and both find the bench to be their place to come to grips with their pasts and the uncertain future. They become virtually inseparable, despite the fact that neither of them can speak each other's language. Theirs becomes a friendship made up of the language of nods, shared sighs, and companionship. And when difficult changes occur, this unique bond becomes unbreakable.
This is an impossibly elegant novel, one that makes you sort of wistful at the beauty of the words and their meaning. It's only appropriate that this be an example of translated literature, because the translation of feelings, gestures and moods is at the heart of it, far beyond the translation of mere words. I actually (this is super corny) put it down and sighed a few times...it's that gorgeous.
The author, Philippe Claudel, has crafted something that manages to combine melancholy and sentimentality without becoming mawkish. The writing is lean and powerful and each character retains a mystery. The mystery is what pushes you on to understand how each man will survive their loss, and how mysterious the nature of friendship can be. The novel asks the reader to examine what makes two people feel connected. Does loss leave a mark that only another kindred spirit can discern? Do the words we speak mean less than who we are? I couldn't help but think that the story would be entirely different if the two men did share a language, and that Claudel may be commenting on how, very often, words can get in the way.
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Most Recent Customer Reviews
One of those books
That stays with you for a while. Surprisingly few reviews on this one. Maybe the publicity wasn't working. Read more
Published 2 months ago by karen bennett
Magical book - not for everyone though
I was given this unusual little book to read by a friend with a view to her suggesting it for her bookclub. Read more
Published 5 months ago by N. Baring
simple beauty
This seemingly simple tale borders on the sentimental at times but is saved from that by the precise and lyrical prose and the sense that we are tracing the inner thoughts and... Read more
Published 8 months ago by j.s.pullen
A surprise
I bought this book on the strength of a review in the Sunday Business Post. I don't trust reviewers. But the book was a little gem. Read more
Published 10 months ago by N. MacGafraidh
Short and sad little tale
A short and sad little story with a fairy tale quality, Monsieur Linh is a refugee with nothing left other than a child he carries everywhere with him. Read more
Published 10 months ago by Curiosity Killed The Bookworm
Stranger in a strange land
Really enjoyed this book. It is a wonderful little tale of loss, displacement and friendship; eloquently and beautifully written. Read more
Published 12 months ago by Powderfinger
Phillippe Claudel is some writer
I absolutely loved Grey Souls and Brodeck's Report. From now on I will simply buy anything that Phillippe Claudel writes, as soon as it is published. Read more
Published 12 months ago by C. Bones
Good things come in small packages!
This is such a small book, only 130 pages, but it packs a powerful punch and it left me completely overwhelmed. Read more
Published 13 months ago by Charliecat
Why change the title?
I read this book in French and loved it. It stayed with me for a very long time.
I was tempted to read it again in English but am concerned that the title has not been... Read more
I was tempted to read it again in English but am concerned that the title has not been... Read more
Published 13 months ago by Kathy
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