Walpurgis Night

Tonight we are Walpurgis Night! So Happy Walpurgis Night everyone. This is the lesser known, Germanic, springtime Halloween. I know it mainly through the legend of Faust (Faust and Mephistopheles celebrate a Sabbath on the very night). I blogged about it years ago, when I started Vraie Fiction. I thought I would celebrate it tonight. I didn't know what to upload as a picture, something that looked appropriate. Then I went through some pics dad sent me and saw this picture of the Falls of Val-Jalbert. And I thought it would be ideal.

Why? Because this picture looks eerie and sinister, a bit reminiscent of the old Universal horror movies. Because Val-Jalbert is a ghost town (or ghost village) and well, tonight is a night of ghosts, devils and witches. Okay, it is a far off association, but when I grew up, this is how they "sold" it to the tourists: with ghosts (you could even buy ones at the tourists shop there). And because when my family went there with the neighbouring family one weekend around the Saguenay-Lac-St-Jean, it was in May or June, my brothers and our friends (they are twin brothers) read in the evening Dracula's Guest, which is set on Walpurgis Night. Oh boy we had such a fright! You can find an animated adaptation of the story here. So during the day we visited a ghost town, during the evening (in a cottage in Sainte-Hedwidge), after eating a tourtière (true story), we read a horror story and went on a walk in the evening. I did little to celebrate tonight, but I have this memory which I wanted to share.

Question existentielle (126)

Une question que je ne cesse de me poser ces temps-ci. J'espère ne l'avoir pas déjà transformée en question existentielle (à plus d'une centaine, c'est un risque certain). Enfin, la voici:

-Que porter quand il fait plutôt frais, mais pas froid et que la température change radicalement en quelques minutes?

Another noir painting

I recently blogged about the paintings of Fabian Perez. Yesterday I went to the local art gallery where they are exposing his work. I was offered a glass of Prosecco and a guided tour by the lady who was there. I wonder if she thought I was a serious buyer. I fell a bit guilty, but I accepted the Prosecco and the tour anyway.

I was looking for a new painting to upload, wondering if I should upload one of his many paintings of femmes fatales. I settled for a man drinking spirits (whiskey?). I guess a femme fatale would have been too obvious. I thought this one had the right look for the blog. The man does look like a crime fiction character, maybe a mobster. I extensively wrote about what Perez's work remind me: old pulp fiction. I am not going to re-blog it. I just thought that the painting would bring some colours and character to this blog.

Une citation tirée d'Arvida

J'ai pensé à cela aujourd'hui: je n'ai pas blogué sur Arvida. Or, il y a longtemps que je voulais citer le livre, parce qu'il y a des phrases vraiment bien tournées. Celle-ci, tirée de la toute première page de la première histoire, m'a fait une forte impression:

"Il y avait une très belle photo, datant de l'après-guerre, qui était comme toutes les belles photos une image vide, avec presque rien dessus et tout au-dehors."

A postcard picture of Chicoutimi

This was taken by my father, I don't know when. He sent it to me recently. You can see the cathedral in the center (the Saint-François Xavier Cathedral, but we always called it "the cathedral"), the hospital in the background on the left and the cégep in the background on the right. In front, the Saguenay river, which looks very much like low on water, even though Chicoutimi means "where the water is deep". It does not look like it from this picture.

I posted it here for a few reasons. The first is that I had never uploaded a picture of Chicoutimi before, except of my parents' house or garden. But nothing looked typically Chicoutimian. How does a city look like anyway? This one is pretty much a picture for a postcard. So this is the city where I grew up. I used to walk up and down its slopes, I had my Confirmation at the cathedral (but not my First Communion, whih was done in a small parish), I went to the cégep after high school, I went to the hospital there, this is the city that I was shaped in and which shaped me. I also uploaded it because of this quote from Larry Tremblay's The Dragonfly of Chicoutimi, which I posted on this blog more than once (it shows my obsession with the play)

"Chicoutimi is an Amerindian word
it means up to where the water is deep
this word refers to the Saguenay
a big a beautiful a splendid river
but Chicoutimi as a town is ugly
as every American town
and this ugliness is very interesting
but fortunately nature surrounds every town
in this country
and nature cannot be ugly"

And I find it funny because here, you don't see the ugly blandness of the city, which Gaston Talbot refers to as a town. I mean sure, it is not Rome, but it is pretty. And the Saguenay here does not look like a big, beautiful, splendid river. I always thought the picture Talbot makes of the city was pretty much spot on, right on the money. You look at this, and you think the picture must be lying, yet it is very much the city I grew up in.

Le coeur de ma mère (Le Vent du Nord)

Avec ce billet, je réponds peut-être un peu à une question existentielle (la 124). Je connais Le Vent du Nord depuis peu. Mon derier voyage au Québec en fait. C'est mon père qui m'a fait découvrir le groupe. Le coeur de ma mère est la chanson qui m'a le plus accroché. Elle raconte une histoire délicieusement sinistre, qui s'écoute volontiers un soir tempêtueux (ça se dit?). Je l'écouterais bien autour d'un feu de camp ou d'un feu de foyer.

Halloween in April?

I was out today to buy the bare necessities of life, as the temperature was relatively calm. It will get back to it's normal Dommsday self tomorrow. I stopped quickly at Clinton Cards and found... Halloween chocolates from Thorton's (Jack O'Lanterns in chocolate). They were dramatically reduced, so I bought some. It does feel a lot like Halloween anyway these days, what with the temperature and all. And we are half a year away from it. It might seem like this is totally out of season, but there is a sort of Halloween day coming: Walpurgis Night, which is in the night between April and May. It is the springtime's equivalent of Halloween: marking the passage of one season to another. It is lesser known and less celebrated, but for those who miss the spooky season, they might want to do a little something to celebrate it.

Question existentielle (125)

Vous vous rappelez de la question existentielle numéro 88? La 125 y est indirectement apparentée. J'ai mangé DES spaghetti hier (oui, je dis des spaghetti, en savoir plus ici). Je me rappelle d'un débat parmi mes amis italiens sur la préparation des spaghetti en question. Le débat peut se résumer à une question existentielle. La voici:

-Les spaghetti, on peut les couper avant la cuisson, ou pas?

Getting tired of Friday treats

There I said it. I just don't enjoy my sandwich as much. I didn't enjoy it today anyway. I had almost the usual: smoked salmon baguette with horseradish sauce, Coca Cola and cashew on the side. Except that there was not enough smoked salmon so I got my baguette filled with what was left of shrimps, or prawns as they call it here. So Smoked salmon, prawns, horseradish sauce, red onion, tomatoes, salad... And it did nothing to me. I mean yes, I enjoyed it, but it barely registered. And I don't feel like a special customer anymore and I don't feel like it is special either. So I need to change my treats, maybe even change my Friday blog posts topics altogether.

Moi, mes souliers

"Moi mes souliers ont beaucoup voyagé
Ils m'ont porté de l'école à la guerre
J'ai traversé sur mes souliers ferrés
Le monde et sa misère" 

Je sais, je sais, j'ai déjà téléchargé cette chanson ici. Cela dit, le vidéo est disparu de YouTube, d'abord. Ensuite, Félix Leclerc, c'est Félix Leclerc (je profère une terrible tautologie ici). J'ai par ailleurs chanté Moi, mes souliers sur le chemin du travail et sur le retour, aujourd'hui. Ca m'est venu en tête naturellement. C'est la chanson parfaite de l'expatrié. Je ne sais pas si c'est une chanson qui est bonne pour les feux de camps. C'est plutôt une chanson de voyage et d'errance, ou d'un retour au bercail.Quoique peut-être, après une longue journée de voyage...

Cette photo a été prise par mon père, c'est la statue de Félix au Parc Lafontaine. L'interprétation, comme lors de mon premier billet, est tirée du film Les brûlés.

Daily Apocalypse

I feel like I am blogging about the weather all the time, or too often anyway these days, and this is getting ridiculously mundane, but sometimes I find my inspiration on the mundane. More than a month ago I said I wanted to blog about literature. Unfortunately I have little energy for it just now.And the weather is pretty much on everybody's mind at the moment.

But yes, every day, we have heavy showers, the wind is often strong and it looks grey and miserable. A colleague told me yesterday, on my way home (we share the same commute, minus one train station for him): "I have never seen an April month that looked so much like April". This was so accurate a statement and so funny that I am adding it as a great unknown line. This morning, I walked to the train station in the rain, I was soaking wet. In the afternoon, there was a thunderstorm. But the storm is not hot like the ones we have during summertime: they are cold. Spring is a temperamental, nasty season, April is an even more temperamental, nasty month. It feels like walking through, every day, a relentless Apocalypse. The storms are beautiful though. At least there is beauty in this furious weather.

Un compromis entre la bière et le vin?

Je suis plus bière que vin, en général. Je bois du vin avec le repas mais rarement seul. Et encore, pas à tous les repas: avec de la saucisse, c'est de la bière, avec la plupart des mets typiquement anglais aussi. je bois du vin rouge avec la viande rouge, voire même avec le poisson, parce que je suis philistin, mais aussi parce que je préfère en général le vin rouge, même s'il me donne mal à la tête. À l'apéritif, je bois de la bière depuis longtemps. Or, j'ai récemment lu un article dans Cyberpresse sur une bière au Chardonnay brassée par la microbrasserie La Barberie. Je connais peu les produits de cette microbrasserie, je crois en avoir bu quelques uns. Je suis moins amateur de bière forte, mais celle-ci m'intrigue. Les maux de tête m'ont forcé à boire plus de vin blanc, le Chardonnay en est une variété que j'aime plus que les autres, la bière est parfaite pour l'apéritif, alors je songe sérieusement à essayer cette bizarrerie la prochaine fois que je retourne au Québec.

A cheerful hymn to the world

I just remember that I missed Earth Day, or I didn't commemorate it on this blog. Better late than never, I guess. I have always wanted to upload here this song, used in an advert for the Discovery Channel. I challenge anyone to not feel uplifted listening to it and watching this videoclip. It was released in 2008. There was a sequel. But nothing beats the original. It is a feel good song, but it is also makes you marvel. Both simple and grandiose. The world is just awesome.

Plogue théâtrale chicoutimienne (et cégépienne)

Un ancien prof de cégep (Jean Potvin pour ne pas le nommer) m'a invité à une présentation de Téléroman de Larry Tremblay à Chicoutimi. Performance des finissants de profil théâtre de la concentration d'Arts et Lettres du Cégep de Chicoutimi. Mon cégep, mon village, ma concentration (ça s'appelait Lettres à l'époque). Il n'y avait pas de profil théâtre dans mon jeune temps. L'affiche ici. Je ne suis pas sûr que je l'aurais pris anyway, étant un peu timide et peu sûr de mon talent d'acteur à l'époque. J'envie parfois la nouvelle génération, celle-ci en particulier. D'autant plus que Larry Tremblay est un auteur admirable. Enfin bref, je ne peux pas y participer, mais comme Jean Potvin veux que l'on passe le mot, je le passe ici: c'est du 26 an 27 avril, à l'auditorium du Séminaire de Chicoutimi.Et c'est seulement $5. Connaissant le prof et ayant travaillé avec dans une séance de lecture publique (appelée "Le Pestacle"), je sais que ce sera une interprétation de qualité. Alors si vous êtes à Chicoutimi, allez voir la pièce. Larry Tremblay, des cégépiens, Jean Potvin (à la mise en scène?), ça risque d'être pas loin de génial.

Noir paintings

Last weekend, on my birthday in fact (nice time for an epiphany), I found this artist, Fabian Perez (Argentinian born artist now living in Los Angeles) in a local gallery. I was impressed enough about the work of Perez I saw that I took a leaflet (where I found the information about him being from Argentina and living in LA), even though I cannot afford one single painting. The people at the gallery could tell about ten seconds and they ignored me completely, but I could still enjoy the aesthetic of it. I would love to be wealthy enough to buy one, or better still: I wish I could be selling these paintings for a job. This is what came to my mind immediately when I saw them: I want to spend my days here, being paid to watch them, to tell the customers why they should own one, why this is great stuff.

I am not really an art connoisseur, in fact I am pretty much of a philistine. But when I love pictural art, I love it immensely and without compromission. The universe Fabian Perez paints is often an old fashioned one, filled with glamorous and grim nostalgia. It is a world of dim lights and growing shadows, of femmes fatales (many, many of them), hardboiled guys, sinister men, all chain smoking and hard drinking. It is the world of Eros and Thanatos. It is, in a nutshell, the universe of crime fiction from old pulp magazines, with a latin twist. The painting I uploaded here is called Gathering at Los Brujas, and this could be the title of a novel. Like for the Detective Tales cover I upload every month, the work of Fabian Perez set my imagination on fire. I wish I could have words that were as eloquent as these images, that could create an atmosphere as efficiently, with such rich colours and character. If I ever write the great crime fiction novel from Québec, I want an artist like him to draw the cover, although I wonder if his latin world can work with the Northern one I come from. In any case, I will upload more of his works here, just like I do with Detective Tales.

D'un avril à l'autre

J'ai un peu écrit ce billet pour télécharger cette photo. J'aime bien les vieilles souches en général. Elle a été prise en avril dernier, lors de la visite de mes parents. C'était un avril estival, il y avait même cette journée-là une canicule, je portais un gilet à manches courtes et de la crème solaire. Aujourd'hui, j'ai encore mon manteau d'hiver (ce serait un manteau de printemps/automne au Québec, mais bon, ici c'est un manteau d'hiver) et des vêtements chauds. On gèle dehors. Ce mois d'avril ressemble à s'y méprendre aux avrils québécois, ceux dont je me souviens le plus, avec des températures traîtresses. C'est pour ainsi dire le jour et la nuit entre cette année et l'année dernière. Alors voilà, je passe d'un avril à l'autre.

The absent minded reader

I have been reading a novel (never mind which one) and I am about to finish the last few pages. And I discovered something today: I lost half the plot between the beginning, which I was following eagerly, and the now soon to be end. The characters mix in my head, I remember a few memorable scenes, a few nice descriptions, but the rest... The core of the novel, I forgot it. It is crime fiction, I think it is even good crime fiction, yet it is one of those books that went way over my head.

I am ashamed to say it. I made my life studying literature, it is maybe the thing I do best. And yet, since I started studying it at university, I took this very, very bad habit of, well, reading words, getting through the book, and not being able to stick it in my mind. This time, maybe it is caused by the fact that I have two or three books I am reading at once. Maybe it is because I am already looking at the next book I am going to read. But I wish I was never an absent minded reader.

Question existentielle (124)

Une question qui a son importance quand on peut passer la soirée dehors, avec un feu, des guimauves, de la bière et surtout une guitare:

-Quelle est la chanson de feu de camp idéale?

A birthday memory (about Mozart)

It is my birthday today, I have the venerable age of 35. I didn't know exactly how to blog about it, I mean blogging it differently than how I did it before. And then I just thought about some memories I have from my birthdays. As an adult, a birthday is just one extra day, you are one day older than before, unless you start thinking that you are getting old. But as a child, it is something magical.

So for some reason today, I had in mind a precise birthday gift I had: when I was 9 or 10 (or maybe younger), I received the life of Mozart on a disc, narrated by Gérard Philippe, from the collection Le Petit Ménestrel. They still sell it, but in CDs. My first Petit Ménestrel was the life of Beethoven, which turned me into a fan, but I think Mozart had a lasting impression on me, for one single reason: there was Finch'han dal vino, an aria from Don Giovanni, on it. It got me hooked on the opera, which I received at my next year's birthday. Since then, Don Giovanni is my favourite opera. My brothers and I used to play the last scene. And it all started with this single aria, which I have been listening to today. So I decided to upload it here, my birthday gift to my readership. It is sung by the baritone Simon Keenlyside. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed it when I first heard it.

Être jeune dans la tête (!)

C'est ma fête aujourd'hui. Une amie m'a dit sur Facebook, en me souhaitant bonne fête: "l'âge, c'est dans la tête". Je ne sais pas si c'est profondément sage, ou profondément cliché. Je prends un coup de vieux chaque année, je crois que je l'exprime beaucoup via Facebook. J'ai écouté "Marquise, su mon visage" de Corneille/Brassens en boucle (j'ai déjà blogué à ce sujet), j'imagine que je ne me sens pas si jeune. Je crois en fait que je suis conscient que je ne suis plus physiquement jeune, et que je ne peux être jeune que dans ma tête. Mais est-ce à dire que je suis immature?