Flaubert's Parrot

Geoffrey sits on a ferry, crossing the English Channel. There is a “rattarattarattarata” (74) as the furniture onboard rattles. A translation error on a garbage can reminds Geoffrey of a time when Flaubert’s work was advertised under the name “Faubert” (74). Geoffrey thinks about the small details of life in France that he appreciates, comparing his list to those of other people. He likes the serious, single-minded pharmacies and “the spirit of Homais” (76). He drinks another whisky and admits that he has three stories to tell: one about Flaubert, one about Ellen, and one about himself.

He begins to consider how Flaubert’s legacy has been posthumously treated. Flaubert seemed intent on remaining absent from his own works; Geoffrey posits that “Flaubert’s planned invisibility” (80) can be read as either classical or modern. Lost in thought, Geoffrey decides that he needs to “take a turn on deck” (81).

Geoffrey wonders whether the details of the past can ever truly be known for sure, asking whether “fat people were fatter […] And were mad people madder?” (82). He complains that “nowadays we aren’t allowed to use the word mad” (83) but admits to doing it anyway. Like words, Geoffrey wonders whether the colors Flaubert saw still exist today. Geoffrey once wrote to the Grocers’ Company to enquire about the changing colors of redcurrant jam, as mentioned in one of Flaubert’s similes. They told him it would likely have stayed exactly the same. Geoffrey finds this reassuring.

Geoffrey begins to open up about his own life. He describes himself in the style of a personal ad but struggles with the question of what he “seeks” (86). Such adverts, he believes, do not tell the truth. The form itself makes demands of the advertisers, to which they feel they must adhere. This forces them into an “unwished personality” (86) which does not represent who they really are.

Geoffrey remembers Mauriac, a French novelist who wrote his autobiography at the end of his life. Rather than filling it with details of his childhood, he lists “the books he’s read, the painters he’s liked, the plays he’s seen” (87). Thus, Mauriac defines himself through other people’s works. It is like trying to determine a man’s face not by looking directly at it, but by glancing at its reflection in a train window while passing through a tunnel.

Numerous biographers of Flaubert’s life have made blatant mistakes. Geoffrey thinks about his own career and believes himself to have been a good doctor. He did not kill any patients (or his wife). He lists the authors he likes and dislikes in a Mauriac fashion, then switches to his authoritarian rules for how literature should evolve. Firstly, “there shall be no more novels in which a group of people, isolated by circumstances, revert to the ‘natural condition’ of man, become essential, poor, bare, forked creatures” (89). Second, “there shall be no more novels about incest” (90). Third, “No novels set in abattoirs” (90). Fourth, a 10-year ban on novels set in universities (and a 20-year ban for those set at Oxford or Cambridge). Fifth, a quote system for “fiction set in South America” (90). Sixth, no novels depicting bestiality or sex scenes in showers. Seventh, no novels about “small, hitherto forgotten wars in distant parts of the British Empire” (90) in which the audience learns that the British are wicked and that wars are nasty. Eighth, no novels in which the protagonist is identified only by a letter. Ninth, no novels about other novels. Tenth, a 20-year ban on God.

Next, Geoffrey discussed Flaubert’s sex life. From scholars initially assuming he had only a single lover, many more are discovered, including male lovers. Every time Geoffrey disembarks the ferry, he wrestles with which line to take through customs. He is never in danger of exceeding his legal limits but feels that it is “an admission of failure to come back from the Continent and have nothing to show for it” (93). He apologizes if he is being “enigmatic” (93) but he does not like showing the “whole face” (93). He recalls his wife and Flaubert’s niece, considering the nature of family. Flaubert’s niece Caroline was the closest thing he had to a daughter and he taught her all about literature, though advised her badly. As the ferry approaches the port, Geoffrey describes the “rattarattarattarata” (96) once again, comparing it to the final stages of a marriage. He decides to take the red channel through customs this time. The officers in both France and Britain are “quite sympathetic, if you treat them properly” (97).