Froth on the Daydream     by Boris Vian, Translated by Stanley Chapman Original title: L’Écome des Jours Original language: French Original year: 1947 Country: France   Published by Quartet Pub. Date: 1988 Pub. Place: UK Format: Paperback, 221 pages List Price: £5.95 Not available for ordering Published by Penguin Pub. Date: 1970 Pub. Place: UK Format: 188 pages Not available for ordering Published by Rapp & Carroll Pub. Date: 1967 Pub. Place: UK Format: 221 pages Not available for ordering

A tale of amour fou (‘mad love’) as defined by André Breton: the invasion by the fabulous into everyday life, in the shape of an undying passion for a woman both real and enchanting. Colin is a stylish young man surrounded by intellectual friends, he lives in a world of bizarre creatures and surreal technological inventions: there is an eel sucking pineapple flavoured toothpaste through the cold water tap, a talking mouse and a ‘pianocktail’, yet his ultimate ambition is to fall in love. He meets Chloé and it is love at first sight, then everything goes wrong. His wealth evaporates, his best friend’s life is ruined by his obsession with the philosopher Jean Pulse Heartre (Jean Sol Partre in the original) and a strange illness is eating away at Chloé.


This is a wonderful novel very perceptive on the technological excesses of the modern world and the alienating effect of mechanical work; above all, this is a sad love story told in a beautiful poetical manner: for example, the walls of the flat shrink and curve as a mysterious water-lily grows inside Chloé’s chest. Yet, for all these qualities, the book loses a lot in English. Like Queneau, Vian is a master of linguistic invention and subtle satire and if his humour and iconoclasm do not translate well they are still worth discovering, more so perhaps if you can read French!

‘It was no longer possible to get into the dining-room. The ceiling was almost touching the floor and half-vegetable, half-mineral projections reached out to clasp each other across the dark humidity.

The corridor door would not open. All that was left was a narrow space leading to Chloé’s bedroom from the entrance. Isis went in first, and Nicholas followed her. He seemed stunned. Something bulged inside his jacket and from time to time he put his hand on his chest. Isis looked at the bed before she went into the room. Chloé was still surrounded by flowers. Her hands, stretched out on the blankets, were hardly able to hold the big white orchid that was in them. It looked grey by the side of her diaphanous skin. Her eyes were opened but she hardly moved when she saw Isis come and sit down by her side.’ p208