He was born of an Italian family from Cipressa, above San Remo, who had settled in Marseille, France, between 1837 and 1847. His father, Louis Bosco, was a stone-cutter before becoming a highly talented opera singer. His childhood and his youth were spent a few kilometers from Avignon, in the neighbourhood of Monclar, which was still in the country at that time. He studied classics at the Lyc茅e d'Avignon, and took music for eight years at the Conservatory in Avignon. His university studies in Grenoble led to the successful completion of the Italian agr茅gation in 1912. In 1913, he was appointed to Philippeville, Algeria, where he taught classics.
First World War: H.Bosco fought in the Arm茅e de l'Orient (Macedonia, Serbia, Albania). He was injured in 1915 and discharged in 1919.
From 1920 to 1930, he was seconded by the Institut Fran莽ais de Naples. This period was very important in both intellectual and literary terms. He published his first book, "Pierre Lamp茅douze", in 1924. He also participated with R.Laurent-Vibert in the restoration of the Ch芒teau de Lourmarin which would become a cultural foundation.
On July 16 1930, Henri Bosco married. From 1930 to 1931, he taught French and Italian in Bourg-en-Bresse.
Autumn 1931: He arrived in Rabat, Morocco, where he taught classics at the Lyc茅e Gouraud (Hassan II). He was president of the Alliance Fran莽aise in Morocco. In 1936 he founded the journal "Aguedal", that he edited until 1945. He contributed actively to intellectual life both in North Africa and in France. The influence of friends and the ordeal of war and defeat led Bosco to embark on a true initiation that directed his inner life toward a profound spiritual quest and ushered in a new period of original works that began with "L'Ane Culotte" (1937).
Henri Bosco retired in 1945, the year in which "Le Mas Th茅otime" received the Prix Renaudot, earning him renown. Subsequently he devoted himself to his literary career and published novels that attracted considerable attention ("Le Jardin d'Hyacinthe", "Malicroix", "Un Rameau de la Nuit", ...). He left Morocco permanently on April 9, 1955, after spending twenty-four of the richest and most prolific years of his life there.
He settled on the hill of Cimiez in Nice, in an old Proven莽al mas which soon became a Mecca of friendship and spiritual life. He travelled extensively giving lectures, but persistently continued to expand his work.
He frequently stayed in Lourmarin where, in 1947, he had acquired a bastidon isolated in the hills, a place of silence, daydreams, and meditation. From 1947, he was administrator of the R.Laurent-Vibert Foundation and gave much of his time and efforts to the brilliant intellectual, literary, and artistic activity of this place that was so dear to him.
Henri Bosco died in Nice in his eighty-seventh year. He is buried in Lourmarin, with Madeleine Bosco, who passed away in 1985.
His work was honoured with numerous prizes, including the "Grand Prix National des Lettres" in 1953 and the "Grand Prix de Litt茅rature de l'Acad茅mie Fran莽aise" in 1968.
According to the blurb, this 80-page idyll is often "hailed as a French Huckleberry Finn." I'm here to tell you that it's nothing close, unless putting two boys on a river is all you need to earn Mark Twain-like comparisons.
This one's quite different in tone. Not much plot to speak of, and even though Twain warns that those seeking a plot in HF will be shot, it's safe to say that Huck Finn tells a story. If I had to pick a book this one is close to, I'd go more for Tove Jansson's The Summer Book (though the characterization in Jansson's book runs circles around characterization here).
So what's to be said for this little novella and who might like it? I'd say readers who value nostalgia and extended descriptive writing of nature: river life, woods, islands, etc. Because really, it's just about a boy named Pascalet who launches a forbidden boat on a forbidden river and meets up with another boy on the run named Gatzo.
Stars, insects, plants, birds, fish, few words between the boys because Gatzo is not a big talker. And before you know it, the piece is over. Some readers might bump into the wall at the end and say, "Is that it? Is this all there is to it?" but I would counsel prospective readers to lower expectations and relax. It's almost a nature essay, a little memoir of a week in the life of a boy (as told from old age looking back).
Yes, nothing more. Just a nice, gentle mood piece. Reread Twain's warning at the beginning of Huck Finn and then, if you like this sort of writing, jump in for a lazy little float down the river. But if you demand a more traditional narrative with plot arcs, strong characterization, endless action and on-and-on dialogue, save yourself the trouble.
Even after finishing this I'm not exactly sure what it is. A sort of French provincial "Wind in the Willows," crossed with "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" and "Treasure Island"? Sort of, but not really. Regardless, not really my cup of tea.
The author seems to have had a very interesting life, but unfortunately none of that really seemed to come out here. Fortunately, it was only 80 pages.
L'envie de transcender les limites et partir 脿 la recherche de l'inconnu et le myst茅rieux a saisi Pascalet qui a profit茅 de l鈥檃bsence de ses parents et le sommeil de sa grand-m猫re pour d茅couvrir la rivi猫re interdite et vivre l'aventure tant d茅sir茅e... une belle histoire pleine de suspens qui peut 茅merveiller vos enfants ainsi que vous; jeunes lecteurs et adultes!
Finished The Boy And The River by Henri Bosco this afternoon (translated by Gerard Hopkins, originally published in 1945). Its a type of French Tom Sawyer that I believe was once read widely in schools, aimed at 12-14 year olds. It鈥檚 just a good old-fashioned story about an adventurous boy and the river he has been warned away from. It came to my attention from Sigur冒sson鈥榮 Oraefi, in which the author quotes it as a major inspiration as a youngster to his lifetime of wilderness travel. It鈥檚 easy to see why. I鈥檓 a bit late to it.. but up here at 1700 metres in the shadow of the Carlit Massif it went down really well.
2.5 猸� oui, c'est bien 茅crit. Mais pur茅e que c'est vieillot. Comme je comprends les pauvres gosses 脿 qui on impose cette lecture, qui ont envie d'aventures certes, mais qui n'ont pas forc茅ment envie qu'on leur d茅crive par le menu l'int茅gralit茅 de la flore de la rivi猫re.
Really beautiful, idyllic writing. I feel like I was supposed to read this mindlessly while sipping Prosecco in a row boat in France somewhere and reminiscing about childhood.
This is a lovely little children鈥檚 book about the wonder of being outside that has absolutely nothing to do with Huckleberry Finn. And it rules that a Nobel winner wrote it and NYRB published it and then said it was like American non children鈥檚 classic huckleberry finn. Good work on all sides
J'ai trop aim茅 l'茅criture, la plume 茅tait hyper po茅tique, par contre c'茅tait vraiment contemplatif, le plot est juste absent. J'ai beaucoup aim茅 tout l'aspect m茅lancolique cela dit.