félix fénéon

   Scratching himself with a revolver with an overly sensitive trigger,
   M. Édouard B. removed the tip of his nose
   in the Vivienne precinct house.

I’ve been reading a bit in ‘Novels in Three Lines,’ the Félix Fénéon collection translated and edited by Luc Sante.

‘Layered, ironic, amused, Fénéon’s voice is unmistakable … a little yo-yo of a narrative that gives pleasure no matter how many times it is flung’ (Marilyn Johnson in NYT review). I love that description. These are at turns funny, macabre and odd. They were all written in 1906 as part of a newspaper column for Le Matin. News items as haiku.

[Not long ago I came across another reference to Fénéon - in Jan Voss' diary entry, over at Boekie Woekie, pondering the style of writing he might want to pursue. I quite like these little synchronicities (probably not a true synchronicity but how often do you get to use that word?). ]

   While thundering for the Republic,
   a 300-year-old cannon exploded in Chatou,
   but no one was hurt.

   Scheid, of Dunkirk, fired three times at his wife.
   Since he missed every shot, he decided to aim at his mother-in-law,
   and connected.

   An angry bull was dragging cowboy Bouyoux
   toward Poissy by the tether. It broke.
   So then the bull unseated cyclist Gervet.

Illustrations by Edward Gorey would’ve suited.