DEATH IN THE ARMCHAIR

"Ah, no!" Boris Vian shouted, rising from his chair. And he collapsed, victim of a heart attack. He was 39 years old, and he had already warned that he would not reach forty, heart disease since childhood and, still, protagonist of a hyperactive and dizzying life. It happened on the morning of June 23, 1959, last year the fiftieth anniversary of his death. This March 10 -with little echo in Spain- the centenary of his birth was celebrated in a small town near Paris. Boris Vian had come, reluctantly and accompanied by many friends and by Michelle and Úrsula, the two main women in his life, to a private pass, in a cinema near the Champs Elysées, from the film that Michel Gast had directed at from his novelI will spit on your grave (1946). Although he had collaborated on the script, he did not agree with the development of the adaptation and production. He had asked that his name not appear on the credits. When beginning the projection, and verifying that his name did appear in the credits, he was struck dead: "Ah, no!" I will spit on your grave, the story of a white-skinned black man who wishes to avenge his brother's death at the hands of white supremacists, was one of the four novels - out of a total of ten - that Vian published with the pseudonym Vernon Sullivan - presumed North American writer of color - and one of the few successes that he had in life. Also, due to the abundance of violence and sex, a major scandal that led him to be condemned by the courts. Like the rest of Vernon Sullivan's novels, it was both a tribute to and a parody of the American "black series," written with inventiveness, cheekiness, and humor unheard of in postwar French letters.

"THE FOAM OF DAYS"

The foam of the days , bitter and tragic story about the impossibility of living a happy love, published by Gallimard with his name, in 1947, and taken to the cinema on two occasions, has remained as the great novel by Boris Vian. But it was also a failure at the time, despite the enthusiastic support received by personalities such as Raymond Queneau -his persistent great supporter- and Jean-Paul Sartre -good friend and future lover of his first wife-, who appears as a character in the novel with the "alias" of Jean-Sol Partre. These two names allow us to point out two characteristics of Vian's endless and multiple personality: on the one hand, his insertion in the drifts of surrealism -which would lead him to become a member of the College of Pataphysics- and, on the other, his very peculiar existentialism, set in the environment that frequented and starred in the caves, gambling dens and cafes of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Read, for better information, his amusing Manual of Saint-Germain-des-Prés (1951). Perennial big and playful boy, individualist, mystic and womanizer, anarchist and anarchic, snob and dandy, the personality and creativity of Boris Vian were as kaleidoscopic as the set of 27 census pseudonyms he came to use for his writings and works.

A LIFE WITHOUT REST

Born with three brothers in a rich family - his father was ruined and later he was assassinated - educated, intelligent and extravagant, who played together to compose poems and invent words, Boris Vian - although it seems a lie - graduated in Engineering and his studies He was left with his ability to design absurd machines and unprecedented projects and, perhaps, his love of collecting and modifying vintage cars. Author of nearly sixty " nouvelles " and short stories, playwright, opera and ballet librettist, poet, translator, essayist, newspaper reporter, promoter in France of American Science-Fiction novels, actor and screenwriter, Boris Vian He did not rest for a minute in his brief, festive, imaginative and frenetic existence - streak-hit by the loss of health and money - but we still have a lot to say because we haven't talked about music. In the foreword to The Foam of Days, he wrote: "There are only two things: love in all its manifestations, with beautiful girls, and the music of New Orleans or that of Duke Ellington."

JAZZ AND SONG

Boris Vian became friends with Duke Ellington, Miles Davis and many more " jazzmen ". Consummate trumpeter, creator and leader of jazz groups with whom he performed, recorded albums and earned chick peas, Vian was a chronicler and jazz critic for years, first publishing his articles in specialized magazines such as " Jazz Hot " and in publications of the intellectual relevance of " Combat " and " Les Temps Modernes ", and then bringing them together in three books. He also did long series of jazz programs on the radio, was a music editor for the Phillips label, and in another area pioneered rock in France. But there is still more. Composer of " chansons " -in the French style, but with his peculiar lyrics- and singer himself live and direct -he also recorded albums-, a recent count indicates that he composed more than five hundred songs -many sung by the most important French interpreters of the 50s - and, among them, the most famous (and censored) perhaps remains The Deserter (1954), turned into a pacifist hymn and covered by Peter, Paul and Mary and Joan Baez. In the 70s and 80s a lot of his novels were published in Spain -especially in Bruguera-, which were read with relish by the young readers of that time, already aspiring or immersed in (post) modernity: the aforementioned and With women there is no way, Let the ugly die, The autumn in Beijing, The heart-snatch ... All hilarious, full of imagination, transgression, inventiveness and insolence, although also, sometimes, carriers of a touch of pathos and tragedy. I read an excellent article by the poet Francisco Javier Irazoqui in "El Cultural " about Boris Vian, but anyone would say that the centenary of his birth - will it be due to the pandemic? - has been overshadowed in Spain, where so many readers have had and should continue having, therefore, his novels maintain - today more than ever - a fresh, disruptive and motivating force. Thereto!

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