
The Astonished Man
Panel one — the lightning that started the tetralogy this volume deepens.
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Eleven ports and the sea-word for knocking about the world — with the great Genoa chapter, the tetralogy's buried childhood, at its heart.
Bourlinguer (1948) — the old sailor's verb for knocking about the world — is the tetralogy's third panel: eleven chapters, eleven ports, from Venice to Antwerp by way of the century's waterfronts, each harbor uncorking its own cargo of memory. At the center sprawls 'Gênes' — Genoa — the longest and greatest chapter, where the wandering finally digs down to childhood itself: the Italian boyhood, the first deaths, the first books. The title entered French as his flag; the book remains the tetralogy's richest single volume. (A memoir — nothing here to spoil.)
The structure is a harbor chart: Venice, Naples, Bordeaux, Brest, Toulon, Antwerp and the rest, each port a chapter and each chapter a life — smugglers, sailors' bars, cargoes, books read and burned, the merchant marine of memory. Cendrars' digression-engine runs at full sea-speed here, but the book's gravity is the immense Genoa chapter: the family's Italian years, the child Freddy's streets and terrors, a first beloved dog, a first brush with death and desire — the buried strata the legend was built to cover, finally excavated by the man the legend belonged to.
Published by Denoël in 1948 (Englished later by Nina Rootes as Planus), it made the verb bourlinguer permanently his in French — to have knocked about the world, the Cendrars way. Within the tetralogy it is the volume readers keep: the widest geography and the deepest dig in one binding, the adventurer's outward myth and inward child reconciled at last in the same harbor.
Eleven ports, each a chapter and a world: wartime Venice and its spies, Naples of the emigrant ships, the Atlantic and Channel harbors of cargo runs and shore-leave underworlds — the narrator aboard, ashore, and astray, with the digressions casting off whenever a bollard of memory offers. Then Genoa: the tetralogy's longest reach, down through the family's Italian years into the child who preceded every legend — school terrors, street initiations, first grief — told with the same fraternity the other volumes spend on legionnaires and gypsies.
If you read one volume of the tetralogy, most of its faithful would hand you this one — and point you to Genoa first.
Each harbor chapter is a complete book of tales — the digression method at its most generous.
Genoa gives the adventurer a child's face — the tetralogy's deepest and most moving excavation.
Waterfronts, cargoes, emigrant ships — the world the era's literature mostly watched from café terraces, boarded.
1946
The publisher René Kieffer commissions a short text to accompany eighteen harbor engravings by Valdo Barbey — a quick six-month job.
1947
Cendrars blows past the assignment into a sprawling literary epic; a disappointed Kieffer drops out, and he takes the finished text elsewhere.
1948
Denoël publishes Bourlinguer in Paris, the tetralogy's third panel, and the sailor's verb becomes permanently his in French.
1972
Peter Owen issues Nina Rootes's complete English translation, as Planus.

Panel one — the lightning that started the tetralogy this volume deepens.
Read our take

The shelf's other Mediterranean rapture — Miller's Greece answering his master's Genoa.
Read our takeBlaise Cendrars. Published in 1948, it is the third panel of his late memoir tetralogy.
It is an old sailor's verb for knocking about the world. Cendrars took it as his own flag, and it entered French with him.
Eleven chapters, eleven ports — Venice to Antwerp by way of the century's waterfronts — each harbor uncorking its own cargo of memory.
"Gênes" (Genoa), the longest, where the wandering finally digs down to childhood itself — the Italian boyhood, the first deaths, the first books.
Autobiographical memoir, freely reshaped — often called the richest single volume of Cendrars's tetralogy.