This semester, I taught the 300-level French composition course at my university. It’s one of the classes I like best, because the students make so much forward progress in their writing — they go from stilted, unvarying sentences to being able to write in several different genres and with a wider variety of structures and vocabulary. Their discovery that writing in French can be entertaining and fluid is as rewarding for me as it is for them. (It then remains for them to find out that they have a lot of reading and writing left in front of them before they get really good at it, if ever, but that’s another story.)
It was, therefore, with a shock of grinning delight that I discovered Raymond Queneau’s Exercises de style this semester. (No, I don’t know why I hadn’t read it before. Glaring omission. Humiliation. Oh, dear.) This short book is exactly what it says: ninety-nine exercises, in which Queneau describes the same short incident (he witnesses a man arguing on a bus; later, he sees the same man getting sartorial advice in front of the Gare St-Lazare) in wildly divergent ways. Tactilely. Gastronomically. Metaphorically. By using litotes. Philosophically. In the form of an official letter of complaint. In urban slang; in peasant argot. In free verse; in a tanka; in a sonnet. In anglicisms, italianicisms, latinicisms (is that a word?), homophones, exclamations.
I find myself beggared for words to describe how happy this book made me. I kept thinking, “This is the one I’ll quote for the review. No, this. No, this one will be perfect!” before realizing that I would have to quote the entire book in order to show you the kaleidoscopic, shifting, jewellike, precise nature of what Queneau is doing. This is play, but it is work: he wants to see what language is, and what it can do. Apparently there is nothing it can’t do; we can extract meaning from every possible juxtaposition of letters and syllables, and make a story. My students have no idea what they’re in for, in the best possible sense: this kind of juggling of fire-torches and disco-balls is still in their future.
It seems that this book has been translated into several languages, including English, and has also been made into a play. While my imagination boggles at this (so much of the work Queneau is doing here seems essentially related to the language itself that a translator would have to rewrite the book from scratch), I absolutely recommend that you find and read it. It is a total joy.
Shelf Love 
I have read this in English translation (which struck me as pretty good but, as you say, probably constructed more or less from scratch; for example, there’s a chapter of Cockney rhyming slang – is that in the original?), but it’s on my A list of books to look for in French. So fun and also so interesting! I agree with your assessment of “a total joy.”
No, there’s no Cockney rhyming slang, but there are several things that are quite similar. You’ve GOT to read this in French, Emily, if only to compare. So much fun!
I absolutely love Exercises de style. Such a delight. I’ve never seen the translation, but I do have the original English translation of Queneau’s Zazie dans le metro and it’s amazing what the translator came up with.
Now that I’ve had my introduction to Queneau, I think I might be addicted. (Can’t stop at just one!) Zazie dans le metro is the obvious next step.
This book sounds AMAZING, but I’m also wondering at how the translation worked out! It seems like a monumental task, plus I think you’d also lose a lot of the original’s French-ness which is a bit disappointing. (Cockney rhyming slang? Really?)
The translation doesn’t feel French. It pretty much embraces its British-English-ness. As such the cockney slang didn’t seem out of place when I was reading it, since there are other British-English touches as well. But if you were going for a francophone vibe I can see how it might be disappointing.
I read the English translation too, and that’s how I felt about it. I really liked it as well, Emily and Jenny.
I do think a translation would have to embrace whatever language it was being translated into, not the original language play. Though that would be fun in itself!
I read this back in college days, and saw it performed once, when I was living in France. My favourite Queneau is Zazie dans le metro – which you probably know already. I do so love the character of Zazie and her cheeky retorts of ‘mon cul!’.
I can’t wait to read that one! It sounds marvelous. How was the play?
I read the English translation last year and enjoyed it, although I was really curious to see how it differed from the French version (not that I can read in French). It’s amazing how a simple story can be told in so many ways.