Ferdinand Bardamu survives the trenches of World War I, colonial Africa, the Ford factory in Detroit, and medical practice in the Paris slums, and Céline's prose carries you through it all like a fever dream. The style broke French literature open: spoken rhythms, ellipses, a voice that rants and cajoles and never stops moving. Céline was a monster, a collaborator, an antisemite whose later work became unreadable. But this first novel, written before his full descent, captured twentieth century disgust with a force no one has matched. The darkness is total. The energy is inexhaustible.