For the past couple of weeks, Asterix the Gaulās 50th birthday has been the subject of sustained media attention, thanks largely to the tributes that erupted all over Paris throughout October. (In 1959, a short Asterix and Obelix comic strip in the magazine Pilote was published ā it wasnāt until 1961 that the first full āalbumā, Asterix the Gaul, started a ball rolling that soon became known as āle phĆ©nomĆØne AstĆ©rixā. So be prepared for further celebrations come 2011.)
But, depressingly, most commentators have seen the golden jubilee of RenĆ© Goscinnyās and Albert Uderzoās greatest creation as an opportunity to explore the way in which the Asterix brand has become a little tarnished in recent years ā following the mediocre film adaptations starring GĆ©rard Depardieu, for example, as well as Uderzoās decision to sell the series rights to the mega-publisher Hachette and the high-profile feud with his daughter that ensued ā and to ignore the undiminished brilliance of the books themselves. A piece that appeared in the Times is typical. āIt happens to plenty of men,ā it suggested. āThey turn 50 and all the vim disappears. But it shouldnāt happen if you have access to a magic potion that revives your powers faster than Viagra.ā
An excellent essay by Mary Beard that appeared in the LRB a few years ago does a better job of celebrating Goscinnyās and Uderzoās genius. It even reserves praise for the several albums that Uderzo has composed alone since Goscinnyās premature death in 1977 (which have been the focus of some particularly scathing birthday criticism).
But having spent the weekend rereading my collection of Asterix and Obelix titles, I think that something rather important has, for some reason, gone largely unacknowledged in all the furore: how extraordinarily well both menās work (and, of course, Anthea Bellās and Derek Hockridgeās English translation has aged. Far better than, say, Tintin in the Congo, yes. But, more than that, in a manner which makes the fact that they were written decades ago almost entirely irrelevant.
Which raises the question: why is it that Asterix stories feel as fresh as they do, thirty or fifty years on? Here are three suggestions of mine. Feel free to make any of your own in the comment box below.
Literary references: The storiesā penchant for referring to cultural touchstones ā Asterix in Belgium (1979) opens āwith apologies to: George Gordon, Lord Byron, Mr Wm Shakespeare, Mr John Milton and Peter Breughel the Elderā ā is well known. That these references invariably come from canonical classics ā from Horaceās Odes to Cervantesās Don Quixote (the eponymous knight-errant and his squire make a cameo appearance in Asterix in Spain (1969) ā ensures that Asterixās adventures feel timeless.
Metanarrative: Asterix in Belgium and Asterix and Son (1983) feature flourishes of an altogether contemporary literary postmodernism. āLook, weāre only just starting this story,ā Asterix explains early on in the former. āItās much too soon for a banquet.ā
Well-chosen modern touches: Instead of alluding to 1960s- and 1970s-specific issues that might have quickly lost their relevance, the books ingeniously make use of durable modern ideas. So, a character in Asterix and Caesarās Gift (1974) suggests that āif anyone ever decides to go digging up the past behind this house, heāll have a few archaeological problems on his handsā. And Obelix points out in Asterix and the Banquet (1965) that, compared to boar, āOysters are all right, but you can eat boar even when there isnāt an ārā in the month . . .ā