First of all, the title.
Jean-Phillippe Rameau (1683-1764) was one of the dominant composers of 18th-century France, and one of the most important musical theorists of his time (though as far as I know, his music is not much played today). He was the author of the Treatise On Harmony, published in 1722, His first opera, Hippolyte Et Ancie, premiered in 1733, when he was nearly 50 years old, and drew a lot of controversy because of its revolutionary harmonies. No wonder Denis Diderot heard of him and used his name in the title of this piece. Did Rameau actually have a nephew? I haven't been able to find out, but it scarcely matters.
Whether Rameau the composer had a nephew in real life or not, the nephew we read about in “Rameau's Nephew” is not someone a genuine uncle would be proud of, frankly. He depends entirely on wealthy acquaintances to support him, for which he does little but keep them amused at dinner. His attitude is profoundly cynical regarding just about everything, although at least he has the grace to admit that he has no virtues to speak of. That is, he does not insist that he's smarter or more virtuous than those who feed and clothe him – some freeloaders do that very thing, but not Rameau's nephew.
To express this point of view, the book consists almost entirely of dialogue between Rameau's nephew (“Him”) and the narrator (“Me”). Over the years, readers have occasionally confused “Me” with Diderot himself, but there's no evidence to support that equivalence. Clearly, “Me” is a fictitious person that Diderot invented to give himself the space to convey his ideas without having to put the whole thing in a dry essay form. Indeed, part of the pleasure we get from reading “Rameau's Nephew” is the frequent humor we find there, which would have been much more difficult to include in a straight essay.
What else can we say about the meeting between “Me” and “Him” in a chess club of all things? The members of the club begin by ignoring our two gentlemen altogether, until toward the end “Him” tells “Me” about the often ridiculous people he talks about, imitating their habits and motions until the chess players break off their games and gather around to observe. Obviously enough, there could be no such narrative trick in a straight-ahead essay. This narrative strategy also shows us that Rameau's nephew, despite his freeloading tendencies, has enough talent to get what he needs from the wealthy families that he imposes himself upon.
So this book is a lot of fun to read. The narrative does have a disadvantage, though, in its lack of any plot to speak of. That can get a bit frustrating at times. Diderot compensates for that by having “Him” admit very quickly that his hosts have thrown him out because he's become a little too insulting. There's no evident explanation as to exactly what he said or did to get his hosts so impatient, but again that's hardly important. Suffice to say that “Him” has turned up in the chess club to get some relaxation before he heads out to find another host to impose himself on. There, he bumps into “Me”, an acquaintance who's interested enough to listen to “Him” and his various theories about what's wrong with contemporary French life and how one can survive in it without having to work for a living.
The irony, of course, is that despite his cynicism and professed lack of talent, “Him” does have to work pretty hard as a freeloader. It's “Me” and his morality who shows up as a kind of ignoramus throughout this dialogue. It's this ignorance that shows that “Me” is not in fact Denis Diderot, one of the cleverest thinkers in France at the time. And of course, Diderot is at least as much in agreement with “Him” – Rameau's nephew – and his harsh criticism of the French life and culture of the day as anyone could be.
That in itself is a pretty cynical attitude. I'm told that that cynicism, whether Diderot was a cynic himself or simply assumed the cynicism in the character of Rameau's nephew, is a very French attitude.
Benshlomo says, Assume an attitude if you have it not.
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