Rigadoon embarks on a rejuvenation of the narrative drive that set the trilogy in motion. Central to this narrative is the narrator’s illness, which echoes the recurrent theme of head injuries in Céline’s works. The persistent legend that Céline underwent trepanation—a procedure involving the drilling of the skull to alleviate brain pressure—as a remedy for a wartime head injury adds depth to the notion of narration as a cathartic release from such a wound. This creative delirium reveals the tumultuous undercurrents hidden beneath the veneer of daily existence.

As Ferdinand embarks on his journey, he is twice struck on the head, a poignant reminder of the novel’s initial motifs and a tangible connection between the protagonist and the narrator, both depicted as tormented and inventive beings. This repeated motif of head trauma serves as a metaphor for the obligatory and chaotic creative expression that defines Céline’s narrative style, where the act of storytelling becomes an almost involuntary outburst, mirroring the complexities and disorder inherent in human experience. Through this lens, Rigadoon explores the delicate balance between suffering and creativity, suggesting that from pain emerges profound artistic insight.

The narrator's delirium, while seemingly chaotic, paradoxically sharpens his perception of reality. This heightened awareness stands in contrast to other forms of delirium, which often act as veils, obscuring the true nature of the world. In the works of Céline, delirium is depicted as any intense obsession or mania that allows individuals to escape the often chaotic and unpredictable nature of existence. It serves as a refuge from the tumultuous reality, providing an illusory sense of order or a retreat from the world's inherent madness.

Insanity represents the ultimate form of delirium, where those afflicted retreat within a distorted psyche, effectively shielding themselves from the external world. By severing ties with reality, they relinquish all responsibility. In this sense, insanity can be viewed as a form of self-preservation. The character Le Vigan's spiraling descent into madness exemplifies this concept. His madness becomes a form of seductive escape, representing an alluring surrender against which the protagonist must fiercely battle.

The journey northward serves as a pivotal theme linking the volumes in this noteworthy trilogy. The second volume’s title underscores this northerly direction, which extends beyond simple geographical references. It resonates with deeper meanings derived from Céline’s earlier works, where the concept of north stands as a symbol laden with cultural and personal significance.

Céline, considering himself a Breton, embraced the notion of being a Northerner—both physically and mentally superior to his compatriots. This self-identification permeates his writings, notably in his anti-Semitic pamphlets that position the North in stark opposition to the South and the Mediterranean Basin. In this dichotomy, the South is depicted as the cradle of Jewish influence, a perceived source of contamination threatening Europe.

His first novel, Voyage au bout de la nuit (1932; translated as Journey to the End of the Night, 1934), further explores this thematic landscape, portraying northern climates as inherently healthier and less prone to the twin ills of physical and moral decay that plague humanity. This perspective informs the trilogy, presenting France—an entity Ferdinand seeks to escape—as an environment plagued by unhealthy influences and a relentless justice system. This portrayal of France reflects Ferdinand's view of the nation as a diseased land, eager to punish a writer whose anti-Semitic rhetoric, aligned with Nazi ideology, was claimed to target only those Jews driving France into another calamitous war with Germany.

Thus, the trilogy transcends its narrative surface to explore larger themes of geographical symbolism, using the voyage...

In the poignant tapestry of Castle to Castle, two striking images capture the essence of impermanence and the ravages of war. Central to this narrative is the imposing Hohenzollern castle, a bastion that houses the Vichy government's high-ranking officials. Perched above the town, this castle is not merely a residence but a symbol of the transitory nature of human history. Its walls, adorned with portraits of former dwellers, stand in silent testimony to the past, while the relentless erosion of its foundations by the Danube’s waters signifies the inevitable decay of all human constructs, including the might of the Third Reich.

The interior of the castle mirrors the chaotic mental state of its residents. Its intricate network of corridors and staircases creates a labyrinthine environment, where only Ferdinand and Lili can navigate with ease. This unique ability signifies the artist's insight into understanding and linking disparate elements of reality. In stark contrast, the Vichy officials remain isolated within their compartments, cut off from the external world and from each other, fostering their delusions of German triumph. The castle, symbolizing the "head" of Sigmaringen, is juxtaposed against its "body," manifested in the town’s hotels like the Löwen, where refugees, including Ferdinand and Lili, reside.

The squalid conditions in these hotels, marked by perpetually clogged and overflowing toilets, serve as a vivid metaphor for the disease, malnutrition, and overcrowding plaguing Sigmaringen's refugees. This disjunction between the "head" and "body," between those in power and the suffering endured by the powerless, epitomizes the absurdity of war in Céline's eyes. Governments orchestrate conflicts, treating ordinary citizens as expendable resources in their grand plans.

Another resonant image is that of the railway station, teeming with soldiers and civilians seeking refuge from the turmoil, a bustling hub of exchange where food, information, and even sexual favors are traded. In this chaotic marketplace, Ferdinand discerns an unexpected beauty. The station, with travelers arriving and departing from across Europe, embodies a sense of exoticism. Yet, more than its diversity, it is the indomitable spirit of survival that captivates Ferdinand. Amidst the chaos, people display resilience and tenacity, traits that Ferdinand and Lili will come to share as they navigate their perilous journey to Denmark.

The trilogy is akin to a rigadoon, a dance characterized by a couple taking one step backward for every step forward, embodying movement without true progress. Readers unfamiliar with Céline's life can still sense that Copenhagen will not serve as a refuge for Ferdinand. The narrative swiftly dispels any illusion of lasting peace in the Danish capital. Instead, it forewarns of impending disruption, with Ferdinand facing years of detention in Denmark before the possibility of extradition to France looms, where his fate will ultimately be decided.