Hello,
Nothing prepared me for coming to talk about Jean-Philippe Toussaint . Because New Roman is me, we're a little angry, long time. Because I'm happy those who grumble that France, the style flourished often at the expense of history, and vice versa ... Because my cup of tea is rather Anglo-Saxon writers, and not too similar to the stories of chamber music.
but guess what. I read a few things on this Belgian author who had seduced me. Including an interview where he said no, he did not take great pleasure in writing, or else if, but a little masochistic pleasure, so it was difficult. Because he had to go so deep in itself. And it is not natural to go down by itself as in a mine, it's hard, look at the number of people who remain on the surface and find themselves very happy. As it bothers me to hear an author say he wrote a book with ease and joy, which I just about every sentence painfully extracted ... I found it nice. And most importantly, he added something that touched me: we write because we are a little inadequate in the world, a little margin, and then, writing accomplishes this miracle (when you touch readers) to take you back to the world, you give up your margins, a real place that you reconcile with him. Suddenly, it made me want to read his novels. In addition, it is funny. If so. it laughs too, a writer Midnight. Look at his picture, that little seeming to have your head gently. It is similar in its novels. He might write them in pain, he has fun and entertains us.
So I read about Mary's triptych, which begins Make love, continues with Fleeing ( Prix Médicis 2005), and concludes ( temporarily) with The Truth About Mary (which was neck and neck with Marie Ndiaye for Goncourt and won the prize December 2009), which is anything but the truth about Mary, but who cares. And gradually, a novel to another, while my fascination was growing, and with my admiration, I started thinking, well, that Jean-Philippe Toussaint should have some power Sorcerer. Since leaving the reserve, as we dip the toe in the water of a swimming pool to find an objective reason not to dive, I'm finished reading completely enthralled with the desire to read everything. Plus I entered the text writing by Jean-Philippe Toussaint bore me, like a bath of Music, where she wanted, but I'm trying to keep me on the edge of the pages, I let myself slip into the raging torrent, a scary moment in contemplation radiant, a panicked heartbeat a breath or a whisper quiet love. Because the style of Saints is so virtuosic and clear it carries with it the twilight and the sun, music and silence, what is not said, what can be said but one reads in a heartbeat eyelash, a tear, the rustle of a goblet glass against another, the posture of a rebellious young woman at the funeral of his father. His writing is breathing, sometimes breathless and exhausted, sometimes slow and gentle, sensual and murmuring.
But talking about this love story fatal and inevitable that runs along the three novels like an invisible thread, and that sums up the opening sentence Fleeing : "Is it ever done with Mary?" In the timeline a bit shaken novels, the narrator breaks up with Mary in the first and is found in the third (well they meet only to discover that the end is separated they love best), while the second is for the summer before their breakup. Over these three novels, Tokyo to the Louvre, from China to the Island of Elba, a sweltering night in Paris to the tarmac at Narita airport, the link between these two people continues despite the insults of their love. And survives at break, bereavement, with intermittent connections. In fact, in each novel, the narrator and Mary love each other mainly in the lack, the telescoping distance, including when they are alongside one another. The key to this relationship may be, although it is as elusive as Mary herself, in fact the narrator of Fleeing :
" We loved each other, but we do we will bear more . There was this, now, in our love, that even if we continue to make the whole more good than bad, the little trouble we were doing we had become unbearable. "
They are together even when separated by oceans or other bodies, hot bodies and bloody, dying or placed in a coffin. The power of their love packs the mechanism of nature, raises land of earthquakes, fires, floods of tears of rain, and does not hesitate to kill those who stand in the way. And it only takes one phone call in the middle of the night to revive in the Japanese narrator all thought he had mixed feelings suffocate by escaping:
"I emerged from the cabin, upset, heavy heart, infinitely happy and unhappy. With it in five minutes, I did not know who I was, she made me turn my head, she took my hand and made me turn on myself at full speed until my worldview goes wrong my panic and become inoperative instruments, all my marks were scrambled, I was walking through the icy air of night and I did not know where I went, I watched the dark water shining on the surface of the channel and I I felt caught by conflicting impulses, exacerbated, irrational. "
Will it one day finished with Mary?" Probably never, even if the hourglass ruthless time precipitated the end of their love, even if death is lurking everywhere, ready to strike, as in a Shakespearean drama. All three novels poses a threat more or less accurate. In Fleeing :
"I had filled a vial of hydrochloric acid, and I kept it on me at all times, with the idea of taking a day at the mouth of someone. "
In Lovemaking is China that bears this threat, a mysterious China, starts standing where Chinese actors exchanging cryptic about this in language that the narrator does not understand where his "escort" a little overzealous has an eye on him and he eventually won in a chase on motorbikes, but who are they pursued? Why? Finally, in The Truth About Mary this sentence worthy of a thriller puts us on alert from the first pages:
between thriller and love story, a continuation motorcycle displays a calm summer day on the island of Elba, Jean-Philippe Toussaint takes us with humor, seriousness, fantasy, according to his whim. The Truth About Mary , but an evil who can say ... It is interesting to glean clues here and there that draw a character between shadows and light, messy, carefree Mary, Mary full pages in tears, proud and stop Mary, dressed in riding to the funeral mass of his father ... there is something intractable in Mary, she loves the mess is secured by a fierce determination. "Unpredictable, whimsical, tuante incomparable "as is Mary, and even if her man is leaking, it is she who ultimately escapes to the endangerment, between vertigo and pride.
Then you will understand that with all that (and yet I'm limited, I had so much to tell you ...), I can only commit to make the acquaintance of Mary savoring the subtleties of the text by Jean-Philippe Toussaint . And even if all three novels can be read separately in any order or however you like, read the following you can see the whole canvas, to find a book to another statement, which echoes meet to each other in an irresistible alchemy.
soon.
Gaëlle Nohant
0 comments:
Post a Comment