A Catch-Up

From the beginning of 2011, I have been trying to instil a bit of guidance and discipline into my reading habits – no re-reading old novels, no more non-fiction, and no more true crime. I am also introducing a pattern – every other book I read has to have been written in French. Friends suggested Russians; my official line is that Russian authors are passé. The real reason is that I can’t cope with the character names.

I haven’t been keeping notes, so this won’t be a wonderfully detailed account, but here’s an overview of what I’ve read so far:

George Perec: A Void

So, a member of high-brow French Lit group Oulipo (Workshop for Potential Literature) writes a novel without using the letter ‘e’ at any stage. To clarify, that’s no words which include the letter ‘e’. This might not sound like an enticing prospect for light reading. And yet, and yet… A Void is an absolute joy to read! Swept up in the exuberance of his own verbosity, Perec (and his translator) create a superb murder mystery, moving beyond traditional dogmatic discourse (he, she, were, where, there, here, the, ever) into a linguistic playground. This would be a superb novel to hear aloud, as the writer’s enthusiasm shines through in every sentence. Experimentalism has never been so rewarding.

Marguerite Duras: The Lover

Documenting the end of French empire through the eyes of a young girl in 1930s Saigon, whose awareness of class and cultural anomalies is heightened by her relationship with a wealthy young Chinese man, Duras packs a lot of information into a reasonably short novel. Slow paced but well-written, Duras reveals the gradual shift in attitude and expectation, without drifting into the sentimentality which often affects English novels dealing with the same era.

Jean Paul Satre: The Age of Reason

My contribution to existentialism was to throw this turgid nonsense into the River Goyt.

Albert Camus: The Plague

Just to demonstrate that existentialism isn’t incompatible with stylish writing, sympathetic characters, engrossing narrative and empathy. I found the allegories on collaboration and the Holocaust particularly interesting, and admired the way Camus found multiple viewpoints within what was largely a first person narrative.

Sylvie Germain: Days of Anger

A more recent novel, available in the UK thanks to the fantastic Dedalus Books, this is a dark fairytale of love and revenge, set in a primitive woodland setting. The writing is highly symbolic. Families are torn apart by betrayals; a wealthy farmer is abandoned by his wife, and murders her in his rage. A poor farmer finds the body. Overcome by lust for the corpse, he blackmails the killer, marries his daughter, and takes his riches. The daughter is kept in splendid isolation, expected to conform to an ideal of her mother. The blackmailer’s son is disgusted by the changes in his father, and goes back to the soil, marrying a peasant girl and raising 12 sons, each with semi-mystical qualities. This is a rich, elusive tale, worthy of serious consideration by anyone with an interest in magical realism.

Andre Gide: The Immoralist

A Heart of Darkness style novella, in which our anti-hero rebels against the constraints of academic learning and social norms following a life-threatening case of pneumonia. There are stylistic flourishes from Gide, but charactterisation is generally wooden, and the first person recitative narrative really doesn't appeal to me. The Immoralist lacks the splenetic rage that makes, say, The Torture Garden such a compelling read, and instead the reader is left with the impression of Gide as a posturing student.

Simone de Beauvoir: The Woman Destroyed

This triptych of stories deal with the impact of ageing on women in the second half of the twentieth century. We see an academic, stung by reaction to her latest work, and fearing that she doesn’t have the strength to break new ground, and a furious, lonely monologue from a woman left alone in her house on new year’s eve. The most memorable section of the book, though, is The Woman Destroyed itself, a gripping account of a woman’s attempts to deal with her husband’s adultery with a younger woman. Passing through desolation, acceptance, attempted reconciliation and rejection, Monique is a superb creation, lovingly and empathetically crafted by an exceptional writer.

Jean Teule: Monsieur Montespan

In this novel, Teule attempts to resurrect the reputation of Monsier Montespan, a nobleman in the time of Louis XIV who married for love but was cuckolded by his King. While the rest of the court envied his luck, Montespan reacted furiously, devoting his life to exposing his ill-treatment. Taking to the streets in a carriage mounted with stag’s horns, Montespan was viewed as a ridiculous figure by history, but to a modern eye emerges as a deeply sympathetic character. Teule writes extremely well by the standards of historical fiction, and revels in the dirt and squalor of the period; pungent smells and insect infestations abound, in even the highest circles.

Alain-Fournier: Le Grand Meaulnes

The jacket presents this as a 1913 version of Catcher in the Rye. However, despite a few high points (carnivalesque descriptions of children roaming wild in abandoned farm buildings) I found this novella largely unengaging, and surprisingly hard to pick up for such a short book.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery: The Little Prince

Heartbreaking, beautiful, and somehow extremely relevant in the modern day. Wonderfully written through childish eyes, free from cynicism, deeply poignant.


Any suggestions for the rest of the year are gratefully received, particularly more modern novels, and female authors.