Showing posts with label NDiaye (Marie). Show all posts
Showing posts with label NDiaye (Marie). Show all posts

15 December 2019

Claire Denis's White Material (2010)

This film is written by both Claire Denis and Marie NDiaye. It brings to mind Denis's first film Chocolat (1988), although it's not set in any specific place, just an unnamed country in Africa where a civil war between the government and the rebels (including children) is being waged.

In a way, the protagonist conjures up Isabelle Huppert's performance in the film adaptation of Marguerite Duras's eponymous novel Un barrage contre le Pacifique (1950), which was directed by Rithy Panh in 2008. Maria Vial (Isabelle Huppert) lives on the coffee plantation of her ex-father-in-law Henri (Michel Subor) and her ex-husband André (Christophe Lambert), alone with her psychologically disturbed son Manuel (Nicolas Duvauchelle) and now the rebel officer 'Le Boxeur' (Isaach de Bankolé). Due to the imminent danger all her workers have fled but she remains stubbornly waiting for the crop to be harvested and recruits workers from another farm to fulfil the work. The tension mounts, the death count rises, she is advised to move out, but Maria stands her ground, as if waiting stoically for a death sentence.

Manuel is attacked, stripped naked by young rebels and goes mad, shaving his head with revenge in his eyes, much like Travis Bickles (Robert De Niro) in Scorsese's Taxi Driver. The violence continues to grow.

The title of the film obviously relates to white people's goods, as well as the white people in this country. The atmosphere is very bleak, foreboding, the scenes non-sequential, and with a soundtrack by Tindersticks this is quite devastating.

23 September 2018

Marie NDiaye: Hilda (1999)

Some people are vulnerable in Marie NDiaye's universe, and others take advantage of this vulnerability: the strong, the powerful, the arrogant, the rich, lording it over the weak, the dispossessed, the less rich. It's dog eat dog, depending on what kind of a dog you are. And it's not merely (or even?) a question of intelligence, just of planning the right way to get what you want, finding the right words to say, at the right time. Humans are birds of prey, awaiting their time to pounce, and then pile on the pressure until there's no more fight in the victim. Here, I found in some respects an odd kind of reversal of the much later Slimani's Une Chanson Douce, and a woman totally dominating a man, emasculinating him, depriving him of his wife, reducing his life to almost nothing. Such is how some rule the lives of others. As Franck grows weaker, Mme Lemarchand profits from this fact. There are also subdued lesbian undertones.

Madame Lemarchand wants to set Hilda, the wife of manual worker Franck Meyer, on as a house help, and is willing to pay over the odds for the service. This means that Franck will have to find guardians for their own children, which is done. Hilda herself has no word in the play: this is in effect essentially a dialogue between Mme Lemarchand and Franck, a kind of card game in which Mme Lemarchand always has the upper hand, her trump cards being her financial aces, which always win over Franck's duff cards. He is powerless as Mme Lemarchand washes the putative dirt from Hilda, gives her more superior clothes, makes Hilda work more and more hours until Franck can see her no more, until Mme Lemarchand takes over her life and leaves the work injured Franck to his own devices, to his sister-in-law Corinne, who is the third (very brief) voice in this quietly devastating play.

My other posts on Marie NDiaye:
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Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit

Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis

7 February 2018

Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir (1985)

Famously, Marie NDiaye wrote her first novel Quant au riche avenir at the age of sixteen and Jérôme Lindon, founder of the prestigious publishing firm Les Éditions de Minuit, came to greet her outside Lycée Lakanal in Sceaux, with a publishing contract for her to sign. It is impossible to read this astonishing book without imagining that much of the content is autobiographical. The book is divided into three sections: 'L'Amie', which takes up almost exactly half of the content, with the other parts occupying about half the remaining space: 'Tante' and 'L'École'.

'L'Amie', as its title suggests, is about the adolescent protagonist's unnamed girlfriend, if that is the right word. Throughout the book the narrator, who has access to Z's thoughts and his alone, there are many long, rambling sentences packed with the neverending introspections of Z, his agonising, his intellectualising, his inability to relate to anyone else. And even when ostensibly communicating with people, his highly over-sensitised mind makes any real communication impossible.The girlfriend, unlike Z, lives outside the Paris area, and although she visits Paris several times and meets Z, he finds the occasions fraught with anxiety: he feels as though when he is with her he is another person, not the person who has desperately waited to see her. When she is with him she doesn't seem very enthusiatic, but then she doesn't seem enthusiastic in the letters she has written to him, letters in reply to his, for which he has often spent some time waiting for, letters which prove disappointingly frivolous. Eventually, Z finds a kind of escape valve for his anguish by to a certain extent emotionally divorcing himself from her.

But Z's intensely strained relationship between the inner and the outer, the psychological hell in which he is imprisoned versus the virtually hopelessly distant outside world, is inescapable. He was orphaned at a very young age and is brought up by a 'vague' aunt (Tante), who maintains an emotional distance from him, and he finds it impossible to relate to her. However, an almost epiphanic moment comes when she gives him not biscuits but his favourite cherry clafoufis (a kind of cake), and he seems to find a short-lived metaphysical relationship with Tante. But this fades and gives way to pity for her and the life she leads.


'L'École' is once more concerned with Z's inability to relate to the outside world. He's a highly accomplished student, but vain, and virtually friendless. He makes attempts (in his vague way) to communicate with Blériot, although finds him too much like himself, so inevitably breaks with him. In the end he thinks of just walking out on everything, but it's the thought of Tante, the thought of the responsibilities that he knows will in different ways haunt him for life, that makes him continue.


Quant au riche avenir, perhaps more than other books by NDiaye, is no easy read, although at the same time it's a joy to read NDiaye's exquisite narrative, so far removed from that of any other author.


Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
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Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

4 February 2018

Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis (2004)

So far Tous mes amis is Marie NDiaye's only book of short stories and there are five of them, vastly varying in length at times: the penultimate one, for instance, is fifty-five pages long, but the last one a mere eight pages. In order of sequence, they are 'Tous mes amis', 'La Mort de Claude François', 'Les Garçons', 'Une journée de Brulard' and Révélation'. All can be classed as some kind of horror story, all bear the clear hallmark of Marie NDiaye's preoccupations.

Abandonment (particularly the abandonment of children) is a theme which occurs in all five stories in some form or other: in 'Tous mes amis' the schoolteacher – quite common profession with NDiaye's characters – is the narrator whose wife has abandoned him, taking their children with her; in 'La Mort de Claude François' Marlène accuses her former schoolfriend the doctor Zaka of deserting her family, and when Zaka goes to see Marlène she abandons her daughter (another broken family) at the bottom of the block of flats; in 'Les Garçons' Mme Mour (whose husband later leaves her) sells her son Anthony into a pornographic business, and René (also wishing to leave his dismal, poverty-stricken home) is also sold: to his own estranged, pedophilic father; in 'Une journée de Brulard', the ex-movie actor Eve Brulard, now ageing, has abandoned her husband Jimmy and both of them seem to care little about their daughter Lulu; and finally, in 'Révélation' a woman takes her son on a definitive ride to Corneville, Rouen, to some kind of institution.

Madness is perhaps needless to say also present in all five stories: the narrator schoolteacher is clearly out of his mind visiting Jemal's home on the perhaps equally crazy Werner's instructions to kill Jemal, although we don't know how this deed will be done; Marlène is clearly mad, still Eve seeing visions of her former self in several places, and her mother in a mountain; and finally the boy on the bus, in spite of his obvious intelligence, goes off to the psychiatric hospital.

Violence has also been slightly touched on, and it is often hinted at: the schoolteacher thumps Séverine, is in turn pushed to the ground and kicked by her husband Jemal, and his unknown death has already been mentioned; René is left to untold horrors; Marlène has bruises from her 'son' and Zaka has left her daughter Paula downstairs in an obviously highly insalubrious neighbourhood; and menace haunts  'Une journée de Brulard', especially towards the end after the Rotors's dog eats Jimmy's little dog.

Class and sex are also strong themes in the book, although I've probably already given enough flavour of it. Marie NDiaye packs a great deal into five stories in the space of 174 pages, clearly proving her well acknowledged mastery of and indeed innovation in the fictional field.

Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

28 October 2017

Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes (2011)

In six years Marie NDiaye published five plays: Hilda (1999), Providence (2001), Papa doit manger (2003), Les Serpents (2004) and Rien d'humain (2004). Her sixth play, Les Grandes Personnes came seven years later. In that time a great deal had happened to her: winning the Goncourt, moving to Germany, and becoming a recognised figure of literature at least among French readers of serious works. Andrew Asibong, in his Marie NDiaye: Blankness and Recognition (2013), suggests that although the usual themes are in place, there has been an accompanying 'incongruous drift towards 'uplift', which is sometimes 'superficial' and 'crowd-pleasing'.

Éva and her husband Rudi are being visited by the ghost of 'their' daughter – actually the product of a relationship between Éva and Georges, we discover later – who walked out of the home many years before, although not due to any physical abuse on their part, indeed it seems they have almost killed her with kindness. Her ghost lives in the space under the stairs (which recalls Fanny in En famille). They share their problem with the less well-off couple Georges and his at times bizarre wife Isabelle.

Georges and Isabelle have had just one child, who is a schoolteacher and simply known as Le maître, and who tells his parents that he has been sexually abusing some of the children in his care, that he has raped several: the parents ignore the matter. The question comes to a head at a meeting of parents of the children, with Madame B. accusing Le maître of sodomising her eight-year-old son Karim  with a dildo. The kid's name of course indicates a non-European birth, and Le maître calls her 'Saloperie d'étrangère' and 'Sale métèque'.  In the end Le maître just flies off, reminding us of the daughters in La Sorcière. But these episodes themselves remind us of a true-life incident in which NDiaye's husband was commended by taking a pedophile schoolteacher and driving him to the local police station in Cormeilles, Normandy, where the couple were living at the time.

But there is also another trauma: Éva and Rudi have adopted a son who has the voices of his dead parents speaking from his chest, and they urge him to kill his adopted parents. But Éva and Rudi speak to the voices, and there appears to be a kind of resolution.

My other posts on Marie NDiaye:
––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit

Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

27 October 2017

Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents (2004)

Les Serpents seems to me a very good description of Marie NDiaye's books in general: slippery, slithery, shape-changing, filled with treachery, in the grass waiting to bite you, etc. It's difficult to pin down a snake, and it's difficult to pin down what NDiaye is doing to the reader.

Andrew Asibong, in his masterful Marie NDiaye: Blankness and Recognition (2013) states that Les Serpents is one of NDiaye's 'more complex and repulsive plays'. I can understand that, and I like his comparison with Beckett's Fin de Partie, only with Hell being inside rather than outside, and Mme Diss being Hamm (maybe hammer) to France and Nancy's Clov (perhaps clou, or nail).  But I'm not convinced.

Abuse (especially child abuse) is all over NDiaye's work, as are class differences, indifferences, difference in general, the importance of money, change of identity, unhappy families, constant fear, unspeakable violence, etc.

As this is a play, the comparison with Papa doit manger (regrettably the only other NDiaye play I've yet read) at the beginning at least seems so evident: the long-lost father knocking on the door after money mirrors Mme Diss  knocking on her son's door wanting to borrow money.

But Papa doit manger is much more benign, whereas here we have Nancy's son (also Mme Diss's grandson) beaten, killed by snakes, and then maybe eaten by his father: not unusually, we have a mother walking out on her husband, but then the first wife  feeding her ex-mother-in-law with money in exchange for information.

Not everything is entirely bleak: France (the son's second wife) walks out on her husband in horror that he has tied up their children, and the ex-wife Nancy walks back into the house of horror to take her place, in hope of redeeming both herself and her husband. Welcome to the world of Marie NDiaye: just take a seat and gape, quake and leave thinking 'What just happened?'.

My other posts on Marie NDiaye:
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Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit

Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

9 November 2016

Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison (1994)

Un temps de saison has a five-page Afterword by Pierre Lepape, and there are a few quotations from reviews of this book on the back cover, one of the most apt of which I think is from Marie-Laure Delorme in Le Magazine littéraire, in which she speaks of this, Marie NDiaye's fourth novel, as situated 'between dream and nightmare', in a village that 'swallows you up and paralyses you like quicksand'. Quite.

The Parisian narrator Herman, his wife Rose and his (never named) young son have been spending their usual summer holiday near a village where they stay every year, although this year they have stayed beyond 31 August and the glorious weather – as it always does, but they don't know this – suddenly changes to cold and rain from 1 September. Rose and their son have gone on a short trip to a nearby farm to buy some eggs, although after three hours without returning Herman begins to get concerned and goes to look for them.

What follows is Herman's quest for his wife and child, from the farmhouse where he receives no joy, to the police station where they are of no help, and so on. He is virtually forced to stay the night – which becomes a number of nights – in one of the two village hotels, but still he can't find his wife and child, although his quest for them lessens as he becomes fascinated by the landlady's daughter Charlotte.

And then he learns – as the reader has obviously long realised – that he'll never see his family again. At least, not in the form that they previosuly existed in, but as spirits who have been, as it were, swallowed up in this village which is a panopticon, where business is almost a religion, and the welfare of children, for instance, is ignored.

And then  Herman leaves the village, supposedly for a few hours, to go to the larger L., where Gilbert wants him to show him off (as Herman is from Paris) to Lemaître and play a game of tennis. But Herman drifts away and goes to a hotel with Métilde, a girl from the village who's looking for him, but his mother- and father-in-law are at the hotel, wanting to know where their daughter and grandson are and eager to reach the village to meet them.

But the only way is by taxi, although no driver seems to want to go there because of the terrible rain, and Herman feels that he's liquifying increasingly. When they do find a driver, who has no nose, the car breaks down on the way, and that's as far as the story goes.

Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille

Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

5 November 2016

Marie NDiaye: En famille (1991)

One of the vital things about serious fiction (which I won't bend over backwards to define) is that it so frequently reveals the psychology of the Other: no matter how much or how little an author may sometimes try to conceal it. En famille is not an easy book to understand, not an easy book to read, which doesn't in any way at all make it any less fascinating to read. Or re-read, which I shall definitely do.

François Nourissier saw that En famille (NDiaye's fourth novel, published when she was only twenty-four) is of great interest and importance. Part of his review is published on the back cover of the paperback edition, which (according to my translation) begins 'What sin has Fanny committed? Of what is she guilty in being rejected in such a way by her own people who don't seem to see her as theirs? Furthermore, is she really called Fanny? What do people have against her for being twenty years old?' And so on.

What Marie NDiaye is doing here is something similar to Kafka, showing us alienation in its raw state, the exclusion of an individual for no obvious reason. To pin down the purpose of the exclusion, to trumpet a particular cause, in a word to define, is to reduce, as I'm sure NDiaye would agree. In fact definition is a kind of exclusion in itself, so I'll say no more, and simply look forward to picking this book up again when I'm ready.

Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

17 September 2016

Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger (2003)

Papa doit manger is a play by Marie NDiaye and, like much of her work, its chief concerns are the family and desertion. Here, a family consisting of Papa of African origin and Maman from France (like NDiaye's parents) live in Courbevoie and have two daughters – Mina and Ami. Papa, though, has abandoned his family and returns after ten years, hoping to be reinstated in the family. He's well-dressed and claims to be a businessman, to have become rich.

But the household has changed and Zelner, a schoolteacher, has moved in. Maman scraped by after Papa left, forcing her to give up her apprenticeship in hairdressing and merely continue working in the hairdressing business for someone else rather than for herself. She doesn't believe a word of Papa's story.

The fact is that Papa has been living in Courbevoie for the last ten years with Anna, is wearing clothes her brother has lent him, has a handicapped baby whom he hates, and is merely trading on his wife's favours, her supposedly eternal love for him, to lend him a lot of money. But although Maman gives him money things don't turn out exactly as he expects.

Although Maman does indeed still love Papa and spends a night in a hotel with him, she later intends to kill him but just disfigures his face with a knife and subsequently marries Zelner.

This is without mentioning the negative opinions of Maman's parents, or the slightly mixed opinions of the two maiden aunts, but through the years to come the jobless Papa sponges off Mina and her husband, regularly visits Maman and her husband Zelner, and even comes knocking on Maman's door pleading to return: on the day of Zelner's funeral.

Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

26 December 2015

Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche (1989)

Marie NDiaye was influenced by David Garnett's novel Lady into Fox for her title of La Femme changée en bûche (lit. 'Woman Turned into a Log'), or more exactly influenced by the title of the French translation: Une femme changée en renaud. In a review of the novel on 30 March 1989 in Libération, Michèle Bernstein calls her article De la souffrance d’être Radiguette (lit. 'On the Suffering of Being Radiguette'), an obvious reference to Raymond Radiguet (1903–23), whose first novel Le Diable au corps (1923) was written when he was seventeen. Ndiaye's first novel Quant au riche avenir (lit. 'As for the Rich Future') was written when she was seventeen as well, and La Femme changée en bûche, her third novel, was published when she was twenty-two.

The novel is divided into three parts, the first occupying half of the book and the other two roughly a quarter each. The first and third parts have a number of similarities, whereas the second part partly contains a separate but related story. But that's not the only difference: the second part has a number of paragraphs, often made where there is dialogue, whereas parts one and three contain huge paragraphs with often very long sentences and any dialogue is within them – in fact the third part in itself is a huge thirty-seven-page paragraph. It doesn't make for easy reading, and I found the third part particularly irksome, although the first part – painful though it is in some respects – has its fascinating aspects.

I can't find the reference at present, although I believe NDiaye came at a later stage to 'disown' her first three publications, possibly in a similar way to Linda Lê taking issue with her own earlier works. Nevertheless the seeds are here for subjects taken up in NDiaye's more mature novels, such as: reality versus fiction or appearance versus reality, the supernatural, metaphorphosis (such as the cat-human Mécistée who seems to experience atavisms nostalgically), the protagonist's love of trivia, and on and on. I have a strong feeling that I'll be re-visiting this book, much as it now seems to be mainly juvenilia.

Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert | Self-Portrait in Green
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

21 December 2015

Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert | Self-Portrait in Green (2004)

Marie NDiaye's Autoportrait en vert was originally one of Colette Fellous's 'Traits et Portraits' collection published by Mercure de France, included in which, for example, are J-B Pontalis's in Le dormeur éveillé and Pierre Guyotat's Coma. The series also includes photos relating to the events in the books, and here old photos are used along with new ones by Julie Ganzin, such as the one on the front cover typically showing a girl in soft focus in the foreground and the background scenery set to infinity.

Just how much of a 'self-portrait' this is of Marie NDiaye is of course unknown, although there are moments when the narrative veers off into the fantastic, and certainly many of the events in the narrative have an oneiric quality. Essentially, these are snatches of existences recalled in memory or imagination, if indeed there is any difference between the two. The woman in green standing by the tree whom the narrator sees four times a day – on the way to taking her children to school and going back, then going to school to pick them up and bring them back – is interesting.

The woman isn't seen by the children, perhaps suggesting that green here is intended to represent an adult element. The narrator asks the children a Berkeleyan question that they're unable to answer: 'The woman in green is there every day. Is she there when I'm not there?' The woman attempts to kill herself by jumping from the building to the ground, but gets up apparently unhurt, which seems almost to be a premonition of Wellington being pushed from the hotel balcony in Ladivine and miraculously surviving.

The woman says her name is Katia Depetiteville, which the narrator thinks is improbable but appears to accept and becomes friends with her; the narrator's husband (Jean-Yves like NDiaye's) frees Katia from the flood which forever threatens those who live near the Garonne; and the two women become friends until the narrator takes her to see her two sisters and Katia feels uncomfortable and leaves: the narrator feels uncomfortable too and would have preferred to leave with her.

But then, families are often an embarrassment in NDiaye's world, which is one in which the generations can sometimes mix sexually. Such as the narrator's mother living with a much younger man in Marseilles, or her ex-friend (in green) becoming her step-mother by marrying her father, who's been married several times and whose eldest son smashes their restaurant with a golf club: that's the trouble with having too many children, the narrator muses. And the father and step-mother make a later appearance when the narrator visits (as an author) not Senegal but Ouagadougou in Burkina Faso, where she dreads that her literature-hating father will show up.

And then there's Jenny, whose son and husband have left her, who has no money and in poverty goes back to live with her parents, and then meets her former lover Ivan, who's now happily married. So Jenny lives their happiness by proxy, spending a great deal of time with Ivan's (green) wife, but apparently too much time as the wife kills herself and Jenny finds her hanging in the basement. It's not long before Jenny marries Ivan, but then his ex-wife seems to come to life again. It's a strange world, Marie NDiaye's.

Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

20 December 2015

Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit (2007)

The popular television quiz programme Questions pour un champion – the last word being a pun on the large metal champignons which contestants hit when they think they know an answer – is represented as the brainless exercise it is in Marie NDiaye's novel Rosie Carpe. So I wasn't too surprised to learn that Nadia and Ange, the two teachers in NDiaye's Mon cœur à l'étroit (lit. 'My Cramped Heart') don't have a television set as they see the medium as soul-destroying. And although there may well be other references to the negativity of television in NDiaye's other books, I haven't yet come across any.

But I have come across other recurring themes in Mon cœur à l'étroit: the importance of the family, the harmful neglect of the family, changing personalities, inter-generational sexual attraction, the fantastic (especially metamorphoses), and, among several other things, debt: not just the debt of owing someone money or a favour, but (an almost religious concept here) the idea that past wrong-doing can be redeemed by good behaviour to the wronged person or persons. And a few times I've (rather oddly I thought) been reminded of Anne Tyler's characters just walking out on their spouses, although in this novel I was particularly reminded of Tyler's interest in geographical dyslexia when Nadia gets lost in Bordeaux, a city she's known all her life but suddenly becomes disoriented in.

But then disorientation is Marie NDiaye's speciality, although it's the reader who is usually disoriented: to translate a sentence from Chloe Brendlé's article 'NDiaye de faille en faille' in Magazine Littéraire (Septembre 2010, p. 94): 'To read a single page without experiencing violent seasickness is to attempt the impossible.' (That's a slight exaggeration, but I fully understand the general idea behind the argument.)

Le Nouvel Observateur reckoned that NDiaye has – like the 'illustrious' Richard Victor Nogent who cooks for the ailing Nadia and Ange – over-buttered the 'bread' in Mon cœur à l'étroit. And there's probably some truth in that, as the two assiduous teachers are thrown into a Kafkaesque world in which everyone (apart from the once detested Nogent) seems to be against them for reasons unknown: they lose their jobs, Ange seems to have been stabbed and his life seems to be ebbing from him, and Nadia gets bigger and bigger and appears to be pregnant.

Nadia decides to join Ralph, the son she's neglected and now lives in Corsica and who is a medical doctor who originally had a homosexual relationship with Lanton, who's in the police force, and of whom Nadia is still fond. But, after the meddling of her first husband Nadia cheated on and walked out on Ralph seems to have settled down and married Yasmine, and they have a daughter called Souhar, a name Nadia can hardly bring herself to pronounce.

In the end Ange not only cures completely of his illness but gets together with Corinna Daoui, a former prostitute known to Nadia from her schooldays and who now works on a computer at an unnamed activity associated with the sex industry. Nadia is freed from the clutches of the older Wilma, a gynaecologist who also seems to be some kind of malevolent witch who only eats meat, is now Ralph's partner, and may even have eaten Yasmine; Nadia's parents have moved from crummy housing in Bordeaux to Corsica, where any shame Nadia once felt for them is forgotten, where Souhar is safe and sound, and where Nadia's mother, thanks to giving her daughter a semolina diet, has brought on the abortion of the monster Nadia was to have given birth to.

Something of an old-style children's fairy-cum-horror story with a good ending, but whatever name you care to give it this is pure Marie NDiaye, and although it may not quite come up to the standard of her best works, it's a book you can't put down, although you have to hold onto it as it keeps removing the ground from your feet.

Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
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Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

17 December 2015

Marie NDiaye: Ladivine (2013)

Marie NDiaye's Ladivine (English translation available April 2016) concerns identity, the horrors the family can cause, metamorphosis, geographical mobility, sudden and unexpected turns in the narrative, recurring names, all wrapped in a general malaise, in fact all the ingredients you'd expect from an NDiaye book.

The first sentence reveals: 'Hardly had she boarded the train when she became Malinka again which was neither a pleasure nor a displeasure because for a long time she had ceased to notice it.' (My translation.) The breathless sentence structure is pretty typical of Marie NDiaye's style, although this is a relatively short sentence: the second one in the book, for instance, tortures itself in this way:

'But she knew because she could then no longer spontaneously reply to the forename Clarisse when, this was rare, a person she knew got on the same train, hailed or greeted her by the forename Clarisse and found her disconcerted, stupid and smiling in confusion, creating a situation of reciprocal embarrassment which Clarisse, a little dazed, didn't know how to get out of by simply saying, and sounding natural, a hello, a how are you.' (My translation again of course.)

So the problem of identity strikes the reader right from the beginning. Clarisse Rivière is married to a successful car salesman and lives in Langon south-east of Bordeaux, although her original forename is Malinka, which is at the root of her problem: only one word ('negresse') specifically refers to her mother's colour, although Malinka/Clarisse (who relatively easily passes as white) sees her past (white father, African-born mother) as a great shame on her. (I had to do a retake on this as Malinka/Clarisse would (if she'd lived and had a reality outside this book) have been about sixty when the book was published, so she'd have been an adolescent in the 1960s: was racism really so prominent in France then?)

Well, it was prominent enough for Malinka/Clarisse to flee from her black mother in Paris to Bordeaux and find a job in a café under the name of Clarisse, although her mother follows her and lives in a flat in a housing block in Sainte-Croix (Bordeaux). And when Clarisse marries she (slightly unbelievably) passes as white, doesn't reveal her true forename to her husband Richard, and secretly visits her mother (Ladivine Sylla) once a month, although her mother doesn't know anything about Malinka's other life.

This then is a story which begins with a big lie, one that will continue through a few generations until Richard discovers it at the end, on finally meeting Ladivine Sylla. And essentially it's the story of three (not strong) women: Ladivine Sylla, Malinka/Clarisse, and the latter's son by Richard, whom she calls Ladivine after the grandmother.

For no reason mentioned at the time, after twenty-five years of marriage Richard leaves for Annecy, leaving Clarisse in the Langon home, where she begins to live with Freddy Moliger, who is a lost soul with a past of parental abuse, the guy who is perhaps the missing part of her life and with whom they can maybe repair themselves. Certainly a kind of mending takes place when Freddy is introduced to Malinka's mother, although he's hurt beyond repair, and so is Malinka when he knifes her to death.

Ladivine the daughter marries the German Marko Berger and they have two kids and live in Germany as Marie NDiaye now does, although Ladivine is cursed too. After Malinka/Clarisse's death the narrator tells her story, shows things only through her eyes, and this vision is strange. Dogs have appeared before certainly, and seem to have a healing purpose, and there may well be a reincarnation of Clarisse in one.

Oh, and then there's Wellington, the strange museum guide in the unnamed Anglophone country in Africa where the Bergers go on holiday, where Marko has an argument with him in their hotel room overnight, where Marko throws him the balcony of their sixth-floor hotel room and he falls to his death on the concrete below. But only Ladivine sees this, and from the breakfast table only she sees the marks of the blood where Wellington was squashed, only Ladivine, from the swimming pool, sees the workers wash the blood away, and only she is seen to argue with Marko about poor Wellington, who resurrects in the spooky Cagnac's home in the holiday country. And no one knows that Ladivine's disappearance is because she's turned into a dog. Does Richard's eventual meeting with the aged Ladivine Sylla end the curse? Woof.

Some critics rate this as NDiaye's greatest achievement, although I'm still not certain, but it's a very powerful book.

Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
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Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

6 September 2015

Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe (2001)

Rosie Carpe marks Marie NDiaye's major shift from the supernatural or the fantastic as a means of expressing strangeness as she moves into a literary landscape in which she is able to communicate strangeness in terms of human – but certainly not always humane – actions. Her own expression for this is réalisme exagéré ('exaggerated realism').

The story here is that Rosie and her brother Lazare – 'Lazarus' in English, and one of a number of biblical references – move from their parental home in Brive-la-Gaillarde to continue their studies, although Lazare drops out and Rosie fails. She finds menial hotel work and forms a relationship with the deputy manager Max and bears his child: Étienne. Lazare, meanwhile, leads a life of poverty and then forms a scheme with his shadowy friend who also has a biblical name: Abel. Lazare and Abel plan a kind of Tupperware party business – but with sex toys – in Guadeloupe, a country their parents also emigrate to after a brief stay in Paris. Rosie too, now pregnant by an unknown person (she was blind drunk at the time), goes off with the six-year-old Étienne to join her brother, who claims to be living a movie-star life style, with a large house and swimming pool.

It's actually in Guadeloupe where the novel begins, with Rosie and her young child waiting for Lazare, although it's Lagrand – a friend of Lazare's and the first black person to appear in NDiaye's work – who picks them up and takes them to Lazare's home, which is very shabby and far removed from Rosie's expectations. Lazare makes his presence known to Rosie much later, drunk and stinking after being an accessory to the murder of – or maybe even the murderer of – an elderly tourist, for which he will spend years in prison before returning to France with his daughter Jade but not his former partner Anita.

The above two paragraphs are deliberately written in Wikipedia style, and not only leave out many actions but much of the emphasis of the book, which has several disturbing themes. D. H. Lawrence – and I've unfortunately lost both the quotation and the reference – once said something to the effect that readers would find his books very thin if they went to them for the story alone, and the same can be said of Marie NDiaye's work: I suspect that much of the incomprehension and the dislike of her work is for that very reason. You have to read NDiaye carefully, and then re-read: it's not easy but it pays off, but avoid at all costs if you're a fan of Levy or Musso.

In Le Monde, Pierre Lepape once wrote – in fact of NDiaye's La Sorcière although the same can be said of Rosie Carpe if not all of her books – that her themes are boredom, solitude, abandonment and anguish. I would add identity to that, although the themes mentioned in my previous sentence are very much a function of the lack of or the search for identity.

Names are important for identity and after moving from Brive to Paris 'Rose-Marie' begins to call herself Rosie, corrects her mother on this when she later briefly sees her, but must keep repeating the name to herself as she forms an existential integrity, in spite of the exploitative Max and his older woman friend who take a porn movie of her having sex with Max, in spite of Max also financially abusing her at work, etc. Just as Rosie has a new name for a new life, the increasingly young-looking Danielle – Rosie and Lazare's mother, who's about fifty – is now Diane, and (with the blessing of her husband Francis, whose young lover is Lisbeth) – is pregnant by her lover Alex and will name the child Rose-Marie as if to compensate for the 'lost' one. Also, Rosie's sickly child Étienne is always referred to as Titi, which Legrand thinks is a stupid name.

The existence of the family is vital in Marie NDiaye's work, and abandonment is frequent: Rosie and Lazare are abandoned by their parents, Rosie abandons Titi, Legrand has been abandoned by his mad mother, Titi socially abandons Rosie in later life, etc. It is pathetic that Lazare sees in the kindly elderly female tourist – whose husband Lazare and Abel brutally kill soon after – the mother he never really had.

Via internal monologues, the reader has access to the thoughts of Rosie and Legrand, and much of the time there is an expression of fear, which drips off the pages incessantly like the nervous sweat it generates. But obviously everyone is affected because the world isn't a comfortable place, it's somewhere to retreat from into the cotton wool anaesthetic haze of alcohol, the virtual friends such as the contestant Françoise on the mindless TV quiz programme Questions pour un champion, or the movie with Astérix and Obélix that Rosie and Anita go to watch, abandoning a very ill Titi.

Trois femmes puissantes won Marie NDiaye the Goncourt, although Chloé Brendlé remarks in Magazine littéraire (September 2010) that Rosie Carpe is 'incontestablement' ('unarguably') her best novel. I agree: NDiaye's Goncourt prize is indisputably inferior to this novel.

Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
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Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit
Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine

Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda

14 February 2015

Marie NDiaye: Trois femmes puissantes | Three Strong Women (2009)

I've read a few non-professional reviews of Marie NDiaye's Trois femmes puissantes written by French people of course reading the book in its original language but who have just been forced to abandon it at quite an early stage. But I didn't get the impression that these are readers whose normal staple diet consists of works by, say, Marc Levy, Guillaume Musso or Katherine Pancol, and I have an understanding of the problem: Marie NDiaye is not an easy writer to read by any means, but reading this Goncourt-winner slowly has proved quite a revelation: NDiaye may well be difficult, and I've by no means got to the bottom of what she's up to, but (unlike shall we say Alexis Jenni?) she is well worth the effort.

Trois femmes puissantes involves three apparently loosely related stories concerning three women: the first section (about one hundred pages) concerns Norah, the third (about ninety pages) concerns Khady Demba, and the largest (central) section (about 160 pages) has Fanta as a kind of permanent backcloth to her husband Rudy's thoughts. All three stories are told by a third person narrator who has omniscient access to Norah's, Rudy's and Khady's thoughts. But the thoughts aren't necessarily always reliable.

Norah's story takes place in Senegal, where her father whom she has not seen for many years has summoned her from France. Their relationship has never been warm, and he has always been arrogant and distant towards Norah (now a lawyer in France), although she is shocked by the fact that this once-prosperous man is now relatively poor, and even more shocked to learn that her brother Sony is in prison awaiting trial accused of strangling his step-mother, by whom Sony has twins. But Sony informs Norah that his father, who wants Norah to defend Sony, is the real murderer, who holds his dead wife (as opposed to Sony) as the real guilty party: OK, it's the age-old double standard egged on by blood relationship.

Rudy Descas's story is related to Fanta's. Following the murder of his father's associate by his father Abel, the French Rudy is for very indirectly related reasons dismissed from his prestigious lycée in Dakar. He takes his teacher wife the Senegalese Fanta and their child Djibril back to France, although Fanta's teaching qualifications aren't recognised there and Rudy is reduced to selling kitchens for his boss Manille, who may or may not have had a sexual relationship with Fanta. But the humiliated, suspicious, jealous and in many ways guilt-riven Rudy is frightened Fanta will take his son from him and his impotent envy even leads him to consider killing the successful sculptor Gauquelan.

Finally there is Khady Demba's story. Having lost her husband, Khady goes to live with her in-laws, although her presence is resented by her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law, largely because she is not a direct relative but also because she has been unable to produce a child. Her mother-in-law grudgingly gives her a pittance and tells her not to come back. This story is the most harrowing of the three, involving Khady becoming destitute, injuring her leg on a nail when escaping from a boat, being forced into a horrific life of prostitution, robbed by Lamine whom she believed to be her only friend, and eventually falling to her death in an attempt to flee to Europe.

The obvious links between the three stories are that Norah's father made his fortune through the holiday village Dara Salam, which Abel has built and in which the young Rudy and his parents lived for some time; and Khady is Norah's father's servant, and a cousin of Fanta's sent by her in-laws on the extremely hazardous journey to Fanta's home in France, where they believe that Fanta is rich and will send them money.

Why NDiaye is difficult to understand is because she makes no compromises, she makes the reader work, and this is surely part of her great strength as one of the (if not the) most important living writers in French. Khady's story is straightforward, told in consecutive (and much more physical and graphic) terms than the other stories: in Norah and Rudy/Fanta's stories, we are slowly – often drip by drip – fed stories out of sequence, we are left to piece together the information to form an idea of a picture.

This is apparently NDiaye at her most 'realist' so far, largely abandoning the 'fantastic' of previous books, although there's still a deal of what seems to be symbolism here, and that largely comes from the birds mentioned, and NDiaye is a Hitchcock enthusiast. Norah's father regularly perches bird-like in the flamboyant tree; the dying Khady believes she sees herself reincarnated as a grey bird; but most prominent of all  – sent by Fanta, or is that part of an over-active imagination/possible psychosis? – a buzzard seeks to attack Rudy. I'm sure Marie NDiaye didn't intend (even the same) birds to represent one particular thing, but that only makes reading her all the more interesting. There's a great deal to chew on here, and I shall in future be re-reading this book and certainly more of hers, and no doubt adding to and altering this post, thinking what a fool I've been to miss the obvious.

At one point, the narrator says of Rudy: 'soudain il discerna sans erreur possible ce que ses yeux s'étaient contentés d'effleurer tout à l'heure sans l'interpréter', or 'suddenly he saw beyond any possible error what his eyes had previously been content to glaze over without interpreting'. (My translation.) Yes, I think that neatly sums up what a careful read of Marie NDiaye can bring out.

ADDENDUM: Having now read most of NDiaye's work, I have to say that this book, although in many ways typical of the writer, is very far from her best work. If an unknowing person read this 'novel' first, I imagine they might well be put off reading anything else by NDiaye. Why she won the Goncourt for this rather mystifies me: it's as if the Goncourt jury suddenly realised that they'd made a mistake in not awarding the prize to NDiaye's earlier Rosie Carpe, so chose this instead. It's probably more complicated than that though, and more due to political factors (in the broadest sense of the term).

Links to my other Marie NDiaye posts:
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Marie NDiaye: Rosie Carpe
Marie NDiaye: Autoportrait en vert
Marie NDiaye: Mon cœur à l'étroit
Marie NDiaye: La Sorcière
Marie NDiaye: Ladivine

Marie NDiaye: La Femme changée en bûche
Marie NDiaye: Papa doit manger
Marie NDiaye: En famille
Marie NDiaye: Un temps de saison
Marie NDiaye: Les Serpents
Marie NDiaye: Les Grandes Personnes
Marie NDiaye: Quant au riche avenir
Marie NDiaye: Tous mes amis
Marie NDiaye: Hilda