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Annie Ernaux

A Girl's Story

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‘I too wanted to forget that girl. Really forget her, that is, stop yearning to write about her. Stop thinking that I have to write about this girl and her desire and madness, her idiocy and pride, her hunger and her blood that ceased to flow. I have never managed to do so.’ In A Girl’s Story, her latest book, Annie Ernaux revisits the summer of 1958, spent working as a holiday camp instructor in Normandy, and recounts the first night she spent with a man. When he moves on, she realizes she has submitted her will to his and finds that she is a slave without a master. Now, sixty years later, she finds she can obliterate the intervening years and return to consider this young woman whom she wanted to forget completely. In writing A Girl’s Story, which brings to life her indelible memories of that summer, Ernaux discovers that here was the vital, violent and dolorous origin of her writing life, built out of shame, violence and betrayal.
‘Ernaux has inherited de Beauvoir’s role of chronicler to a generation.’
— Margaret Drabble, New Statesman
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146 halaman cetak
Pemilik hak cipta
Bookwire
Publikasi asli
2020
Tahun publikasi
2020
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Kutipan

  • Liza Vasilievamembuat kutipan7 bulan yang lalu
    Le comble de la religieuse est de vivre en vierge et de mourir en sainte’ – ‘Perfection for a nun is to live as a virgin and die as a saint’. When the phrase is spoken, the word enceinte, as an homonym of en sainte, alters the meaning to ‘Perfection for a nun is to live as a virgin and die pregnant’.
  • Liza Vasilievamembuat kutipan7 bulan yang lalu
    by Nietzsche that I find so beautiful: We have Art in order not to die of the Truth.’
  • LiterariaLettermembuat kutipantahun lalu
    There are beings who are overwhelmed by the reality of others, their way of speaking, of crossing their legs, of lighting a cigarette. They become mired in the presence of others. One day, or rather one night, they are swept away inside the desire and the will of a single Other. Everything they believed about themselves vanishes. They dissolve and watch a reflection of themselves act, obey, swept into a course of events unknown. They trail behind the will of the Other, which is always one step ahead. They never catch up.

    There is no submission, no consent, only the stupe­faction of the real. All one can do is repeat ‘this can’t be happening to me’ or ‘it is me this is happening to,’ but in the event, ‘me’ is no longer, has already changed. All that remains is the Other, master of the situation, of every gesture and the moment to follow, which only he foresees.
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