T.'s Reviews > The Lover

The Lover by Marguerite Duras
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May 07, 12

bookshelves: favourites, fiction, classics, french-literature
Read on January 29, 2008 — I own a copy, read count: 3

For ravaged faces. For growing old.

Written 17 May 2008, 10:10 am:


Saturday was both quiet and cathartic. I got up early, swept my room, took things apart (makeshift table, mini-vacuum cleaner, et al) and put them back again. I unearthed all my DVDs, wiped away the dust, returned them in their respective sleeves. It's purgative, this kind of routine. Maybe I just don't want to think about things.

Then I saw my copy of Jean-Jacques Annaud's The Lover, a film adaptation of the book written by Marguerite Duras. I couldn't help but pick it up, and before I knew it I was turning on the TV.

I can't describe what happened after that. Maybe I cried. I don't know . Shit, it's just a Saturday, you know? It was nothing special. When the credits rolled, I went to my bookshelf and got out the book.

Tucked between pages 116 and 117 was a photo of my favourite scene from the movie. Underlined in pencil:

"He didn't speak of the pain, never said a word about it. Sometimes his face would quiver, he'd close his eyes and clench his teeth. But he never said anything about the images he saw behind his closed eyes. It was as if he loved the pain, loved it as he'd loved me, intensely, unto death perhaps, and as if he preferred it now to me."

Is it too much if I say that it rained very hard after that? But it did. So I went outside and took my camera, and hoped to be washed clean.
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Quotes T. Liked

Marguerite Duras
“Very early in my life it was too late.”
Marguerite Duras, The Lover


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