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A Frozen Woman
A Frozen Woman charts Ernaux's teenage awakening, and then the parallel progression of her desire to be desirable and her ambition to fulfill herself in her chosen profession - with the inevitable conflict between the two. And then she is thirty years old, a teacher married to an executive, mother of two infant sons. She looks after their nice apartment, raises her children. And yet, like millions of other women, she has felt her enthusiasm and curiosity, her strength and her happiness, slowly ebb under the weight of her daily routine. The very condition that everyone around her seems to consider normal and admirable for a woman is killing her.
While each of Ernaux's books contain an autobiographical element, A Frozen Woman, one of Ernaux's early works, concentrates the spotlight piercingly on Annie herself. Mixing affection, rage and bitterness, A Frozen Woman shows us Ernaux's developing art when she still relied on traditional narrative, before the shortened form emerged that has since become her trademark.
While each of Ernaux's books contain an autobiographical element, A Frozen Woman, one of Ernaux's early works, concentrates the spotlight piercingly on Annie herself. Mixing affection, rage and bitterness, A Frozen Woman shows us Ernaux's developing art when she still relied on traditional narrative, before the shortened form emerged that has since become her trademark.
192 pages, Paperback
First published February 12, 1981
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About the author
Annie Ernaux
77 books10.1k followersThe author of some twenty works of fiction and memoir, Annie Ernaux is considered by many to be France’s most important writer. In 2022, she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. She has also won the Prix Renaudot for A Man's Place and the Marguerite Yourcenar Prize for her body of work. More recently she received the International Strega Prize, the Prix Formentor, the French-American Translation Prize, and the Warwick Prize for Women in Translation for The Years, which was also shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize in 2019. Her other works include Exteriors, A Girl's Story, A Woman's Story, The Possession, Simple Passion, Happening, I Remain in Darkness, Shame, A Frozen Woman, and A Man's Place.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,574 reviews
April 27, 2021
“How can I ever conceal all the violence and longing I trundle about inside myself? It’s so hard, with a guardian angel at one’s back and God everywhere, and one’s conscience, that big staring eye floating up in a corner of the ceiling, the first lesson in the ethics book.”
I can hardly express just how much this book made me really think even more about the things I’ve been grappling with on a regular basis in the past year or two. I’ve been my own worst enemy as I have ruthlessly explored life choices like a surgeon brandishing a set of well-honed instruments. I still haven’t reached the heart of the matter, but Annie Ernaux certainly pointed me in the right direction. This book is categorized as fiction here, but I disagree. This is an autobiographical piece. She writes with a clarity and openness that I found very exhilarating. She echoes so many of my own feelings and experiences, but puts into words those things I could never articulate quite so perfectly.
“Fragile and vaporish women, spirits with gentle hands, good fairies of the home who silently create beauty and order, mute, submissive women – search as I may, I cannot find many of them in the landscape of my childhood.”
This slim volume covers Annie’s childhood, marriage and early motherhood years. She grew up in an unconventional household in the sense that her parents did not reflect the traditional male and female roles. Her mother ran the grocery store, managed the accounts, and often let the dust collect on the furniture. Her father did not go out to a place of employment as the other neighborhood men did, but rather took charge of the café, the cooking and the gardening. This would be rather atypical even now, but imagine the effect on a girl born in the early 1940s! Annie naturally thought the world was hers for the taking, and why shouldn’t she?! Mom did not impose chores upon her, but rather expected her daughter to focus on her studies and make something of herself one day. Gender roles were not forced upon her as a child. Reading was also a pleasure in which both mother and daughter indulged.
“She teaches me that the world is made to be pounced on and enjoyed, and that there is absolutely no reason at all to hold back… Patiently, persistently, they persuade me – and from an early age – that marriage is only another adventure, like going to school and earning a living, just as it is for a boy.”
“It’s splendid to have a beautiful story waiting for when I’ll be around fifteen, like my period, like love. One of the reasons I’m eager to grow up is the right to read any book I want.”
As an adolescent, Annie eventually becomes preoccupied with the ‘mystery’ of boys and her sexuality. The influence of her peers makes Annie realize that her parents are not like other mothers and fathers. They become a bit of an embarrassment. Despite these distractions, Annie cannot completely abandon the idea of a career. It’s what her heart has always desired. Interactions with boys are not as life-changing as she believed they would be. College, marriage, motherhood – all follow at the standard pace, and each step is analyzed as she looks back on her life. What is one to do with so many contradictions, mixed messages, and pressures to meet societal norms? There’s also the feeling of there being something missing at certain points in one’s life. This then leads to the assumption that perhaps one needs to make the next ‘obvious’ step - those steps traditionally assigned to women. The void ought to be filled then, right? Or wrong? And of course, there is the greatest evil of all – judgment by other women. Mother, mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, friends and acquaintances all have something to say about another woman’s choice. Women have a tendency to knock each other down rather than build each other up and offer much needed support. Why do we do this? Annie becomes deflated, gets stuck in the rut of routines and household chores.
“Everything is outside of me. There is nothing more to discover. Home, dinner, dishes, two hours nodding over a book, trying to work, bed, start all over again. Lovemaking, perhaps, but that as well has become a domestic activity, neither an adventure nor something to look forward to.”
The one thing that struck me the most was the unbalanced division of labor once a baby comes along. Yes, this was decades ago. And yet, not all that much has changed has it? Many women choose to head to university now; they begin careers. Some women choose to have children. A woman then has the choice of staying home or continuing to work. I’m emphasizing the word choices, because I concede they are there. Everyone applauds the fact that these choices now exist. (Yes, I’m thankful for that.) The woman, however, is still faced with the heavier end of household responsibilities – the daily grind of life. Some things are shared, it’s true. But she has to make sure they are shared; it doesn’t necessarily magically happen. Few men have to actively make the choice to either stay home or go back to work. It’s assumed that even if a father takes one week, two weeks, a couple of months off from work to help with the new baby, he will still have the job waiting for him. There is not the heaviest of burdens for the new father – wondering if he is making the right choice for his child. There will be no feeling of guilt having to decide: stay home full-time, work part-time, work full-time. What is best for the family? Truly, mothers are the ones that have to make this choice while everyone else looks on and either outright or silently passes judgment. No such judgment is formed around father’s actions.
“Ever since the beginning of the marriage, I’ve had the impression of chasing after an equality that continually eludes me.”
Before this begins to sound like a rant of sorts, I’m going to just say that this book obviously left me with much to reflect on. Annie Ernaux’s writing lends itself so well to that. I may have given the impression that this book would only suit a woman, especially a woman that has contemplated these issues in the past. No. That would be like me telling you that Lonesome Dove is a man's book because it's full of cattle drives and cowboys. I think A Frozen Woman is a must-read for men as well - for any man that has had a mother or has been a husband or has been a father or has any women friends that he regards highly. If you want to make some sense of the opposite sex, then don’t be afraid to pick this up. If I could put this book in my twenty-year-old son’s hands, I would! Not only is this thought-provoking, the prose is eloquent and intelligent. I’ll be ordering more of Ernaux’s works very soon.
“My whole story as a woman: going down a flight of stairs, and hanging back at each step.”
I can hardly express just how much this book made me really think even more about the things I’ve been grappling with on a regular basis in the past year or two. I’ve been my own worst enemy as I have ruthlessly explored life choices like a surgeon brandishing a set of well-honed instruments. I still haven’t reached the heart of the matter, but Annie Ernaux certainly pointed me in the right direction. This book is categorized as fiction here, but I disagree. This is an autobiographical piece. She writes with a clarity and openness that I found very exhilarating. She echoes so many of my own feelings and experiences, but puts into words those things I could never articulate quite so perfectly.
“Fragile and vaporish women, spirits with gentle hands, good fairies of the home who silently create beauty and order, mute, submissive women – search as I may, I cannot find many of them in the landscape of my childhood.”
This slim volume covers Annie’s childhood, marriage and early motherhood years. She grew up in an unconventional household in the sense that her parents did not reflect the traditional male and female roles. Her mother ran the grocery store, managed the accounts, and often let the dust collect on the furniture. Her father did not go out to a place of employment as the other neighborhood men did, but rather took charge of the café, the cooking and the gardening. This would be rather atypical even now, but imagine the effect on a girl born in the early 1940s! Annie naturally thought the world was hers for the taking, and why shouldn’t she?! Mom did not impose chores upon her, but rather expected her daughter to focus on her studies and make something of herself one day. Gender roles were not forced upon her as a child. Reading was also a pleasure in which both mother and daughter indulged.
“She teaches me that the world is made to be pounced on and enjoyed, and that there is absolutely no reason at all to hold back… Patiently, persistently, they persuade me – and from an early age – that marriage is only another adventure, like going to school and earning a living, just as it is for a boy.”
“It’s splendid to have a beautiful story waiting for when I’ll be around fifteen, like my period, like love. One of the reasons I’m eager to grow up is the right to read any book I want.”
As an adolescent, Annie eventually becomes preoccupied with the ‘mystery’ of boys and her sexuality. The influence of her peers makes Annie realize that her parents are not like other mothers and fathers. They become a bit of an embarrassment. Despite these distractions, Annie cannot completely abandon the idea of a career. It’s what her heart has always desired. Interactions with boys are not as life-changing as she believed they would be. College, marriage, motherhood – all follow at the standard pace, and each step is analyzed as she looks back on her life. What is one to do with so many contradictions, mixed messages, and pressures to meet societal norms? There’s also the feeling of there being something missing at certain points in one’s life. This then leads to the assumption that perhaps one needs to make the next ‘obvious’ step - those steps traditionally assigned to women. The void ought to be filled then, right? Or wrong? And of course, there is the greatest evil of all – judgment by other women. Mother, mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, friends and acquaintances all have something to say about another woman’s choice. Women have a tendency to knock each other down rather than build each other up and offer much needed support. Why do we do this? Annie becomes deflated, gets stuck in the rut of routines and household chores.
“Everything is outside of me. There is nothing more to discover. Home, dinner, dishes, two hours nodding over a book, trying to work, bed, start all over again. Lovemaking, perhaps, but that as well has become a domestic activity, neither an adventure nor something to look forward to.”
The one thing that struck me the most was the unbalanced division of labor once a baby comes along. Yes, this was decades ago. And yet, not all that much has changed has it? Many women choose to head to university now; they begin careers. Some women choose to have children. A woman then has the choice of staying home or continuing to work. I’m emphasizing the word choices, because I concede they are there. Everyone applauds the fact that these choices now exist. (Yes, I’m thankful for that.) The woman, however, is still faced with the heavier end of household responsibilities – the daily grind of life. Some things are shared, it’s true. But she has to make sure they are shared; it doesn’t necessarily magically happen. Few men have to actively make the choice to either stay home or go back to work. It’s assumed that even if a father takes one week, two weeks, a couple of months off from work to help with the new baby, he will still have the job waiting for him. There is not the heaviest of burdens for the new father – wondering if he is making the right choice for his child. There will be no feeling of guilt having to decide: stay home full-time, work part-time, work full-time. What is best for the family? Truly, mothers are the ones that have to make this choice while everyone else looks on and either outright or silently passes judgment. No such judgment is formed around father’s actions.
“Ever since the beginning of the marriage, I’ve had the impression of chasing after an equality that continually eludes me.”
Before this begins to sound like a rant of sorts, I’m going to just say that this book obviously left me with much to reflect on. Annie Ernaux’s writing lends itself so well to that. I may have given the impression that this book would only suit a woman, especially a woman that has contemplated these issues in the past. No. That would be like me telling you that Lonesome Dove is a man's book because it's full of cattle drives and cowboys. I think A Frozen Woman is a must-read for men as well - for any man that has had a mother or has been a husband or has been a father or has any women friends that he regards highly. If you want to make some sense of the opposite sex, then don’t be afraid to pick this up. If I could put this book in my twenty-year-old son’s hands, I would! Not only is this thought-provoking, the prose is eloquent and intelligent. I’ll be ordering more of Ernaux’s works very soon.
“My whole story as a woman: going down a flight of stairs, and hanging back at each step.”
June 28, 2020
“Yo también caí en la trampa de la mujer total, orgullosa de ser por fin capaz de conciliarlo todo, la subsistencia, un hijo, tres cursos de lengua francesa, guardiana del hogar y dispensadora del saber, superwoman…”¡Ay, Despentes, Despentes, Despentes! De la misma forma que Borges se enorgullecía más de los libros que había leído que de los que había escrito, tú bien puedes presumir de maestra: Annie Ernaux, nada más y nada menos. Ella quizás escribe con algo más de lirismo, aunque este sea seco, directo, telegráfico, como ella misma dice, “buscar la poesía en el rastro de la leche vomitada, en el pañal sucio”, pero tiene tu mismo descaro, tu misma insolencia, tu misma inteligencia, tu misma valentía para decir las cosas, aunque sean incómodas, aunque molesten incluso a las propias mujeres. No le falta ni el humor.
“Tenía un miedo espantoso a que se me apareciera la Virgen, después habría tenido que ser santa y no tenía ninguna gana.”La novela retrata una época mucho más dura que la actual para la mujer, ciertas cosas podemos pensar que están ya superadas o que suenan a rancio, pero no nos engañemos, siguen habiendo muchas Brigitte en el mundo y posiblemente siempre las habrá, “chicas dulces, revoltosas pero buenas” que se convertirán en hermosas señoritas bien educadas, instruidas lo justo para encontrar un buen marido, mujeres que deciden recoger la casa, acunar al nene, hacer la comida, mientras el marido trabaja, las que piensan que “cuando se quiere a un hombre, se acepta todo de él, una se comería hasta su mierda”. Y de la misma forma, siempre habrá hombres a los que les guste ese tipo de mujer, e incluso mujeres a las que también les guste ese tipo de mujer como pareja. Esto entra dentro de la elección personal. Lo que sí es necesario, y ahí es donde todavía queda bastante por hacer, es conseguir que cualquier otra forma de vida sea una opción tan viable y sencilla como esa otra pueda serlo.
La novela de Ernaux es un intento de explicarse a sí misma, y de paso fundamentar ante nosotros, cómo una chica lista, universitaria, con unos padres como los suyos, que se sienten orgullosos de sus notas en dictado y cálculo pero que no dicen nada del dos en costura ni del aprobado pelado en conducta, pudo llegar a convertirse en una mujer helada. No es solo la denuncia de una sociedad construida para perpetuar unos roles de género, una diferenciación entre sexos en la que las mujeres tienen todas las de perder y que las aboca a una vida de insatisfacción e infelicidad, sino también una llamada de atención a las propias mujeres para que no se dejen arrastrar, para que sean conscientes de que en ellas recae también una parte importante de la responsabilidad de su estado, de que deben tener no solo voz para condenar sino fuerzas y decisión para dirigir su propio destino.
"Durante años nunca veré a nadie defender la libertad sexual de las mujeres, y aún menos a las mujeres mismas… Libertad, cosa de zorras. No me sentía con fuerzas de ser una zorra."Ernaux se esfuerza mucho en describir el contexto en el que se produjo su decisión.
Es comprensible la fuerza que tiene la educación, el poder de los dogmas repetidos una y otra vez, incluso por mujeres, el discurso machacón exaltando el “don del sí y el sacrificio. El cuerpo sucio y la inteligencia un pecado”, la santificación del papel de esposa y madre. Es comprensible el poder del entorno, de las amigas que buscan la feminidad que atrae a los hombres y acaban reduciéndose a poco más que una apariencia. Cómo no leer las revistas que te enseñan a tener una tez esplendorosa, cómo no querer saber cómo se hace de una casa un lugar agradable para el esposo.
“La ecuación, bella, factor de gustar y de amor, igual a finalidad de existencia, penetró en mí como si fuera mantequilla.”Es comprensible el miedo a la soledad, a no tener un hombre al lado, a prestarles toda la atención cuando ellos no muestran ninguna, el pavor a su rechazo, a que piensen ciertas cosas, la humillación de tener que dejarse elegir, del hombre arriba y la mujer abajo ofreciéndose pasiva, de no poder llegar más lejos, como él, a que “cada placer lleve el nombre de derrota para mí, de victoria para él”, el drama de tener que matar “el deseo de ser yo y nada más que yo”.
“…eso o la soledad, el problema era el de siempre. La fealdad de la realidad, la callábamos, las humillaciones a las chicas, las guardábamos para nosotras como si la culpa fuera nuestra, como si hubiéramos merecido la vejación.”Es comprensible su desconcierto ante todas esas normas aceptadas, llegar a pensar que le falta algo, sentirse mal porque no tiene ningún interés en esmerarse en la limpieza de la casa, porque en la cocina no llega más allá de un filete y una sopa, porque no sabe ni cómo pedir la carne en el supermercado, porque prefiere el estudio y el trabajo o ir al cine o leer un libro, por sentir el embarazo como una úlcera de estómago, por no disfrutar la terrible experiencia del parto, por nunca sentir que criar un hijo fuera el oficio más maravilloso del mundo.
Sí, todo eso es comprensible, pero había señales, las descubriste y te casaste, y aumentaron las señales, la diferencia se hizo abrumadora, y no abandonaste, “la mujer que se larga a los tres meses, qué vergüenza”, y hasta tuviste tu alegría con el primer suflé de tu vida, con esa lámpara en madera torneada española que ahora también tendrás que limpiar, y quisiste un hijo y no te rebelaste cuando a él, muy pronto, le pareció indigno ocupar tu lugar ante el plato de papilla, y conseguiste un trabajo de profesora agregada, y te remordió la conciencia por dejar al niño en la guardería, y seguías siendo tú quién debía ocuparse de casi todo al llegar a casa y…
“Acabaron sin que me diera cuenta los años de aprendizaje. Después se convierte en una costumbre. Una suma de ruidillos en el interior, molinillo de café, cazuelas, profe discreta, mujer de ejecutivo vestida de Cacharel o de Rodier en el exterior. Una mujer helada”.… quisiste otro hijo.
“Ah, ya veo las risitas de las buenas conciencias, no haberte casado si no querías aceptar las consecuencias.”
October 6, 2022
"Toda mi historia de mujer es la de una escalera que se va bajando a regañadientes."
Mientras leía La mujer helada pensaba que podría pasarle este texto a mi sobrina que acaba de cumplir dieciocho años, para que percibiera de una forma directa lo que es la lucha del día a día de una mujer intentando encajar en una sociedad que “todavía” no está organizada para la igualdad. Siempre le he dicho que la lucha feminista no es la tontería de las pancartas y de un día al año con colorines y banderas, la igualdad es una cosa del día a día en casa, en el trabajo, en el supermercado, incluso en celebraciones y fiestas donde todos los chistes (qué casualidad) acaban siendo sexistas... El texto de Annie Ernaux es muy accesible, muy directo, sencillo, perfectamente comprensible para una chica jovencita que todavía no ha vivido directamente lo que supone ser mujer en un mundo pensado para los hombres. El caso es que luego lo pensé mejor y me dije ¿para qué?? La madre de Annie Ernaux también intentó prepararla para que saliera del ambiente en que ella misma habia crecido; su madre también quiso que fuera más libre y la educaron en una cierta igualidad y sin embargo, Annie Ernaux al igual que las mujeres a lo largo de la historia, también acabó entrando por el aro del estereotipo, también con la inconsciencia de la juventud quiso complacer, cumplir etapas a través de los roles que la sociedad le iba marcando…. Pero de repente, después de algunos años viviendo como una zombie viene la conciencia... cuando descubres que te has convertido en una mujer completamente helada. Lo fundamental es ser capaz de detectarlo y poder despertar, no todas lo consiguen, no todas tienen el valor de romper con el estereotipo, porque incluso para eso tienes que montar una especie de revolución personal, volver encajar todas las piezas y encarrilar tu vida. Todo este proceso está perfectamene narrado por Annie Ernaux en un estilo seco y directo, sin florituras.
"Ese es el drama que voy a vivir, el miedo terrible del que no voy a poder desembarazarme. Necesito a los chicos, pero para gustarles tendría que ser dulce y buena chica, admitir que tienen razón, servirme de mis 'armas femeninas'. Matar todo lo que sigue resistiéndosr, el gusto por la conquista, el deseo de ser yo y nada más que yo. Eso o la soledad."
A través de un monólogo interior, tal como dije antes, directo, accesible y muy fluído, Annie Ernaux hace un repaso a su vida desde su infancia, rememorando a las mujeres de su familia, hasta que casada y con dos hijos, cobra conciencia de que su vida ha sido un continuo cumplir etapas perfiladas por la sociedad. Desde la infancia, como niña educada en un ambiente sin diferencias, pasando por la adolescencia, la juventud y ya cuando se casa, y llegado un momento percibe que en el matrimonio y como madre ella se lleva la peor parte, siempre…
"La huida irrisoria de unas horas, un aparentar que me voy lejos que acabará devolviéndome al establo. Más adelante no voy a tener siquiera la posibilidad de tomar aire inesperadamente, con el niño en la cuna, qué vergüenza, y aún más adelante, , me veré privada de la idea misma de huir, total no sirve para nada, y lloraré entre cazuelas. Un potro domado."
Durante la lectura me sorprendía por la cantidad de momentos durante el texto en los que me sentía perfectamente identificada con lo que cuenta la autora, no en ciertas experiencias vitales, sino más bien en momentos concretos del día a día, e incluso hay momentos en que he pensado ¿cómo es posible que no hayamos evolucionado nada en ciertas cuestiones en el ámbito de la rutina diaria? Tengo compañeras de trabajo con niños pequeños emocionalmente devastadas en algún momento porque son incapaces de gestionar esa diferencia de roles en el ámbito doméstico, por poner un ejemplo…, así que lo que contaba Annie Ernaux en este libro de 1981, sigue estando más vigente que nunca. Annie Ernaux convierte La mujer helada en una especie de diario íntimo y a su vez en una reflexión sobre la evolución de una mujer continuamente en conflicto consigo misma, con todo lo que esto puede significar para la autoestima y tu desarollo sobre todo como ser humano en una jungla donde no hay contemplaciones personales.
"Por la tarde, por la noche, los domingos, saca un diario, un libro de la biblioteca municipal, un libro comprado, a veces. Mi padre grita: -¡te estoy hablando, no te cansas de tanta novela!-, ella se defiende -¡déjame acabar la historia!-"
En La mujer helada, Annie Ernaux narra con maestría los conflictos del día a día cuando estás obligada a cumplir unos roles y sin embargo tienes libertad a la vuelta de la esquina sin terminar de poder tocarla. Estoy convencida de que este texto debería ser una lectura obligada en los institutos. Hacia mucho que quería leer a Annie Ernaux, tenía mucha curiosidad por una autora que ha construido una obra en torno a ella misma, a su percepción de la vida y del mundo, y no tengo ninguna duda de que a partir de ahora la seguiré leyendo.
"Yo también caí en la trampa de la mujer total, orgullosa de ser por fin capaz de conciliarlo todo, la subsistencia, un hijo y tres cursos de lengua francesa, guardiana del hogar y dispensadora del saber, superwoman, no solo intelectualmene hablando, en resumidas cuentas, armónica. El hombre armónico, total, que va a la oficina, se pone el delantal y baña a los niños, si existe, no va contándolo a los cuatro vientos."
https://kansasbooks.blogspot.com/2022...
Mientras leía La mujer helada pensaba que podría pasarle este texto a mi sobrina que acaba de cumplir dieciocho años, para que percibiera de una forma directa lo que es la lucha del día a día de una mujer intentando encajar en una sociedad que “todavía” no está organizada para la igualdad. Siempre le he dicho que la lucha feminista no es la tontería de las pancartas y de un día al año con colorines y banderas, la igualdad es una cosa del día a día en casa, en el trabajo, en el supermercado, incluso en celebraciones y fiestas donde todos los chistes (qué casualidad) acaban siendo sexistas... El texto de Annie Ernaux es muy accesible, muy directo, sencillo, perfectamente comprensible para una chica jovencita que todavía no ha vivido directamente lo que supone ser mujer en un mundo pensado para los hombres. El caso es que luego lo pensé mejor y me dije ¿para qué?? La madre de Annie Ernaux también intentó prepararla para que saliera del ambiente en que ella misma habia crecido; su madre también quiso que fuera más libre y la educaron en una cierta igualidad y sin embargo, Annie Ernaux al igual que las mujeres a lo largo de la historia, también acabó entrando por el aro del estereotipo, también con la inconsciencia de la juventud quiso complacer, cumplir etapas a través de los roles que la sociedad le iba marcando…. Pero de repente, después de algunos años viviendo como una zombie viene la conciencia... cuando descubres que te has convertido en una mujer completamente helada. Lo fundamental es ser capaz de detectarlo y poder despertar, no todas lo consiguen, no todas tienen el valor de romper con el estereotipo, porque incluso para eso tienes que montar una especie de revolución personal, volver encajar todas las piezas y encarrilar tu vida. Todo este proceso está perfectamene narrado por Annie Ernaux en un estilo seco y directo, sin florituras.
"Ese es el drama que voy a vivir, el miedo terrible del que no voy a poder desembarazarme. Necesito a los chicos, pero para gustarles tendría que ser dulce y buena chica, admitir que tienen razón, servirme de mis 'armas femeninas'. Matar todo lo que sigue resistiéndosr, el gusto por la conquista, el deseo de ser yo y nada más que yo. Eso o la soledad."
A través de un monólogo interior, tal como dije antes, directo, accesible y muy fluído, Annie Ernaux hace un repaso a su vida desde su infancia, rememorando a las mujeres de su familia, hasta que casada y con dos hijos, cobra conciencia de que su vida ha sido un continuo cumplir etapas perfiladas por la sociedad. Desde la infancia, como niña educada en un ambiente sin diferencias, pasando por la adolescencia, la juventud y ya cuando se casa, y llegado un momento percibe que en el matrimonio y como madre ella se lleva la peor parte, siempre…
"La huida irrisoria de unas horas, un aparentar que me voy lejos que acabará devolviéndome al establo. Más adelante no voy a tener siquiera la posibilidad de tomar aire inesperadamente, con el niño en la cuna, qué vergüenza, y aún más adelante, , me veré privada de la idea misma de huir, total no sirve para nada, y lloraré entre cazuelas. Un potro domado."
Durante la lectura me sorprendía por la cantidad de momentos durante el texto en los que me sentía perfectamente identificada con lo que cuenta la autora, no en ciertas experiencias vitales, sino más bien en momentos concretos del día a día, e incluso hay momentos en que he pensado ¿cómo es posible que no hayamos evolucionado nada en ciertas cuestiones en el ámbito de la rutina diaria? Tengo compañeras de trabajo con niños pequeños emocionalmente devastadas en algún momento porque son incapaces de gestionar esa diferencia de roles en el ámbito doméstico, por poner un ejemplo…, así que lo que contaba Annie Ernaux en este libro de 1981, sigue estando más vigente que nunca. Annie Ernaux convierte La mujer helada en una especie de diario íntimo y a su vez en una reflexión sobre la evolución de una mujer continuamente en conflicto consigo misma, con todo lo que esto puede significar para la autoestima y tu desarollo sobre todo como ser humano en una jungla donde no hay contemplaciones personales.
"Por la tarde, por la noche, los domingos, saca un diario, un libro de la biblioteca municipal, un libro comprado, a veces. Mi padre grita: -¡te estoy hablando, no te cansas de tanta novela!-, ella se defiende -¡déjame acabar la historia!-"
En La mujer helada, Annie Ernaux narra con maestría los conflictos del día a día cuando estás obligada a cumplir unos roles y sin embargo tienes libertad a la vuelta de la esquina sin terminar de poder tocarla. Estoy convencida de que este texto debería ser una lectura obligada en los institutos. Hacia mucho que quería leer a Annie Ernaux, tenía mucha curiosidad por una autora que ha construido una obra en torno a ella misma, a su percepción de la vida y del mundo, y no tengo ninguna duda de que a partir de ahora la seguiré leyendo.
"Yo también caí en la trampa de la mujer total, orgullosa de ser por fin capaz de conciliarlo todo, la subsistencia, un hijo y tres cursos de lengua francesa, guardiana del hogar y dispensadora del saber, superwoman, no solo intelectualmene hablando, en resumidas cuentas, armónica. El hombre armónico, total, que va a la oficina, se pone el delantal y baña a los niños, si existe, no va contándolo a los cuatro vientos."
https://kansasbooks.blogspot.com/2022...
October 18, 2022
“A Frozen Woman” is only 145 pages…..but I didn’t read it in one sitting. I spent as much time thinking about it (or more), during my reading breaks. It took me three days to finish it. (it could be read in one sitting though)…..but ‘something’ was nagging me — and I’m still trying to formulate my thoughts.
THEY ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE….
…..I gave this book 5 stars — MOSTLY because of the opportunity-vehicle it is for WOMEN BONDING DISCUSSIONS. (and that Ms. Annie Ernaux - Nobel Prize extraordinaire - is a wonderful writer: a creator of openings for reflection.
First….
Its a terrific book club choice for a women’s group.
The way in which women might relate to this book — [or not]— could depend on their own upbringing.
But….
every aspect about womanhood is up for a chat here…..
the story and it’s themes are a great platform for women to voice their views about their own childhood, adolescent years, young adult….
thoughts about femininity and masculinity…..
sexual awaking experiences, awkwardness and confusion, traditional and non traditional roles (1940 vs. 2022), marriage, the traditional male & female gender roles in the 40’s vs. 2022.
staying single - not having kids - having kids - careers, (family and career), artistic and intellectual passions, submissive behaviors, choices, dis-satisfaction with choices, feeling trapped, expectations, disillusionment, (‘freezing oneself’), …..etc. etc.
The protagonist is Annie (autobiographical?— probably— somewhat — mostly).
Annie grew up with parents who were not attached to gender roles….during a time in life when more families ‘did’ execute male/female traditional roles.
Then….as Annie grows, we examine her choices — and visit her inner thoughts while she is trying to figure out life choices for herself.
But here is what I (think) is nagging me —
…..Gender-stereotype parenting — or ‘not’ in early childhood has an influence later in life.
BUT….
I sometimes think parents get too much credit and too much blame for their parenting styles.
There is THE ENTIRE WORLD influencing all our stages in life:
our teachers, friends, sex, hormones, magazines, books, TV, music, our bodies, our own dispositions and personalities, social media, global news, etc.
WHICH IS WHY I THINK THIS BOOK IS A CALL FOR ACTION….
“Women Unite”….come together and let’s TALK.
(my house next weekend — fully catered event with yummy organic foods, wine, warm water soaking in the pool). Bring your family stories — bring your adult stories….
And let’s talk.
Me….small tidbit. Given that my father died when I was four years old, and my mother had to work full-time, and I had one older sister, men were a rare entity until my little heart started to throb for the boys at school….in kindergarten.
But boys were still a rare breed. I admit I was curious and felt drawn to the opposite sex….
but I was so naïve — I didn’t even know a boy’s penis ‘grew’….until HIGH SCHOOL — and only because my older sister asked me —- “when you slow dance do you feel the boys hardness?”
WHAT? What was my sister talking about?
But —
honestly— I can’t remember ANY GENDER ROLES whatsoever in my family.
I was lucky to have ‘any’ parenting at all. I was a latchkey kid.
Okay….point is — BESIDES….the wonderful writing….and the protagonists’ maturation….flowering….and her coming-of-age tussles….
…..”A Frozen Woman” captures a period of time where women were realizing how society pushed them into unwanted gender defined roles.
Excerpts:
…. “Fragile and vaporish women, spirits with gentle hands, good fairies of the home who silently create beauty and order, mute, submissive women search as I may, I cannot find many of them in the landscape of my childhood. Not even in the next-best model, less elegant, more frumpy, the ones who work miracles with leftovers, scrub the sink until you can see your face in it, and take up their posts outside the school gate fifteen minutes before the last bell rings, all their housework done. Perfectly organized unto death. The women in my life all had loud voices, and tidy bodies that were too fat or too flat, sandpapery fingers, faces without a trace of make-up or else slathered in it, with big blotches of color on the cheeks and lips”.
“A man’s better off going into the sciences, a girl assured me. I don’t see why; still the same stubborn refusal to go along with differences I don’t accept. But here’s the most amazing thing: Literary creation is like an ejaculation, says the prof in a course on the poet Charles Peguy. All critics are important—this from an assistant in the philosophy department. Writing reduced a hundred times to the activity of the penis, but I don’t take this seriously, I translate, or rather, it reaches me already in translation: literary creation is orgastic without any distinction between male and female, and when I read the poetry of Paul Eluard, ‘Myself I go toward life, my appearance is that of a man’, it’s my self I think of. That men call us broads or dogs is humiliating, but then I’m not all that gracious in my vocabulary either: I often divide boys into morons, show-offs, pricks, which I don’t realize— along with Hilda—has an obscene meaning. I have to admit that the prick is the male counterpart of the dog, a doll sort with no flirting value. Companions in the lecture halls, pals in the student restaurants, staring into space, I am never dependent on any of them for more than three weeks. They come and go in the landscape of my boredom”.
A book for women….
calling all types ….educated, or not, rich or poor, positive or negative, beautiful (all women are beautiful), graceful, brave, hard-working, reliable, resilient, powerful women (yeah, stupid choices and regrets too)…ALL WOMEN….
And…..
a book for men who value women.
THEY ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE….
…..I gave this book 5 stars — MOSTLY because of the opportunity-vehicle it is for WOMEN BONDING DISCUSSIONS. (and that Ms. Annie Ernaux - Nobel Prize extraordinaire - is a wonderful writer: a creator of openings for reflection.
First….
Its a terrific book club choice for a women’s group.
The way in which women might relate to this book — [or not]— could depend on their own upbringing.
But….
every aspect about womanhood is up for a chat here…..
the story and it’s themes are a great platform for women to voice their views about their own childhood, adolescent years, young adult….
thoughts about femininity and masculinity…..
sexual awaking experiences, awkwardness and confusion, traditional and non traditional roles (1940 vs. 2022), marriage, the traditional male & female gender roles in the 40’s vs. 2022.
staying single - not having kids - having kids - careers, (family and career), artistic and intellectual passions, submissive behaviors, choices, dis-satisfaction with choices, feeling trapped, expectations, disillusionment, (‘freezing oneself’), …..etc. etc.
The protagonist is Annie (autobiographical?— probably— somewhat — mostly).
Annie grew up with parents who were not attached to gender roles….during a time in life when more families ‘did’ execute male/female traditional roles.
Then….as Annie grows, we examine her choices — and visit her inner thoughts while she is trying to figure out life choices for herself.
But here is what I (think) is nagging me —
…..Gender-stereotype parenting — or ‘not’ in early childhood has an influence later in life.
BUT….
I sometimes think parents get too much credit and too much blame for their parenting styles.
There is THE ENTIRE WORLD influencing all our stages in life:
our teachers, friends, sex, hormones, magazines, books, TV, music, our bodies, our own dispositions and personalities, social media, global news, etc.
WHICH IS WHY I THINK THIS BOOK IS A CALL FOR ACTION….
“Women Unite”….come together and let’s TALK.
(my house next weekend — fully catered event with yummy organic foods, wine, warm water soaking in the pool). Bring your family stories — bring your adult stories….
And let’s talk.
Me….small tidbit. Given that my father died when I was four years old, and my mother had to work full-time, and I had one older sister, men were a rare entity until my little heart started to throb for the boys at school….in kindergarten.
But boys were still a rare breed. I admit I was curious and felt drawn to the opposite sex….
but I was so naïve — I didn’t even know a boy’s penis ‘grew’….until HIGH SCHOOL — and only because my older sister asked me —- “when you slow dance do you feel the boys hardness?”
WHAT? What was my sister talking about?
But —
honestly— I can’t remember ANY GENDER ROLES whatsoever in my family.
I was lucky to have ‘any’ parenting at all. I was a latchkey kid.
Okay….point is — BESIDES….the wonderful writing….and the protagonists’ maturation….flowering….and her coming-of-age tussles….
…..”A Frozen Woman” captures a period of time where women were realizing how society pushed them into unwanted gender defined roles.
Excerpts:
…. “Fragile and vaporish women, spirits with gentle hands, good fairies of the home who silently create beauty and order, mute, submissive women search as I may, I cannot find many of them in the landscape of my childhood. Not even in the next-best model, less elegant, more frumpy, the ones who work miracles with leftovers, scrub the sink until you can see your face in it, and take up their posts outside the school gate fifteen minutes before the last bell rings, all their housework done. Perfectly organized unto death. The women in my life all had loud voices, and tidy bodies that were too fat or too flat, sandpapery fingers, faces without a trace of make-up or else slathered in it, with big blotches of color on the cheeks and lips”.
“A man’s better off going into the sciences, a girl assured me. I don’t see why; still the same stubborn refusal to go along with differences I don’t accept. But here’s the most amazing thing: Literary creation is like an ejaculation, says the prof in a course on the poet Charles Peguy. All critics are important—this from an assistant in the philosophy department. Writing reduced a hundred times to the activity of the penis, but I don’t take this seriously, I translate, or rather, it reaches me already in translation: literary creation is orgastic without any distinction between male and female, and when I read the poetry of Paul Eluard, ‘Myself I go toward life, my appearance is that of a man’, it’s my self I think of. That men call us broads or dogs is humiliating, but then I’m not all that gracious in my vocabulary either: I often divide boys into morons, show-offs, pricks, which I don’t realize— along with Hilda—has an obscene meaning. I have to admit that the prick is the male counterpart of the dog, a doll sort with no flirting value. Companions in the lecture halls, pals in the student restaurants, staring into space, I am never dependent on any of them for more than three weeks. They come and go in the landscape of my boredom”.
A book for women….
calling all types ….educated, or not, rich or poor, positive or negative, beautiful (all women are beautiful), graceful, brave, hard-working, reliable, resilient, powerful women (yeah, stupid choices and regrets too)…ALL WOMEN….
And…..
a book for men who value women.
May 8, 2016
Alors c'est l'histoire d'une femme, qui a lu le Deuxième sexe et grandi dans un foyer où la mère travaillait et le père épluchait des patates, elle a fait des études et veut échapper au destin féminin attendu - mari et enfants -, mais finalement elle n'y arrive pas.
Annie Ernaux se raconte infatigablement. Je ne l'ai pas beaucoup lue, mais franchement, si ça n'avait pas été pour répondre à des questions de mes petites élèves, je n'y serais pas retournée. J'avais découvert la Place, les Armoires vides, et un autre roman aussi vite oublié que lu, en cours de littérature française contemporaine à Madrid (mais oui, ça existe). Rapidement, je l'ai classée dans la catégorie des auteurs français fascinés par eux-mêmes. Le fait de n'avoir pas d'autre sujet que soi-même peut m'exaspérer vite. Le fait de reprendre une écriture blanchie à la Camus, et d'imiter un stream of consciousness tout VirginiaWoolfien de son état, peut également m'ennuyer rapidement. On dirait une longue litanie plaintive, on a tout le temps envie de lui remonter le menton d'une pichenette pour qu'elle se reprenne un peu. J'ai tout juste été intéressée.
Évidemment, si je revenais aujourd'hui au roman qu'Ernaux a écrit sur sa mère, à celui qu'elle a consacré à son père, je serais sans aucun doute plus intéressée que je ne l'étais à l'époque par la thématique du transfuge social (Édouard Louis, Dider Eribon, m'entendez-vous). En tout cas, je suis contente d'avoir pris mon courage à deux mains pour lire la Femme gelée, dans ce week end où de toutes façons, j'étais trop malade pour sortir, alors autant bouquiner chez moi tranquillement.
Car ce roman est entièrement consacré au fait d'être femme. Contrairement à ce qu'on résume trop vite, ce n'est pas qu'un livre sur la maternité et ses obligations, c'est un livre sur le chemin qui mène à ces obligations. Moins de la moitié du texte se rapporte à l'histoire de l'auteure et de son premier mari. Elle évoque avec une grande justesse ce que c'est que d'être une femme, ce que c'est que d'avoir des poupées, de devoir cuisiner, d'apprendre à force de commentaires sur son physique à prendre soin de soi. Elle sait trouver le mot pour évoquer le tiraillement nécessaire, entre les aspirations intellectuelles et créatrices, et la force sociétale qui fait qu'elle se mariera, qu'elle aura effectivement des enfants.
Malheureusement, c'était nécessaire d'écrire ces choses il y a trente ans, et c'est encore nécessaire de les écrire aujourd'hui. Si vous ne me croyez pas, je vous renvoie à la ribambelle de chroniques Goodreads qui taclent Ernaux comme étant une mauvaise mère, simplement parce qu'elle évoque la difficulté d'être mère, dans un contexte toujours extrêmement misogyne. Parce que c'est difficile, et que beaucoup de femmes n'osent pas le dire.
En fait, il m'a fallu lire la Femme gelée pour réaliser qu'Annie Ernaux était Emma Bovary. Elle le remarque elle-même d'ailleurs, et je me demande ce que ça doit faire de ressembler à ce point à un personnage de Flaubert (c'est sans doute assez angoissant). Je veux dire, je n'avais jamais fait le rapprochement, mais elle a grandi à Yvetot que diable, elle a renié ses parents, elle a cherché l'ascension sociale en se mariant, elle n'a pas été intéressée par la naissance de ses enfants... Si elle l'avait pu, Emma Bovary aurait très clairement avorté, puis elle aurait écrit les Armoires vides (si si, je suis sûre).
Mais en lisant l'histoire de cette femme qui se retrouve coincée, engagée à vie dans un destin qu'elle n'a pas choisi, plus encore que l'histoire de Bovary, j'avais l'impression de lire le roman de ma mère, elle aussi issue de milieux humbles, elle aussi devenue professeure, elle aussi coincée à la maison avec plusieurs enfants, et un mari qui nous nourrissait de chips quand il devait s'occuper de nous. Plus inquiétant encore, j'ai lu le texte dans l'édition intégrale d'Ernaux chez Quarto ("Écrire la vie"), qui contient des photographies personnelles de l'auteure... Et elle ressemble drôlement à ma mère (ainsi qu'à Juliette Binoche). Ce n'est peut-être pas très important, mais vous pourrez faire de cette information ce que bon vous semble.
Annie Ernaux se raconte infatigablement. Je ne l'ai pas beaucoup lue, mais franchement, si ça n'avait pas été pour répondre à des questions de mes petites élèves, je n'y serais pas retournée. J'avais découvert la Place, les Armoires vides, et un autre roman aussi vite oublié que lu, en cours de littérature française contemporaine à Madrid (mais oui, ça existe). Rapidement, je l'ai classée dans la catégorie des auteurs français fascinés par eux-mêmes. Le fait de n'avoir pas d'autre sujet que soi-même peut m'exaspérer vite. Le fait de reprendre une écriture blanchie à la Camus, et d'imiter un stream of consciousness tout VirginiaWoolfien de son état, peut également m'ennuyer rapidement. On dirait une longue litanie plaintive, on a tout le temps envie de lui remonter le menton d'une pichenette pour qu'elle se reprenne un peu. J'ai tout juste été intéressée.
Évidemment, si je revenais aujourd'hui au roman qu'Ernaux a écrit sur sa mère, à celui qu'elle a consacré à son père, je serais sans aucun doute plus intéressée que je ne l'étais à l'époque par la thématique du transfuge social (Édouard Louis, Dider Eribon, m'entendez-vous). En tout cas, je suis contente d'avoir pris mon courage à deux mains pour lire la Femme gelée, dans ce week end où de toutes façons, j'étais trop malade pour sortir, alors autant bouquiner chez moi tranquillement.
Car ce roman est entièrement consacré au fait d'être femme. Contrairement à ce qu'on résume trop vite, ce n'est pas qu'un livre sur la maternité et ses obligations, c'est un livre sur le chemin qui mène à ces obligations. Moins de la moitié du texte se rapporte à l'histoire de l'auteure et de son premier mari. Elle évoque avec une grande justesse ce que c'est que d'être une femme, ce que c'est que d'avoir des poupées, de devoir cuisiner, d'apprendre à force de commentaires sur son physique à prendre soin de soi. Elle sait trouver le mot pour évoquer le tiraillement nécessaire, entre les aspirations intellectuelles et créatrices, et la force sociétale qui fait qu'elle se mariera, qu'elle aura effectivement des enfants.
Malheureusement, c'était nécessaire d'écrire ces choses il y a trente ans, et c'est encore nécessaire de les écrire aujourd'hui. Si vous ne me croyez pas, je vous renvoie à la ribambelle de chroniques Goodreads qui taclent Ernaux comme étant une mauvaise mère, simplement parce qu'elle évoque la difficulté d'être mère, dans un contexte toujours extrêmement misogyne. Parce que c'est difficile, et que beaucoup de femmes n'osent pas le dire.
En fait, il m'a fallu lire la Femme gelée pour réaliser qu'Annie Ernaux était Emma Bovary. Elle le remarque elle-même d'ailleurs, et je me demande ce que ça doit faire de ressembler à ce point à un personnage de Flaubert (c'est sans doute assez angoissant). Je veux dire, je n'avais jamais fait le rapprochement, mais elle a grandi à Yvetot que diable, elle a renié ses parents, elle a cherché l'ascension sociale en se mariant, elle n'a pas été intéressée par la naissance de ses enfants... Si elle l'avait pu, Emma Bovary aurait très clairement avorté, puis elle aurait écrit les Armoires vides (si si, je suis sûre).
Mais en lisant l'histoire de cette femme qui se retrouve coincée, engagée à vie dans un destin qu'elle n'a pas choisi, plus encore que l'histoire de Bovary, j'avais l'impression de lire le roman de ma mère, elle aussi issue de milieux humbles, elle aussi devenue professeure, elle aussi coincée à la maison avec plusieurs enfants, et un mari qui nous nourrissait de chips quand il devait s'occuper de nous. Plus inquiétant encore, j'ai lu le texte dans l'édition intégrale d'Ernaux chez Quarto ("Écrire la vie"), qui contient des photographies personnelles de l'auteure... Et elle ressemble drôlement à ma mère (ainsi qu'à Juliette Binoche). Ce n'est peut-être pas très important, mais vous pourrez faire de cette information ce que bon vous semble.
June 29, 2015
“In a few years I will become a girl emptied of herself, swollen with romantic ideas in a world reduced to other people’s expectations.”- Annie Ernaux, A Frozen Woman
This is the tale of an unnamed female narrator who ends up following the path expected of her by society. Yet, she is ambitious and also wants to become a teacher and find happiness. But society tells her that “one must live one’s femaleness in its entirety to be ‘complete’ and therefore happy.” And that completeness involves both marriage and motherhood.
During her childhood and through her early teenage years the narrator doesn’t realize that the unconventional roles her parents play are frowned upon by society; for example, her mother settles the accounts, while her father (shockingly, to most) peels the potatoes. Her parents want her to be happy and they often tell her that life for a woman “doesn’t require wearing a bridal veil.”.
It seems that whatever is taught in the home is so easily eroded by contact with the outside world. The narrator ends up aspiring for the same things as the other girls once she has more interaction with this world. The first thing she aspires for is to be desired by men:
“The body under constant surveillance and restraint, abruptly shattered into a heap of pieces–eyes, skin, hair–that must be dealt with one by one to reach perfection.”
Ernaux’s depictions of motherhood were stifling and very real. One thing that stood out to me was the homogeneous (ideal) image of motherhood that was presented by the Church and the schools, yet not all mothers fit this image:
“I see the ideal mother as part of a way of life that has precious little to do with ours.”
This was also a tale of control, society and religion controlling women’s actions, activities, feelings, and appearances. Being an intelligent and headstrong woman, our narrator’s insights about these facts were very interesting but also sad:
“Sisyphus and that rock he rolls endlessly up the hill– at least it’s dramatic, a man on a mountain outlined against the horizon, whereas a woman in her kitchen tossing some butter into a frypan three hundred and sixty-five times a year, that’s neither heroic nor absurd, that’s just life.”
This book was incredibly moving. I think for most women who read it, it will be a reminder of our years of socialization and how gender roles and expectations are forced on us, and are reinforced in many ways, for example, through religion. The book evokes the struggles, the misinformation, the social cues we pick up from all around us of how to be, what is expected of us as women. And what I also found interesting was the investigation into gender roles, and how we as humans lend a hand to these by how we react to them, especially how we react to those who do not fall into those roles.
This was the tale of a woman who was so unfulfilled, who might have been happier had she gone the path she chose, instead of the path society forced upon her. I really did feel so much empathy for her, especially in her married life. I have yet to read any Simone De Beauvoir, but her book “The Second Sex” comes up a lot in this book.
I rarely read a book that fills me with so much despair. It’s clear that women now have more choices than ever before, but I spared a thought for the women who came before me who had very little support from society to pursue their dreams.
This is the tale of an unnamed female narrator who ends up following the path expected of her by society. Yet, she is ambitious and also wants to become a teacher and find happiness. But society tells her that “one must live one’s femaleness in its entirety to be ‘complete’ and therefore happy.” And that completeness involves both marriage and motherhood.
During her childhood and through her early teenage years the narrator doesn’t realize that the unconventional roles her parents play are frowned upon by society; for example, her mother settles the accounts, while her father (shockingly, to most) peels the potatoes. Her parents want her to be happy and they often tell her that life for a woman “doesn’t require wearing a bridal veil.”.
It seems that whatever is taught in the home is so easily eroded by contact with the outside world. The narrator ends up aspiring for the same things as the other girls once she has more interaction with this world. The first thing she aspires for is to be desired by men:
“The body under constant surveillance and restraint, abruptly shattered into a heap of pieces–eyes, skin, hair–that must be dealt with one by one to reach perfection.”
Ernaux’s depictions of motherhood were stifling and very real. One thing that stood out to me was the homogeneous (ideal) image of motherhood that was presented by the Church and the schools, yet not all mothers fit this image:
“I see the ideal mother as part of a way of life that has precious little to do with ours.”
This was also a tale of control, society and religion controlling women’s actions, activities, feelings, and appearances. Being an intelligent and headstrong woman, our narrator’s insights about these facts were very interesting but also sad:
“Sisyphus and that rock he rolls endlessly up the hill– at least it’s dramatic, a man on a mountain outlined against the horizon, whereas a woman in her kitchen tossing some butter into a frypan three hundred and sixty-five times a year, that’s neither heroic nor absurd, that’s just life.”
This book was incredibly moving. I think for most women who read it, it will be a reminder of our years of socialization and how gender roles and expectations are forced on us, and are reinforced in many ways, for example, through religion. The book evokes the struggles, the misinformation, the social cues we pick up from all around us of how to be, what is expected of us as women. And what I also found interesting was the investigation into gender roles, and how we as humans lend a hand to these by how we react to them, especially how we react to those who do not fall into those roles.
This was the tale of a woman who was so unfulfilled, who might have been happier had she gone the path she chose, instead of the path society forced upon her. I really did feel so much empathy for her, especially in her married life. I have yet to read any Simone De Beauvoir, but her book “The Second Sex” comes up a lot in this book.
I rarely read a book that fills me with so much despair. It’s clear that women now have more choices than ever before, but I spared a thought for the women who came before me who had very little support from society to pursue their dreams.
October 11, 2022
3.5 stars
I read Candi's wonderful review of this quite a while back, ordered the book, then put it on my shelf and promptly forgot about it. Then, Annie Ernaux won the Nobel Prize in literature a week ago, and I decided that was a sign for me to get it read.
I suspect this would have been rated higher by me had I read it at an earlier point in my life. I had a childhood and adolescence much like the woman in this book, I suspect a lot of women did. I distinctly remember feeling frustrated much of the time when I was raising my daughter by the sheer enormity of things to be done, expectations from others about the right way and wrong way of anything to do with being a wife and mother.
"For two years, in the flower of youth, I see all the freedom of my life hang by the thread of a dozing child."
Yep, been there, done that.
BUT, unlike the desperation felt by this unnamed narrator to escape her role in life (which she had freely chosen, I might add) I found pleasure and satisfaction in many of the things I did, and now, as an older woman with a grown child, still married, I look back on those years without resentment because I know that everything under the sun is a cycle, and I was fortunate to have an easy time of it, all things considered. Many women do not, but still manage to get the job done just as well.
My problem with this book was the unrelenting despair with which she laments being assigned a women's role in life, without admitting that either sex has their limitations and freedoms curtailed by marriage and children. Her later books may be different in tone, but for now I'll let this be it for Annie Ernaux.
I read Candi's wonderful review of this quite a while back, ordered the book, then put it on my shelf and promptly forgot about it. Then, Annie Ernaux won the Nobel Prize in literature a week ago, and I decided that was a sign for me to get it read.
I suspect this would have been rated higher by me had I read it at an earlier point in my life. I had a childhood and adolescence much like the woman in this book, I suspect a lot of women did. I distinctly remember feeling frustrated much of the time when I was raising my daughter by the sheer enormity of things to be done, expectations from others about the right way and wrong way of anything to do with being a wife and mother.
"For two years, in the flower of youth, I see all the freedom of my life hang by the thread of a dozing child."
Yep, been there, done that.
BUT, unlike the desperation felt by this unnamed narrator to escape her role in life (which she had freely chosen, I might add) I found pleasure and satisfaction in many of the things I did, and now, as an older woman with a grown child, still married, I look back on those years without resentment because I know that everything under the sun is a cycle, and I was fortunate to have an easy time of it, all things considered. Many women do not, but still manage to get the job done just as well.
My problem with this book was the unrelenting despair with which she laments being assigned a women's role in life, without admitting that either sex has their limitations and freedoms curtailed by marriage and children. Her later books may be different in tone, but for now I'll let this be it for Annie Ernaux.
January 9, 2023
Congratulations to Annie Ernaux for being awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2022!!
So some of you are wondering which Ernaux to try first, just to explore whether she might be for you. Earlier this year I read several of her works, all of them autofiction/memoir, experiments in representing memories. It’s a little like a multiple small book autobiography, choose your own adventure. In other words, there isn’t a first book you read first, then read them in order. You just read them. But I just read this one, and this is the one I would read first. I was imagining as I read it that it was THIS that pushed the Nobel committee to give her the nod. This and the most experimental book that I am reading now, The Years. These two may be the best ones, the liveliest, the ones that gives us the broadest look at her seemingly mundane project: What was it like to be a girl in Paris in the fifties, a girl and then a woman. There are books about her mother, father, an abortion, an affair with a married man, and so on, shorter books with a more telephoto lens on one particular part of her life or one person, but these two books set the table and have the most energy.
But this one takes a wide angle view of herself as girl, Catholic girl, fifties girl, French girl, working-class girl who becomes a middle-class woman, a teacher, a scholar, while also becoming a very young wife and mother. This one from the first is an immersion in what a little girl is led to believe Girl is, Woman is, in part in relationship to boys and men. Her parents own a store/cafe, and they support her independence and her need to be a reader and good student. Her mother introduces Annie to the arts and a way of approaching life:
“She teaches me that the world is made to be pounced on and enjoyed, and that there is absolutely no reason at all to hold back.”
Her mother runs a small business, doesn’t cook, doesn’t clean much, doesn’t sew, modeling a different kind of person than she sees in her friends’s mothers. Annie sees herself as unique among many girls who only want to be girlfriends and wives and mothers (which she nevertheless does do, in her own way, which is not always something she embraces as wonderful, to say the least). She has an overarching purpose to her life that emerges:
“Maybe the true purpose of my life is for my body, my sensations and my thoughts to become writing, in other words, something intelligible and universal, causing my existence to merge into the lives and heads of other people.”
“I started to make a literary being of myself, someone who lives as if her experiences were to be written down someday.”
Early on she sees boys in the abstract as a means to a goal:
“At ten I am not worried about boys. I think only of a dream, of a promise of happiness. No shadow. Not yet.”
That ominous two-word coda is not surprising, as she will struggle with boys and men and desire and how these things in part infuse/inhibit other aspects of her aspirations. But what choices are available to her as girl and woman in that time? Personally and professionally.
Many of the other books are deliberately cool and dispassionate, with a deliberate attempt to be more “objective,” to describe things as they were, not to analyze, to leave it to readers. This book is a bit longer than the others, with a scope of childhood through marriage, that struggle to be educated in a world dominated by men, where it is assumed women serve men in certain ways (though her husband in their late teens is also a student and initially seems to support her seeking scholarly accomplishments, but he also has no models for how to properly do that. This is France in the fifties).
This is my favorite Ernaux so far, filled with a kind of humor and anguish and close observation and passion I loved. What does it mean to be a girl??!! A woman??!! Read this one first, I say! It provides a broader context for all the other short novels. And will make the cooler, more distant approach of the other novels more palatable.
I think her perspective on resenting her husband and child in certain ways will--as it did then--be provocative for some readers. At 18 she saw herself as free, and independent, and at 21 she was married and then pregnant and she began to see her life as more limited as her young husband saw little or no real limitations. She did everything in the house, with the child, all for him/them. No one was sympathetic to her dissatisfactions.
PS: Not that only girls and women should read this, of course. When I was a teenager I was so interested in how women might be different than men that I read Simone Beauvoir’s The Second Sex (okay, honestly, I was probably initially hoping for some descriptions of sex, too). I had three sisters in the house, and I knew them, and closely observed them, read the books they read, heard their talk about fellow girls, and boys, and my mother was the person on Earth I was closest to, but I wanted to know more! (I was a loner; I had no girlfriend until I was 18; I was a bookworm that stayed in his room and read; my loves were literary!). I am reminded now of The Virgin Suicides by Jeffery Eugenides, where a group of boys are obsessed with a set of sisters in one family. They are curious about these super-sheltered girls, and they mainly watch, they obsess, they objectify, they want to know! And in many ways, they never do! Here, Ernaux gives a clear picture of her life and the development of her thinking--she is talking to us! And she is not Every Woman, but Annie, and her story is provocative, for sure.
So some of you are wondering which Ernaux to try first, just to explore whether she might be for you. Earlier this year I read several of her works, all of them autofiction/memoir, experiments in representing memories. It’s a little like a multiple small book autobiography, choose your own adventure. In other words, there isn’t a first book you read first, then read them in order. You just read them. But I just read this one, and this is the one I would read first. I was imagining as I read it that it was THIS that pushed the Nobel committee to give her the nod. This and the most experimental book that I am reading now, The Years. These two may be the best ones, the liveliest, the ones that gives us the broadest look at her seemingly mundane project: What was it like to be a girl in Paris in the fifties, a girl and then a woman. There are books about her mother, father, an abortion, an affair with a married man, and so on, shorter books with a more telephoto lens on one particular part of her life or one person, but these two books set the table and have the most energy.
But this one takes a wide angle view of herself as girl, Catholic girl, fifties girl, French girl, working-class girl who becomes a middle-class woman, a teacher, a scholar, while also becoming a very young wife and mother. This one from the first is an immersion in what a little girl is led to believe Girl is, Woman is, in part in relationship to boys and men. Her parents own a store/cafe, and they support her independence and her need to be a reader and good student. Her mother introduces Annie to the arts and a way of approaching life:
“She teaches me that the world is made to be pounced on and enjoyed, and that there is absolutely no reason at all to hold back.”
Her mother runs a small business, doesn’t cook, doesn’t clean much, doesn’t sew, modeling a different kind of person than she sees in her friends’s mothers. Annie sees herself as unique among many girls who only want to be girlfriends and wives and mothers (which she nevertheless does do, in her own way, which is not always something she embraces as wonderful, to say the least). She has an overarching purpose to her life that emerges:
“Maybe the true purpose of my life is for my body, my sensations and my thoughts to become writing, in other words, something intelligible and universal, causing my existence to merge into the lives and heads of other people.”
“I started to make a literary being of myself, someone who lives as if her experiences were to be written down someday.”
Early on she sees boys in the abstract as a means to a goal:
“At ten I am not worried about boys. I think only of a dream, of a promise of happiness. No shadow. Not yet.”
That ominous two-word coda is not surprising, as she will struggle with boys and men and desire and how these things in part infuse/inhibit other aspects of her aspirations. But what choices are available to her as girl and woman in that time? Personally and professionally.
Many of the other books are deliberately cool and dispassionate, with a deliberate attempt to be more “objective,” to describe things as they were, not to analyze, to leave it to readers. This book is a bit longer than the others, with a scope of childhood through marriage, that struggle to be educated in a world dominated by men, where it is assumed women serve men in certain ways (though her husband in their late teens is also a student and initially seems to support her seeking scholarly accomplishments, but he also has no models for how to properly do that. This is France in the fifties).
This is my favorite Ernaux so far, filled with a kind of humor and anguish and close observation and passion I loved. What does it mean to be a girl??!! A woman??!! Read this one first, I say! It provides a broader context for all the other short novels. And will make the cooler, more distant approach of the other novels more palatable.
I think her perspective on resenting her husband and child in certain ways will--as it did then--be provocative for some readers. At 18 she saw herself as free, and independent, and at 21 she was married and then pregnant and she began to see her life as more limited as her young husband saw little or no real limitations. She did everything in the house, with the child, all for him/them. No one was sympathetic to her dissatisfactions.
PS: Not that only girls and women should read this, of course. When I was a teenager I was so interested in how women might be different than men that I read Simone Beauvoir’s The Second Sex (okay, honestly, I was probably initially hoping for some descriptions of sex, too). I had three sisters in the house, and I knew them, and closely observed them, read the books they read, heard their talk about fellow girls, and boys, and my mother was the person on Earth I was closest to, but I wanted to know more! (I was a loner; I had no girlfriend until I was 18; I was a bookworm that stayed in his room and read; my loves were literary!). I am reminded now of The Virgin Suicides by Jeffery Eugenides, where a group of boys are obsessed with a set of sisters in one family. They are curious about these super-sheltered girls, and they mainly watch, they obsess, they objectify, they want to know! And in many ways, they never do! Here, Ernaux gives a clear picture of her life and the development of her thinking--she is talking to us! And she is not Every Woman, but Annie, and her story is provocative, for sure.
October 8, 2022
A Frozen Woman by French author Annie Ernaux, born September 1, 1940, and still living, is autobiographical fiction. Being one of her earlier works, it is not experimental as her later works are. It follows closely the events in the author’s own life focusing upon how it is to be a woman, what one woman shares with another, as a child, as an adolescent and later as an adult, how we relate to each other and to those of the opposite sex. It is about the very essence of being a woman—our early and adolescent relationship to our mother, menstruation and sexual awakening, falling in love, the choice of having a husband or not, of having children and having children while at the same time holding a job. How is it we have come to hold the job we hold? It is about gender roles in the family, in the workplace and in society as a whole. As we read about the author’s life choices, we compare her choices with our own. We consider the decisions every woman must make. No two women’s life choices will be exactly the same, but we are all confronted by similar choices. I believe all women will find much food for thought in this book.
The central protagonist grows up in provincial Normandy, France, near Rouen where she is enrolled at a lycée. Later she is off to Bordeaux for university studies. As a married woman, she ends up in Annecy in the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes region of southeastern France, holds a teaching job and is married to a husband who takes for granted that the care of their two children will be hers. Here the book closes
The gist of the problem is that Annie / the central protagonist has been raised by a mother and father whose gender roles had been reversed. The parents owned a grocery-café. Mom took care of the finances. Mom encouraged her daughter to get a proper education, to be independent and self-sufficient. Dad preferred cooking and the chores of the home. Work that had to be done was equally shared. Annie marries into a family with more customary gender roles!
Having lived in France myself, I recognize in the women a no-nonsense strength that is accurately portrayed.
The book has been translated from French to English by Linda Coverdale. The vernacular, expressions and mode of speech are more American than British. I am pleased with the translation. What is said feels natural, genuine, real. One example—the first child born is referred to by his parents as kiddo. In any case, I am praising the author’s and in turn the translator’s choice of words, phrasing and ability to string words together in an expressive way that is easy to relate to. I like the prose very much.
The audiobook is narrated by Tavia Gilbert. Her accent is American. She has a special lilt; it sounds as though she is almost singing. Her French is reasonably good; it is not hard to guess the French words she is saying. I could hear every word. However, Gilbert’s intonation fails to convey Annie’s strength of character. Two stars is the highest I can go for the narration.
I like this book very much. I like the writing—the author’s way of expressing ideas, the formation of sentences and her choice of words. My journey through the book gave me plenty to think about. I enjoyed comparing Annie’s choices with my own. Sometimes they were the same and other times they were not. Circumstances vary. I think the book will give all women lots to think about. Annie Ernaux is a new favorite author for me. I will very soon read more by her.
One more thing, which I forgot to mention, you will chuckle as you read this book, though probably more at the start than at the end.
*********************
*A Frozen Woman 4 stars
*A Woman's Story 3 stars
*A Man's Place 2 stars
*A Girl's Story TBR
*The Years maybe
*Simple Passion maybe
The central protagonist grows up in provincial Normandy, France, near Rouen where she is enrolled at a lycée. Later she is off to Bordeaux for university studies. As a married woman, she ends up in Annecy in the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes region of southeastern France, holds a teaching job and is married to a husband who takes for granted that the care of their two children will be hers. Here the book closes
The gist of the problem is that Annie / the central protagonist has been raised by a mother and father whose gender roles had been reversed. The parents owned a grocery-café. Mom took care of the finances. Mom encouraged her daughter to get a proper education, to be independent and self-sufficient. Dad preferred cooking and the chores of the home. Work that had to be done was equally shared. Annie marries into a family with more customary gender roles!
Having lived in France myself, I recognize in the women a no-nonsense strength that is accurately portrayed.
The book has been translated from French to English by Linda Coverdale. The vernacular, expressions and mode of speech are more American than British. I am pleased with the translation. What is said feels natural, genuine, real. One example—the first child born is referred to by his parents as kiddo. In any case, I am praising the author’s and in turn the translator’s choice of words, phrasing and ability to string words together in an expressive way that is easy to relate to. I like the prose very much.
The audiobook is narrated by Tavia Gilbert. Her accent is American. She has a special lilt; it sounds as though she is almost singing. Her French is reasonably good; it is not hard to guess the French words she is saying. I could hear every word. However, Gilbert’s intonation fails to convey Annie’s strength of character. Two stars is the highest I can go for the narration.
I like this book very much. I like the writing—the author’s way of expressing ideas, the formation of sentences and her choice of words. My journey through the book gave me plenty to think about. I enjoyed comparing Annie’s choices with my own. Sometimes they were the same and other times they were not. Circumstances vary. I think the book will give all women lots to think about. Annie Ernaux is a new favorite author for me. I will very soon read more by her.
One more thing, which I forgot to mention, you will chuckle as you read this book, though probably more at the start than at the end.
*********************
*A Frozen Woman 4 stars
*A Woman's Story 3 stars
*A Man's Place 2 stars
*A Girl's Story TBR
*The Years maybe
*Simple Passion maybe
June 11, 2023
Ernaux’s book about her childhood through the birth of her second child is a powerful venting of what she did, why she did it, and what she couldn’t do in a patriarchal society. I could especially relate to it when thinking of my grandmother’s life. In some ways I could relate it to myself, even if I don’t feel bitter like Ernaux does. And passion about these types of things is important in writing an account of a young woman of that time, of making her story as important as any male writer might make his. Wishy-washy emotions won’t advance anyone.
Speaking of the word “wishy-washy,” those are the type of informal words used in this translation and I can only guess that they are similar in the original French. This is easy reading in the sense of its prose; but it’s thought-provoking and Ernaux doesn’t spare anyone, not even herself. She may have been frozen at one time, but the rage of the writer has thawed her completely.
While some things haven’t changed since Ernaux's younger days, I’m sure this book had a much greater impact when it was published in France in 1981.
Speaking of the word “wishy-washy,” those are the type of informal words used in this translation and I can only guess that they are similar in the original French. This is easy reading in the sense of its prose; but it’s thought-provoking and Ernaux doesn’t spare anyone, not even herself. She may have been frozen at one time, but the rage of the writer has thawed her completely.
While some things haven’t changed since Ernaux's younger days, I’m sure this book had a much greater impact when it was published in France in 1981.
Read
March 17, 2022Peut-être pas une heureuse idée que de lire La femme gelée, enceinte et immobilisée tant cérébralement que physiquement par la fatigue et les douleurs, tandis que mon mari est au travail comme un homme qui n’est pas occupé jusque dans ses entrailles.
MAIS. C’est super, comme tout Ernaux sûrement. J’ai trouvé le style plus acerbe, plus violent que d’autres que j’ai lus. Plus oralisant peut-être aussi. Mais j’ai corné une page sur 2, souligné une phrase minimum par page, j’ai tant retiré de cette lecture. (Entamée à la base pour des recherches pour un roman, sans me douter que évidemment ça allait me remuer.)
Je pensais que ça ne parlait que de sa vie de femme mariée et mère et en fait c’est beaucoup + une Histoire de la conformisation à l’idéal social bourgeois (un mari des enfants, des études juste ce qui est nécessaire, ne pas demander trop, n’être rien sans un homme, se laisser consumer par le domestique), de manière insidieuse, même quand on n’a pas été élevée dedans. Et cette première partie dans son enfance m’a absolument transportée.
Finalement Ernaux parlait avant tout le monde de la difficulté du post-partum dans sa dimension sociale et politique, et en cela le dernier tiers de La femme gelée m’a bouleversée. Bref : génial.
MAIS. C’est super, comme tout Ernaux sûrement. J’ai trouvé le style plus acerbe, plus violent que d’autres que j’ai lus. Plus oralisant peut-être aussi. Mais j’ai corné une page sur 2, souligné une phrase minimum par page, j’ai tant retiré de cette lecture. (Entamée à la base pour des recherches pour un roman, sans me douter que évidemment ça allait me remuer.)
Je pensais que ça ne parlait que de sa vie de femme mariée et mère et en fait c’est beaucoup + une Histoire de la conformisation à l’idéal social bourgeois (un mari des enfants, des études juste ce qui est nécessaire, ne pas demander trop, n’être rien sans un homme, se laisser consumer par le domestique), de manière insidieuse, même quand on n’a pas été élevée dedans. Et cette première partie dans son enfance m’a absolument transportée.
Finalement Ernaux parlait avant tout le monde de la difficulté du post-partum dans sa dimension sociale et politique, et en cela le dernier tiers de La femme gelée m’a bouleversée. Bref : génial.
December 20, 2022
Mais alors quel homme n'est pas un privilégié, sept jours sur sept sa femme de ménage favorite.
But then what man isn't privileged, seven days out of seven looked after by his favourite housewife.
With this book, written more than twenty-five years before her Les Années/The Years, Ernaux was already writing a group autobiography, the story of a generation of women - of every generation of women? - trapped between the roles that society imposes on us, inculcates in us, and even makes us desire... and those more individualistic impulses that so many men can take for granted: to be free to pursue intellectual interests, travel, a career wholeheartedly and without the drudgery of unshared housework and the guilt of bad motherhood.
In some ways this is another and more personal version of de Beauvoir's Le deuxième sexe/The Second Sex which Ernaux reads as a teenager, but made subjective and intimate, no longer theorised but lived.
Noticeably, this starts off as a fairly traditional narrative but becomes more interior and slightly abstract as it progresses - almost as if Ernaux is finding her future voice through the process of writing this book.
As always, I find Ernaux's work so fluent and precise, so recognisable - and the bitter edge to that image of the woman frozen, so sadly apt.
January 3, 2023
Devastador. Demoledor. Triste.
Cómo una mujer que ha crecido en una familia en la que los roles de género no existían se deja avasallar por todos ellos, cómo va creciendo, socializando, asumiendo esos roles que no ha visto en casa pero que están instalados en la sociedad, cómo cree que ella no, lo suyo será distinto...
Y luego cómo se casa y va cayendo en todo, todo, todo, cargar con el peso de la casa, el cuidado de los hijos, el abandono de sus aspiraciones profesionales, la soledad, el tratar de aproximarse a la imagen de superwoman y no conseguirlo porque en realidad no lo quiere. Cómo se pone sola las riendas, la montura, los cascabeles, un potro domado, como dice ella.
Callar, consentir, no llevar la contraria al esposo, y mucho menos delante de los niños:
Verse superada
Verse despreciada
Me he sentido reflejada en tantos y tantos pasajes, qué horror ver que has caído en todo lo que pensaste que nunca caerías. Qué palo ver que se ha progresado tan poco. Tal vez han cambiado las formas, hoy no imagino a un hombre soltando las cosas que suelta ese marido (no al menos en mi entorno cercano), pero sí conozco maridos haciendo sutilmente (o no) dejación de funciones, soltando tareas que caen, cómo no, en las manos de su mujer, que las asume con mayor o menor resignación.
En fin, un shock.
Cómo una mujer que ha crecido en una familia en la que los roles de género no existían se deja avasallar por todos ellos, cómo va creciendo, socializando, asumiendo esos roles que no ha visto en casa pero que están instalados en la sociedad, cómo cree que ella no, lo suyo será distinto...
Y luego cómo se casa y va cayendo en todo, todo, todo, cargar con el peso de la casa, el cuidado de los hijos, el abandono de sus aspiraciones profesionales, la soledad, el tratar de aproximarse a la imagen de superwoman y no conseguirlo porque en realidad no lo quiere. Cómo se pone sola las riendas, la montura, los cascabeles, un potro domado, como dice ella.
La huida irrisoria de unas horas, un aparentar que me voy lejos que acabará devolviéndome al establo. Más adelante no voy a tener siquiera la posibilidad de tomar el aire inesperadamente, con el niño en la cuna, qué vergüenza, y aún más adelante, me veré privada de la idea misma de huir, total no sirve para nada, y lloraré entre cazuelas. Un potro domado.
Callar, consentir, no llevar la contraria al esposo, y mucho menos delante de los niños:
Un padre firme y una madre que no abre la boca, lo mejor para la tranquilidad de los niños.
Verse superada
Yo también caí en la trampa de la mujer total, orgullosa de ser por fin capaz de conciliarlo todo, la subsistencia, un hijo y tres cursos de lengua francesa, guardiana del hogar y dispensadora del saber, superwoman, no solo intelectualmente hablando, en resumidas cuentas, armónica.
Verse despreciada
Qué hay de extraordinario en todo eso puesto que, según me repite él una y otra vez, soy una privilegiada, con la asistenta que tengo en casa que me viene cuatro días y medio por semana. Pero en ese caso qué hombre no es un privilegiado, con su chacha favorita siete días a la semana.
Me he sentido reflejada en tantos y tantos pasajes, qué horror ver que has caído en todo lo que pensaste que nunca caerías. Qué palo ver que se ha progresado tan poco. Tal vez han cambiado las formas, hoy no imagino a un hombre soltando las cosas que suelta ese marido (no al menos en mi entorno cercano), pero sí conozco maridos haciendo sutilmente (o no) dejación de funciones, soltando tareas que caen, cómo no, en las manos de su mujer, que las asume con mayor o menor resignación.
En fin, un shock.
September 16, 2023
I had to concentrate to read this accurately; although I found the first and last thirds a lot easier and in fact a lot funnier. There seems to be a middle third, which seems more difficult, either because the author was struggling to recall those late teen, university years, or perhaps she also found them more difficult to write from a psychological perspective. It's not an easy structure to carry off - there is no dialogue or normal descriptions - everything unfolds from an interior dialogue in our narrator's head and her voice changes without warning, from simple narrative to sarcasm - for example when her voice repeats the school-texts, or to bitterness, or confusion when she cannot understand her circumstances - and secondly the whole is written as an analysis of the narrator's life - so it has acquired both an intensity and a focus of "listening". For example I found my ear tuning in each time I stopped and then returned - a sort of adjustment to the voice again.
That said, I did find the first third pretty interesting and funny, although her childhood experiences did not relate particularly to mine, I say this because I was laughing in the last third, because her marital and child-rearing experiences are so, so similar to mine. The blurb says there is "bitterness" in Ernaux's narrative, and yes she constantly relates the inequality of the female experience, especially that a woman's work is never done. If she has a full-time job great, then she comes home, the mother's-help leaves and she has a second full-time job at home, preparing meals, taking-care of children and yes, the husband, puts his feet up and opens the newspaper. I identified completely, when pregnancy and child-care take over the last part of her university years. (I had a baby in my last year of graduate studies) and what she describes as that endless interruption of her study-concentration is so true, and the afternoon baby-nap as the only time to herself and the only time to re-turn to her exam preparation - don't I know what that is like!
Here is a later part, where they have moved to Annecy, her husband has a full-time job, and she no longer is an apprentice but a full-time mother:
So every afternoon I take Kiddo out for a walk so that I will be an irreproachable mama. Out for a walk, it's called, out: the same word as before. But there is no more outside for me, just a continuation of the inside, with the same preoccupations, the child, the butter and the box of diapers I must buy on the way home. Neither curiosity nor discovery, nothing but necessity.
There is the bitterness, the intense loss of freedom combined with the routine boringness of childcare - so true - and yet she slipped up with the pregnancy - she had a choice, did she not?
A continuation of the same paragraph:
Where is the color of the sky? The sunlight glinting off the top of the walls? At first all I know of Annecy is canine territory: the sidewalk. Always nose to the ground, tracking, the height of the curbs, the width of a gap, go/no go, weaving around obstacles, lampposts, trash baskets, people walking blindly into the stroller.
Yes . . . this is where I'm laughing because it's so, so true. That's exactly what it's like pushing a push-chair, there is literally no chance to look up. I remember one time, running down an incline with my son in the chair and the front wheel caught on a tilted pavement slab and he was tumbled out splat! onto the ground - he was ok, not hurt, just surprised.
Ernaux's book is a glittering, biting look at what leads women into this dead-end alley. She emphasizes the fact that her parents were not the conventional types; her mother ran a small grocery shop and café and her father was most often at home, preparing the meals. When she announces her first pregnancy to them, they express their disappoint and concern in terms of 'how will she complete her degree', and 'how unlucky to be caught out so soon' - and yes, she is caught. As Ernaux astutely observes there are endless cultural pressures on women to conform to the expectations of society and that combined with a natural curiosity about pregnancy, childbirth and the eventual child-care; the first two - something that only a woman's body can do - yes most of us are indeed "trapped" at some point.
At the safe age of 56 I can shout out - HORMONES! The combined pressure of biology and socio-culture on any female psyche is almost impossible to resist. A few more funny Ernaux moments - in a supermarket, her life now dedicated to 900 meals a year she has "Provider's block" which of course is a pun on "Writer's block" which now never enters her vocabulary. "Supermarket schizophrenia" p.174 - I loved.
And also - a quick look at the complexity of her writing style - this from page 169:
I was given the business about it being the most marvelous thing in the world, and that's what kept me from going to the lady with the bifocals. Today I want to write about the life I never expected, the life that was unimaginable to me at age eighteen, one spent with the baby cereal, vaccinations, plastic pants that need scrubbing, and Delabarre teething syrup. A life completely and absolutely in my care. I have the burden - but not the responsibility. I am raising Kiddo alone, but under supervision. What did the doctor say, his nails are too long, you should cut them, what's that on his knee, did he fall, where were you? Accounts to render constantly, but the tone is normal, soft-spoken, not tyrannical. In the evening when he picks up a beaming Kiddo -washed, fed, and freshly diapered for the night- it's as though I've lived the entire day for these 10 minutes: the presentation of the child to the father.
And that fabulous paragraph continues explaining how she feels trapped in a system designed for the benefit of the male and that she is just a functioning cog in the whole. And I agree with her. So many would point out that she has choices, an educated woman like her - but I think no. She really has written so well about all those invisible, insidious pressures to conform, to play your individual part in the mechanism of reproduction. The system is set up to reward the ones who participate, who play their roles etc. I loved her analysis - and yet the writing, at times is hard and relentless.
There are only the chapter breaks in this long monologue and the gradual transition of time detailing her childhood, through her teens, her early twenties, marriage and on until at the end she is submerged within the system by 28.
You do need to watch out for swift changes of syntax and grammar - did you notice how she uses the word "life" in the above paragraph - her life and then life in the abstract and then very specifically the life of the child she is responsible for. It brings to our attention that each of us has a Life, and yet her life is less important than the child's; that she is expected to sacrifice her life - or at least release her expectations of what her life should be etc. And then the collusion of the authority figures, the doctor becomes the father, with no separation of who is speaking.
She is a marvellous and intellectual writer - pay attention, learn and enjoy.
That said, I did find the first third pretty interesting and funny, although her childhood experiences did not relate particularly to mine, I say this because I was laughing in the last third, because her marital and child-rearing experiences are so, so similar to mine. The blurb says there is "bitterness" in Ernaux's narrative, and yes she constantly relates the inequality of the female experience, especially that a woman's work is never done. If she has a full-time job great, then she comes home, the mother's-help leaves and she has a second full-time job at home, preparing meals, taking-care of children and yes, the husband, puts his feet up and opens the newspaper. I identified completely, when pregnancy and child-care take over the last part of her university years. (I had a baby in my last year of graduate studies) and what she describes as that endless interruption of her study-concentration is so true, and the afternoon baby-nap as the only time to herself and the only time to re-turn to her exam preparation - don't I know what that is like!
Here is a later part, where they have moved to Annecy, her husband has a full-time job, and she no longer is an apprentice but a full-time mother:
So every afternoon I take Kiddo out for a walk so that I will be an irreproachable mama. Out for a walk, it's called, out: the same word as before. But there is no more outside for me, just a continuation of the inside, with the same preoccupations, the child, the butter and the box of diapers I must buy on the way home. Neither curiosity nor discovery, nothing but necessity.
There is the bitterness, the intense loss of freedom combined with the routine boringness of childcare - so true - and yet she slipped up with the pregnancy - she had a choice, did she not?
A continuation of the same paragraph:
Where is the color of the sky? The sunlight glinting off the top of the walls? At first all I know of Annecy is canine territory: the sidewalk. Always nose to the ground, tracking, the height of the curbs, the width of a gap, go/no go, weaving around obstacles, lampposts, trash baskets, people walking blindly into the stroller.
Yes . . . this is where I'm laughing because it's so, so true. That's exactly what it's like pushing a push-chair, there is literally no chance to look up. I remember one time, running down an incline with my son in the chair and the front wheel caught on a tilted pavement slab and he was tumbled out splat! onto the ground - he was ok, not hurt, just surprised.
Ernaux's book is a glittering, biting look at what leads women into this dead-end alley. She emphasizes the fact that her parents were not the conventional types; her mother ran a small grocery shop and café and her father was most often at home, preparing the meals. When she announces her first pregnancy to them, they express their disappoint and concern in terms of 'how will she complete her degree', and 'how unlucky to be caught out so soon' - and yes, she is caught. As Ernaux astutely observes there are endless cultural pressures on women to conform to the expectations of society and that combined with a natural curiosity about pregnancy, childbirth and the eventual child-care; the first two - something that only a woman's body can do - yes most of us are indeed "trapped" at some point.
At the safe age of 56 I can shout out - HORMONES! The combined pressure of biology and socio-culture on any female psyche is almost impossible to resist. A few more funny Ernaux moments - in a supermarket, her life now dedicated to 900 meals a year she has "Provider's block" which of course is a pun on "Writer's block" which now never enters her vocabulary. "Supermarket schizophrenia" p.174 - I loved.
And also - a quick look at the complexity of her writing style - this from page 169:
I was given the business about it being the most marvelous thing in the world, and that's what kept me from going to the lady with the bifocals. Today I want to write about the life I never expected, the life that was unimaginable to me at age eighteen, one spent with the baby cereal, vaccinations, plastic pants that need scrubbing, and Delabarre teething syrup. A life completely and absolutely in my care. I have the burden - but not the responsibility. I am raising Kiddo alone, but under supervision. What did the doctor say, his nails are too long, you should cut them, what's that on his knee, did he fall, where were you? Accounts to render constantly, but the tone is normal, soft-spoken, not tyrannical. In the evening when he picks up a beaming Kiddo -washed, fed, and freshly diapered for the night- it's as though I've lived the entire day for these 10 minutes: the presentation of the child to the father.
And that fabulous paragraph continues explaining how she feels trapped in a system designed for the benefit of the male and that she is just a functioning cog in the whole. And I agree with her. So many would point out that she has choices, an educated woman like her - but I think no. She really has written so well about all those invisible, insidious pressures to conform, to play your individual part in the mechanism of reproduction. The system is set up to reward the ones who participate, who play their roles etc. I loved her analysis - and yet the writing, at times is hard and relentless.
There are only the chapter breaks in this long monologue and the gradual transition of time detailing her childhood, through her teens, her early twenties, marriage and on until at the end she is submerged within the system by 28.
You do need to watch out for swift changes of syntax and grammar - did you notice how she uses the word "life" in the above paragraph - her life and then life in the abstract and then very specifically the life of the child she is responsible for. It brings to our attention that each of us has a Life, and yet her life is less important than the child's; that she is expected to sacrifice her life - or at least release her expectations of what her life should be etc. And then the collusion of the authority figures, the doctor becomes the father, with no separation of who is speaking.
She is a marvellous and intellectual writer - pay attention, learn and enjoy.
August 6, 2025
A roupa a escolher para a máquina de lavar, um botão de camisa para coser, consulta no pediatra, já não há açúcar. O inventário daquilo que nunca emocionou nem fez ninguém sorrir. Sísifo e o rochedo que ele empurra continuamente, que poético, um homem a subir uma montanha que se recorta no céu, uma mulher na sua cozinha 365 vezes por ano a pôr manteiga no frango, não é belo nem absurdo, é a vida.
Escrito sete anos depois de “Armários Vazios”, romance de estreia de Annie Ernaux, “A Mulher Suspensa” parece desenrolar-se num mundo paralelo ao dele mas com o mesmo ponto de partida: os pais proprietários da mercearia/tasca que não se poupam a esforços para que a sua filha seja boa aluna e avance nos estudos. É aí que terminam as semelhanças.
Nesta versão da vida da protagonista, um alter-ego da premiada autora, os pais estão acima de qualquer crítica da sua parte, sobretudo no que toca à subversão dos papéis tradicionais entre homens e mulheres: o pai lava a louça com a maior naturalidade, a mãe gere o negócio familiar e cumpre o mínimo dos mínimos para manter a casa habitável.
De manhã, o-pai-parte-para-o-trabalho, a-mãe-fica-em-casa, ela-faz-as-tarefas-domésticas, ela-prepara-uma refeição-suculenta, eu balbucio, repito com as outras sem fazer perguntas. Ainda não tenho vergonha de não ser filha de gente normal.
Parece-me ser esta a grande questão desta obra: como é que uma rapariga que não interiorizou este mantra nem teve um exemplo retrógrado em casa, acaba aos poucos por cair nas armadilhas de um casamento convencional, inicialmente ainda iludida pelo período de lua-de-mel…
Quem falaria aqui de escravatura, eu tinha a sensação de que a vida anterior continuava, apenas um pouco mais cingidos um ao outro. Redondamente enganado, “O Segundo Sexo”.
…pouco depois, a ver a farsa lentamente a instalar-se…
A panela de pressão, prenda de casamento tão útil vais ver, apita em cima do fogão. Unidos, semelhantes. Apito estridente do conta-minutos, outra prenda. Acaba a semelhança. Um dos dois levanta-se, apaga a chamada debaixo da panela, espera que a bailarina abrande, abre a panela, passa a sopa e regressa aos seus alfarrábios interrogando-se sobre onde tinha ficado. Sou eu. Ela pôs-se em funcionamento, a diferença.
…no final, com o nascimento dos filhos, refém das suas próprias escolhas.
A náusea existencial em frente a um frigorífico ou atrás de um carro de supermercado, uma boa piada, ele faria troça. Tudo nesses anos de aprendizagem me parecia mesquinho, insignificante, indizível, a não ser em pequenos lamentos, em minúsculas choradeiras, sinto-me cansada, não tenho quatro braços, havias de ser tu a ter de o fazer, espontaneamente veio-me a melopeia doméstica e ele ouvia sem se comover. Como se tratasse de linguagem normal. Ou de uma reivindicação de trabalhador assalariado que, interiormente, o patrão classifica como uma lengalenga tosca e desprezível.
Entre a menina que afirma ter crescido com poucas mulheres submissas e frágeis à sua volta e a jovem esposa silenciada e frustrada, temos a adolescente, a parte mais banal desta obra, com a habitual descoberta do sexo e o ritual de passagem que é o concupiscente e demolidor olhar masculino, a altura em que as jovens se tornam equilibristas no fino arame que sustém o desejo e a respeitabilidade.
Senti sempre desejo de ir mais longe. Como ele. (…) E depois se eu for como a Marine, todos os rapazes dizem dela: é a entrada do metro. (…) As raparigas também desatam a rir. Durante muitos anos não verei ninguém a defender a liberdade sexual feminina, sobretudo as próprias raparigas. Marine, que dormiu pelo menos com três tipos, é uma puta. Inquieto-me, será que também serei um pouco puta segundo a expressão deles? Liberdade, imundice.
“Mulher Suspensa” é dedicado a Phillipe Ernaux, marido da autora na altura da publicação deste livro, o que aponta ainda mais para o carácter autobiográfico da obra, e se se sente o presságio de uma separação nas últimas páginas, ela viria realmente a concretizar-se poucos anos depois.
Desde o início do casamento que tenho a sensação de correr atrás de uma igualdade que a toda a hora me foge. Resta a cena, a cena justa, que remedeia tudo, a revolta, o divórcio, que substitui a reflexão e discussão, uma hora de devastação, o meu sol vermelho na minha vida sem cor. Sentir o calor a subir, o terramoto da fúria, soltar a primeira frase insólita que quebrará a harmonia: “Estou farta de ser a criada!”
Escrito sete anos depois de “Armários Vazios”, romance de estreia de Annie Ernaux, “A Mulher Suspensa” parece desenrolar-se num mundo paralelo ao dele mas com o mesmo ponto de partida: os pais proprietários da mercearia/tasca que não se poupam a esforços para que a sua filha seja boa aluna e avance nos estudos. É aí que terminam as semelhanças.
Nesta versão da vida da protagonista, um alter-ego da premiada autora, os pais estão acima de qualquer crítica da sua parte, sobretudo no que toca à subversão dos papéis tradicionais entre homens e mulheres: o pai lava a louça com a maior naturalidade, a mãe gere o negócio familiar e cumpre o mínimo dos mínimos para manter a casa habitável.
De manhã, o-pai-parte-para-o-trabalho, a-mãe-fica-em-casa, ela-faz-as-tarefas-domésticas, ela-prepara-uma refeição-suculenta, eu balbucio, repito com as outras sem fazer perguntas. Ainda não tenho vergonha de não ser filha de gente normal.
Parece-me ser esta a grande questão desta obra: como é que uma rapariga que não interiorizou este mantra nem teve um exemplo retrógrado em casa, acaba aos poucos por cair nas armadilhas de um casamento convencional, inicialmente ainda iludida pelo período de lua-de-mel…
Quem falaria aqui de escravatura, eu tinha a sensação de que a vida anterior continuava, apenas um pouco mais cingidos um ao outro. Redondamente enganado, “O Segundo Sexo”.
…pouco depois, a ver a farsa lentamente a instalar-se…
A panela de pressão, prenda de casamento tão útil vais ver, apita em cima do fogão. Unidos, semelhantes. Apito estridente do conta-minutos, outra prenda. Acaba a semelhança. Um dos dois levanta-se, apaga a chamada debaixo da panela, espera que a bailarina abrande, abre a panela, passa a sopa e regressa aos seus alfarrábios interrogando-se sobre onde tinha ficado. Sou eu. Ela pôs-se em funcionamento, a diferença.
…no final, com o nascimento dos filhos, refém das suas próprias escolhas.
A náusea existencial em frente a um frigorífico ou atrás de um carro de supermercado, uma boa piada, ele faria troça. Tudo nesses anos de aprendizagem me parecia mesquinho, insignificante, indizível, a não ser em pequenos lamentos, em minúsculas choradeiras, sinto-me cansada, não tenho quatro braços, havias de ser tu a ter de o fazer, espontaneamente veio-me a melopeia doméstica e ele ouvia sem se comover. Como se tratasse de linguagem normal. Ou de uma reivindicação de trabalhador assalariado que, interiormente, o patrão classifica como uma lengalenga tosca e desprezível.
Entre a menina que afirma ter crescido com poucas mulheres submissas e frágeis à sua volta e a jovem esposa silenciada e frustrada, temos a adolescente, a parte mais banal desta obra, com a habitual descoberta do sexo e o ritual de passagem que é o concupiscente e demolidor olhar masculino, a altura em que as jovens se tornam equilibristas no fino arame que sustém o desejo e a respeitabilidade.
Senti sempre desejo de ir mais longe. Como ele. (…) E depois se eu for como a Marine, todos os rapazes dizem dela: é a entrada do metro. (…) As raparigas também desatam a rir. Durante muitos anos não verei ninguém a defender a liberdade sexual feminina, sobretudo as próprias raparigas. Marine, que dormiu pelo menos com três tipos, é uma puta. Inquieto-me, será que também serei um pouco puta segundo a expressão deles? Liberdade, imundice.
“Mulher Suspensa” é dedicado a Phillipe Ernaux, marido da autora na altura da publicação deste livro, o que aponta ainda mais para o carácter autobiográfico da obra, e se se sente o presságio de uma separação nas últimas páginas, ela viria realmente a concretizar-se poucos anos depois.
Desde o início do casamento que tenho a sensação de correr atrás de uma igualdade que a toda a hora me foge. Resta a cena, a cena justa, que remedeia tudo, a revolta, o divórcio, que substitui a reflexão e discussão, uma hora de devastação, o meu sol vermelho na minha vida sem cor. Sentir o calor a subir, o terramoto da fúria, soltar a primeira frase insólita que quebrará a harmonia: “Estou farta de ser a criada!”
April 14, 2021
★★★★☆
«La mujer helada» fue publicada en 1981, se trata de una de sus primeras obras autobiográficas y gracias a ella empezó a causar furor en Francia. Tras haber leído tres de sus libros, necesitaba seguir sabiendo más de esta escritora que nunca me deja insatisfecha y que adoro por su capacidad de transmitir una intimidad prodigiosa y por poseer un desgarro narrativo admirable.
Annie Ernaux, en esta ocasión, nos presenta un recorrido por su niñez, en la que fue educada por unos padres con valores igualitarios, pasando por una juventud en la que demuestra ser culta, independiente y con unas ganas enormes de estudiar y luchar por sus objetivos. En su camino hacia la madurez, estos cambian radicalmente su porvenir por drásticas decisiones que toma. Finalmente, nos brinda un cierre exquisito, en el que diseccionará la mujer en la que se ha convertido: una devota madre, mujer casada y en un ama de casa totalmente sumisa.
Esta es una novela que narra el camino en la vida de una mujer, aquel que la lleva a ser madre y a convertirse en “una mujer helada”. Un flujo de conciencia que muestra sus propios temores y más ocultas frustraciones tratando temas como la virginidad, el matrimonio, la maternidad y la sexualidad, todo enfocado desde el sistema patriarcal que acongoja a Ernaux.
Con una narración atropellada y que en algunos momentos puede ser agobiante por sus cortas frases e ideas que resultan inconexas, la autora provoca al lector. En cambio en otros, logra brillar con un estilo apabullante, exacerbado e imprevisible. Por ello es por lo que no deja indiferente, su narrativa es impetuosa, directa y sin filtros.
Sin lugar a dudas, la capacidad de esta escritora de plasmar en el papel todos sus pensamientos más íntimos, sin censura, con descaro y coraje es encomiable. Hablarnos sin tapujos del sacrificio que supone la maternidad (en la época y en la actualidad) y buscando la manera de no perder nuestra identidad en un camino tan difícil, eso es lo que la hace ser tan valiosa y especial.
«La mujer helada» fue publicada en 1981, se trata de una de sus primeras obras autobiográficas y gracias a ella empezó a causar furor en Francia. Tras haber leído tres de sus libros, necesitaba seguir sabiendo más de esta escritora que nunca me deja insatisfecha y que adoro por su capacidad de transmitir una intimidad prodigiosa y por poseer un desgarro narrativo admirable.
Annie Ernaux, en esta ocasión, nos presenta un recorrido por su niñez, en la que fue educada por unos padres con valores igualitarios, pasando por una juventud en la que demuestra ser culta, independiente y con unas ganas enormes de estudiar y luchar por sus objetivos. En su camino hacia la madurez, estos cambian radicalmente su porvenir por drásticas decisiones que toma. Finalmente, nos brinda un cierre exquisito, en el que diseccionará la mujer en la que se ha convertido: una devota madre, mujer casada y en un ama de casa totalmente sumisa.
Esta es una novela que narra el camino en la vida de una mujer, aquel que la lleva a ser madre y a convertirse en “una mujer helada”. Un flujo de conciencia que muestra sus propios temores y más ocultas frustraciones tratando temas como la virginidad, el matrimonio, la maternidad y la sexualidad, todo enfocado desde el sistema patriarcal que acongoja a Ernaux.
Con una narración atropellada y que en algunos momentos puede ser agobiante por sus cortas frases e ideas que resultan inconexas, la autora provoca al lector. En cambio en otros, logra brillar con un estilo apabullante, exacerbado e imprevisible. Por ello es por lo que no deja indiferente, su narrativa es impetuosa, directa y sin filtros.
Sin lugar a dudas, la capacidad de esta escritora de plasmar en el papel todos sus pensamientos más íntimos, sin censura, con descaro y coraje es encomiable. Hablarnos sin tapujos del sacrificio que supone la maternidad (en la época y en la actualidad) y buscando la manera de no perder nuestra identidad en un camino tan difícil, eso es lo que la hace ser tan valiosa y especial.
April 4, 2023
There’s been a mistake: Jack-of-all-trades was a Jill.
In her usual candid style, Ernaux describes the path she took to become a woman; her wishes and expectations as a young girl who is bent on studying hard to pass her exams to later become a teacher as opposed to the obstacles she faces as a married woman with a child, her frustration with life and her shattered hopes and dreams.
In her usual candid style, Ernaux describes the path she took to become a woman; her wishes and expectations as a young girl who is bent on studying hard to pass her exams to later become a teacher as opposed to the obstacles she faces as a married woman with a child, her frustration with life and her shattered hopes and dreams.
July 30, 2025
“Quando à tarde, para uma consulta, cabeleireiro, ou alguma compra, saía sozinha e ele ficava a tomar conta do Bicou, eu galgava apressadamente o passeio como uma mosca meio atordoada, precisava de reaprender a caminhar como uma mulher sozinha.”
Na atualidade, a condição feminina é marcada por avanços significativos em diversas áreas, mas ainda enfrenta desafios persistentes em relação à igualdade de género.
Imaginemos o que teria para nos dizer uma mulher nos anos 60/70, que sai do padrão, em que as palavras casa, alimentação, educação, trabalho não tiveram sempre o mesmo significado?…
Nesta obra, a autora dá voz a essas mulheres.
Na atualidade, a condição feminina é marcada por avanços significativos em diversas áreas, mas ainda enfrenta desafios persistentes em relação à igualdade de género.
Imaginemos o que teria para nos dizer uma mulher nos anos 60/70, que sai do padrão, em que as palavras casa, alimentação, educação, trabalho não tiveram sempre o mesmo significado?…
Nesta obra, a autora dá voz a essas mulheres.
June 3, 2022
Siempre he sentido una admiración inmensa por mi abuela. Una mujer de principios del siglo XX que era la que administraba todo su hogar, tomaba las decisiones importantes, por ella y por otros miembros y solucionaba muchos de los problemas que iban surgiendo. Gracias a ella la familia fue creciendo en todos los sentidos. Además era conmigo, una mujer cálida no exagerada de afectos( era gallega), pero lo suficiente como para hacerme sentir especial. Así que al igual que la autora yo nunca sentí que hubiera diferencia entre hombres y mujeres, y en caso de sentirla, casi me daban pena ellos porque en casa de mi abuela, se llevaban la peor parte siempre.
¿Cómo, viviendo junto a ella, no iba a pensar yo que es glorioso ser mujer, e incluso que las mujeres son superiores a los hombres? Ella es la fuerza y la tempestad, pero también la belleza, la curiosidad de las cosas, figura de proa que me abre las puertas del futuro y me afirma que no hay que tener nunca miedo de nada ni nadie.
Con el discurrir de la vida fui viendo y sintiendo lo que tan maravillosamente bien narra Annie Ernaux. Aprendí que ser mujer era equivalente a tener limitaciones de libertad, obligaciones por razón de género..
Aún sigo al acecho de ese cuerpo imaginario, ese que empezó a danzar ante mí durante la adolescencia, ese cuerpo delgado de proporciones armoniosas, de pecho deseable, de rostro gracioso-misterioso-travieso-madona, donde ubicarme, que elegir entre tanta máscara
Durante años nunca veré a nadie defender la libertad sexual de las mujeres, y aún menos a las mujeres mismas. Marine, que se ha acostado al menos con tres tíos, es una puta. Me preocupo, ¿no seré yo un poco puta, según ellos? Libertad, cosa de zorras. No me sentía con fuerzas de ser una zorra.,
ingenuidad de miras de futuro... y mil cosas más que ni de lejos me hubiera imaginado en aquellos años donde idolatraba a aquella mujer tan fuerte que todas las mañanas me daba los buenos días.
Como no empatizar pues con la narración de Annie Ernaux, si nos cuenta la vida que a todas las mujeres en un aspecto u otro nos ha tocado vivir. No voy a decir que todo lo que narra sean paralelismos con la mia, evidentemente no, pero en cuanto llega al tema de la maternidad hubiera subrayado medio libro...
"En cuanto llegué a casa, vi la sombra del ama de casa. Me toca preparar la comida del crío, porque la comida no llegará sola al plato. Las clases, cuando se duerma el peque. Él verá la tele. No soy profe, nunca seré profe, sino mujer-profe, que no es lo mismo"
Y no lo cuenta de cualquier modo, lo cuenta a través de una prosa que te envuelve y te abofetea a partes iguales. A mi me ha convencido, para valorar este libro y para seguir leyendo más de ella.
Visto desde el interior del piso de tres habitaciones o detrás del cochecito, el mundo se divide en dos, las mujeres con las que podría acostarse él, los hombres con los que ya nunca podré acostarme yo
Nada más que añadir.
¿Cómo, viviendo junto a ella, no iba a pensar yo que es glorioso ser mujer, e incluso que las mujeres son superiores a los hombres? Ella es la fuerza y la tempestad, pero también la belleza, la curiosidad de las cosas, figura de proa que me abre las puertas del futuro y me afirma que no hay que tener nunca miedo de nada ni nadie.
Con el discurrir de la vida fui viendo y sintiendo lo que tan maravillosamente bien narra Annie Ernaux. Aprendí que ser mujer era equivalente a tener limitaciones de libertad, obligaciones por razón de género..
Aún sigo al acecho de ese cuerpo imaginario, ese que empezó a danzar ante mí durante la adolescencia, ese cuerpo delgado de proporciones armoniosas, de pecho deseable, de rostro gracioso-misterioso-travieso-madona, donde ubicarme, que elegir entre tanta máscara
Durante años nunca veré a nadie defender la libertad sexual de las mujeres, y aún menos a las mujeres mismas. Marine, que se ha acostado al menos con tres tíos, es una puta. Me preocupo, ¿no seré yo un poco puta, según ellos? Libertad, cosa de zorras. No me sentía con fuerzas de ser una zorra.,
ingenuidad de miras de futuro... y mil cosas más que ni de lejos me hubiera imaginado en aquellos años donde idolatraba a aquella mujer tan fuerte que todas las mañanas me daba los buenos días.
Como no empatizar pues con la narración de Annie Ernaux, si nos cuenta la vida que a todas las mujeres en un aspecto u otro nos ha tocado vivir. No voy a decir que todo lo que narra sean paralelismos con la mia, evidentemente no, pero en cuanto llega al tema de la maternidad hubiera subrayado medio libro...
"En cuanto llegué a casa, vi la sombra del ama de casa. Me toca preparar la comida del crío, porque la comida no llegará sola al plato. Las clases, cuando se duerma el peque. Él verá la tele. No soy profe, nunca seré profe, sino mujer-profe, que no es lo mismo"
Y no lo cuenta de cualquier modo, lo cuenta a través de una prosa que te envuelve y te abofetea a partes iguales. A mi me ha convencido, para valorar este libro y para seguir leyendo más de ella.
Visto desde el interior del piso de tres habitaciones o detrás del cochecito, el mundo se divide en dos, las mujeres con las que podría acostarse él, los hombres con los que ya nunca podré acostarme yo
Nada más que añadir.
April 24, 2021
Renoncement et conformisme. Tiraillée quant aux sacrifices qu’il lui a fallu accumuler au fil du temps pour habiter un jour son rôle de femme, puis son rôle de mère, Annie Ernaux examine des années plus tard chaque occasion où son destin lui a un peu échappé, de l’enfance à l’âge adulte, pour mieux la faire entrer dans un moule.
Sous la plume de l’auteure, le parcours est magnifiquement mis en mots, tout en nuances, tout en impressions furtives. On peut compter sur Ernaux pour imager son propos avec talent, autant dans cette plaquette que dans les autres titres que j’ai lus d’elle précédemment.
À partir de ses jeunes années, fille unique, élève douée, alors qu’au contact des enfants du voisinage sa famille lui paraît assez tôt dévier de la norme – son père cuisine, sa mère gère le commerce familial, et non l’inverse – c’est de A à Z la mise en boîte d’un esprit libre que La femme gelée donne l’occasion d’examiner.
Tragique en même temps que beau. Comme d’habitude, avec Annie Ernaux. Impossible de ne pas penser à ce livre que j’avais lu il y a plusieurs années, Les belles images, de Simone de Beauvoir.
Je dirai tout de même ceci : si j’étais son fils, le récit des premières années de maternité de l’auteure me briserait le cœur. On ne le sent pas, cet amour, cet émerveillement devant la venue du bébé, qui existe sûrement à sa façon mais se voit enseveli sous les réflexions quant aux corvées ménagères et au partage imparfait des responsabilités, pendant que monsieur son époux a la chance, lui, d’entreprendre sa carrière. C’est une injustice flagrante – mais couramment banalisée – que décrit Ernaux : alors que papa s’épanouit, s’absente toute la journée et se trouve des passe-temps, maman récure et essuie, du matin au soir. On la sent bien, la révolte, en même temps que l’impuissance.
C’est le reflet d’une certaine époque. Mais de là à dire que depuis tout a changé, je ne m’y aventurerai pas.
Sous la plume de l’auteure, le parcours est magnifiquement mis en mots, tout en nuances, tout en impressions furtives. On peut compter sur Ernaux pour imager son propos avec talent, autant dans cette plaquette que dans les autres titres que j’ai lus d’elle précédemment.
À partir de ses jeunes années, fille unique, élève douée, alors qu’au contact des enfants du voisinage sa famille lui paraît assez tôt dévier de la norme – son père cuisine, sa mère gère le commerce familial, et non l’inverse – c’est de A à Z la mise en boîte d’un esprit libre que La femme gelée donne l’occasion d’examiner.
Tragique en même temps que beau. Comme d’habitude, avec Annie Ernaux. Impossible de ne pas penser à ce livre que j’avais lu il y a plusieurs années, Les belles images, de Simone de Beauvoir.
Je dirai tout de même ceci : si j’étais son fils, le récit des premières années de maternité de l’auteure me briserait le cœur. On ne le sent pas, cet amour, cet émerveillement devant la venue du bébé, qui existe sûrement à sa façon mais se voit enseveli sous les réflexions quant aux corvées ménagères et au partage imparfait des responsabilités, pendant que monsieur son époux a la chance, lui, d’entreprendre sa carrière. C’est une injustice flagrante – mais couramment banalisée – que décrit Ernaux : alors que papa s’épanouit, s’absente toute la journée et se trouve des passe-temps, maman récure et essuie, du matin au soir. On la sent bien, la révolte, en même temps que l’impuissance.
C’est le reflet d’une certaine époque. Mais de là à dire que depuis tout a changé, je ne m’y aventurerai pas.
November 21, 2021
"Tutta la mia storia di donna è la storia di una scala scesa con riluttanza".
August 18, 2024
Quelle claque ! Publié en 1981, ce texte est encore terriblement actuel. Annie Ernaux exprime tout de la condition féminine dans une société patriarcale, hétéronormative, avec une clairvoyance et une habilité presque douloureuses. Elle parle d’elle et de nous toutes à la fois.
C’est le récit autobiographique d’un destin tout tracé auquel elle pensait échapper : la validation à travers le regard masculin, être choisie par un homme, surtout ne pas finir seule, le conformisme social, les doubles standards, l’assignation à résidence, la charge mentale, le travail domestique, les renoncements qui mènent à l’effacement de soi et la perte de liberté, la double journée, etc. Être disponible tout le temps pour tout le monde, sauf pour soi-même.
Plus de 40 ans après, on se demande : qu’est-ce qui a vraiment changé, honnêtement ?
« […] et la malédiction de la psychanalyse « tout est joué avant trois ans », je la connais par cœur. Elle pèse sur moi vingt-quatre heures sur vingt-quatre et sur moi seule forcement puisque j'ai la charge totale de l'enfant. Et je l'ai lue la bible des mères modernes, organisées, hygiéniques, qui tiennent leur intérieur pendant que leur homme est au « bureau », jamais à l'usine, ça s'appelait J'élève mon enfant, je, moi, la mère, évidemment. Plus de quatre cents pages, cent mille exemplaires vendus, tout sur le « métier de maman », il m'a apporté ce guide un jour, peu de temps après notre arrivée à Annecy, un cadeau. Une voix autorisée, la dame du livre, comment prendre la température, donner le bain, un murmure en même temps, comme une comptine, papa, c'est le chef, le héros, c'est lui qui commande c'est normal, c'est le plus grand, c'est le plus fort, c'est lui qui conduit la voiture qui va si vite. Maman, c'est la fée, celle qui berce, console, sourit, celle qui donne à manger et à boire. Elle est toujours là quand on l'appelle », page quatre cent vingt-cinq. Une voix qui dit des choses terribles, que personne d'autre que moi ne saura s'occuper aussi bien du Bicou, même pas son père, lui qui n'a pas d'instinct paternel, juste une « fibre ». Ecrasant. En plus une façon sournoise de faire peur, culpabiliser, « il vous appelle... vous faites la sourde oreille... dans quelques années, vous donnerez tout au monde pour qu'il vous dise encore : Maman, reste ».
C’est le récit autobiographique d’un destin tout tracé auquel elle pensait échapper : la validation à travers le regard masculin, être choisie par un homme, surtout ne pas finir seule, le conformisme social, les doubles standards, l’assignation à résidence, la charge mentale, le travail domestique, les renoncements qui mènent à l’effacement de soi et la perte de liberté, la double journée, etc. Être disponible tout le temps pour tout le monde, sauf pour soi-même.
Plus de 40 ans après, on se demande : qu’est-ce qui a vraiment changé, honnêtement ?
« […] et la malédiction de la psychanalyse « tout est joué avant trois ans », je la connais par cœur. Elle pèse sur moi vingt-quatre heures sur vingt-quatre et sur moi seule forcement puisque j'ai la charge totale de l'enfant. Et je l'ai lue la bible des mères modernes, organisées, hygiéniques, qui tiennent leur intérieur pendant que leur homme est au « bureau », jamais à l'usine, ça s'appelait J'élève mon enfant, je, moi, la mère, évidemment. Plus de quatre cents pages, cent mille exemplaires vendus, tout sur le « métier de maman », il m'a apporté ce guide un jour, peu de temps après notre arrivée à Annecy, un cadeau. Une voix autorisée, la dame du livre, comment prendre la température, donner le bain, un murmure en même temps, comme une comptine, papa, c'est le chef, le héros, c'est lui qui commande c'est normal, c'est le plus grand, c'est le plus fort, c'est lui qui conduit la voiture qui va si vite. Maman, c'est la fée, celle qui berce, console, sourit, celle qui donne à manger et à boire. Elle est toujours là quand on l'appelle », page quatre cent vingt-cinq. Une voix qui dit des choses terribles, que personne d'autre que moi ne saura s'occuper aussi bien du Bicou, même pas son père, lui qui n'a pas d'instinct paternel, juste une « fibre ». Ecrasant. En plus une façon sournoise de faire peur, culpabiliser, « il vous appelle... vous faites la sourde oreille... dans quelques années, vous donnerez tout au monde pour qu'il vous dise encore : Maman, reste ».
January 31, 2022
“Mi hanno molto colpita queste parole, nella Donna gelata: «incredibile la capacità di sopportazione di una donna, la chiamano cuore». Lo pensa ancora, quarant’anni dopo?
«Sì, questa è una cosa terribile perché non è cambiata affatto. Per esempio alle donne, anche sul lavoro, dove generalmente sono pagate molto peggio degli uomini, si chiede di mostrare generosità, di essere accomodanti... è molto difficile cambiare certi valori che ci sono attribuiti tradizionalmente: il potere di seduzione per esempio, o la dolcezza. E intanto il mondo continua a basarsi su dei valori “virili”, e non sono sicura che sia una buona cosa».”
(Sette, intervista di Ilaria Gasparri)
Esperienza soggettiva e analisi sociologica insieme: un metodo e uno stile che Annie Ernaux ha consolidato nel percorso della sua scrittura e che le è valso il riconoscimento unanime di scrittrice tra le più significative del nostro tempo, celebrata con il premio Strega europeo per ‘Gli anni’, dove l’elemento autobiografico si rivela apertamente uno strumento di comprensione collettiva e generazionale.
Questo è il suo terzo libro, pubblicato nel 1981, cioè in un’epoca decisamente postfemminista, perciò criticato e non compreso (allora, non oggi). E invece i temi fondamentali che hanno portato alle riflessioni sulla condizione della donna e alle lotte per l’emancipazione femminile sono ancora attuali e scottanti.
Nella rievocazione della narratrice il passaggio da un’infanzia felice e ignara della separazione dei ruoli tra i sessi si scontrerà con la confusa percezione di sé dell’adolescenza, nutrita di stereotipi sentimentali e sessuali e sfocerà ben presto nella scelta avventata del matrimonio, che si rivelerà l’occasione privilegiata per sperimentare la drastica disparità sociale tra uomini e donne.
“Sono finiti senza che me ne accorgessi, i miei anni di apprendistato. Dopo arriva l’abitudine. Una somma di intimi rumori d’interno, macinacaffè, pentole, una professione sobria, la moglie di un quadro che per uscire si veste Cacharel, o Rodier. Una donna gelata.”
E qual è il contrario di una donna gelata, viene chiesto a Ernaux in una intervista.
Risposta: Una donna intera.
«Sì, questa è una cosa terribile perché non è cambiata affatto. Per esempio alle donne, anche sul lavoro, dove generalmente sono pagate molto peggio degli uomini, si chiede di mostrare generosità, di essere accomodanti... è molto difficile cambiare certi valori che ci sono attribuiti tradizionalmente: il potere di seduzione per esempio, o la dolcezza. E intanto il mondo continua a basarsi su dei valori “virili”, e non sono sicura che sia una buona cosa».”
(Sette, intervista di Ilaria Gasparri)
Esperienza soggettiva e analisi sociologica insieme: un metodo e uno stile che Annie Ernaux ha consolidato nel percorso della sua scrittura e che le è valso il riconoscimento unanime di scrittrice tra le più significative del nostro tempo, celebrata con il premio Strega europeo per ‘Gli anni’, dove l’elemento autobiografico si rivela apertamente uno strumento di comprensione collettiva e generazionale.
Questo è il suo terzo libro, pubblicato nel 1981, cioè in un’epoca decisamente postfemminista, perciò criticato e non compreso (allora, non oggi). E invece i temi fondamentali che hanno portato alle riflessioni sulla condizione della donna e alle lotte per l’emancipazione femminile sono ancora attuali e scottanti.
Nella rievocazione della narratrice il passaggio da un’infanzia felice e ignara della separazione dei ruoli tra i sessi si scontrerà con la confusa percezione di sé dell’adolescenza, nutrita di stereotipi sentimentali e sessuali e sfocerà ben presto nella scelta avventata del matrimonio, che si rivelerà l’occasione privilegiata per sperimentare la drastica disparità sociale tra uomini e donne.
“Sono finiti senza che me ne accorgessi, i miei anni di apprendistato. Dopo arriva l’abitudine. Una somma di intimi rumori d’interno, macinacaffè, pentole, una professione sobria, la moglie di un quadro che per uscire si veste Cacharel, o Rodier. Una donna gelata.”
E qual è il contrario di una donna gelata, viene chiesto a Ernaux in una intervista.
Risposta: Una donna intera.
January 16, 2023
Hace unos días leí en un digital que aumenta el número de mujeres en Reino Unido y Estados Unidos que “quieren ser sumisas” y dejan sus trabajos para ser esposas tradicionales. Es decir, amas de casa, esposas perfectas, amantísimas madres. Tradwifes que copian la estética de los cincuenta, se ponen guapas para sus esposos, realizan las tareas del hogar y cuidan a sus hijos, rescatan la “feminidad”. Según la autora del artículo son mujeres que “se sienten estafadas por el feminismo”. Cómo no.
Apostaría a que forma parte del club de las que echan la culpa del aumento de feminicidios al Ministerio de Igualdad. De las que no han leído a Annie Ernaux, uno de los ejercicios más recomendables para darse cuenta de que, efectivamente, lo personal es político.
Releo estos días “La mujer helada” con la misma devoción que lo hice la primera vez. Siento cierto alivio, qué absurda, cuando redescubro que a alguien como la Ernaux también se la colaron. En primer lugar con eso del amor: “El hombre, libre, un cerdo, indiferente, lo que le da la gana, en eso estábamos todas de acuerdo. Y al mismo tiempo, absurdamente, esperar a que en algún lugar del mundo exista un hombre que no será más de lo mismo, la trampa de costumbre, oh el amor loco, la predestinación surrealista, me lo creo a tope, seguro que hay un hombre en algún lado que, además, me impedirá caer en todas las trampas y todas las humillaciones”.
Descubrir que vas de cabeza, que no hay forma de huir, hacia la espiral de mujer perfecta que jamás va a cumplir las expectativas. Ni las de los demás ni las propias. Tú también, como yo, Annie. “Yo también caí en la trampa de la mujer total, orgullosa de ser por fin capaz de conciliarlo todo, la subsistencia, un hijo y tres cursos de lengua francesa, guardiana del hogar y dispensadora del saber, súperwoman, no solo intelectualmente hablando, en resumidas cuentas, armónica.” Una mujer helada con “ la impresión de correr tras una igualdad que se me escapa todo el tiempo”. Al menos Ernaux no es tan cínica como para echar la culpa al feminismo.
Apostaría a que forma parte del club de las que echan la culpa del aumento de feminicidios al Ministerio de Igualdad. De las que no han leído a Annie Ernaux, uno de los ejercicios más recomendables para darse cuenta de que, efectivamente, lo personal es político.
Releo estos días “La mujer helada” con la misma devoción que lo hice la primera vez. Siento cierto alivio, qué absurda, cuando redescubro que a alguien como la Ernaux también se la colaron. En primer lugar con eso del amor: “El hombre, libre, un cerdo, indiferente, lo que le da la gana, en eso estábamos todas de acuerdo. Y al mismo tiempo, absurdamente, esperar a que en algún lugar del mundo exista un hombre que no será más de lo mismo, la trampa de costumbre, oh el amor loco, la predestinación surrealista, me lo creo a tope, seguro que hay un hombre en algún lado que, además, me impedirá caer en todas las trampas y todas las humillaciones”.
Descubrir que vas de cabeza, que no hay forma de huir, hacia la espiral de mujer perfecta que jamás va a cumplir las expectativas. Ni las de los demás ni las propias. Tú también, como yo, Annie. “Yo también caí en la trampa de la mujer total, orgullosa de ser por fin capaz de conciliarlo todo, la subsistencia, un hijo y tres cursos de lengua francesa, guardiana del hogar y dispensadora del saber, súperwoman, no solo intelectualmente hablando, en resumidas cuentas, armónica.” Una mujer helada con “ la impresión de correr tras una igualdad que se me escapa todo el tiempo”. Al menos Ernaux no es tan cínica como para echar la culpa al feminismo.
June 23, 2022
Più che scrittrice entomologa
Con perizia chirurgica e con una spietatezza algida viviseziona e analizza i comportamenti e il sentire femminile nella società dei suoi tempi. E credo che in questo stia lo spessore, già riconoscibile in questa che è una delle sue prime opere.
Gli indottrinamenti ricevuti.
Eppure deve aver lasciato delle tracce, questo costante indottrinamento ascoltato per dodici anni, che esalta il dono di sé e il sacrificio. Il corpo è sporco, l’intelligenza un peccato.
L'esperienza del parto.
Le stesse immagini, ancora e ancora, per sei ore, non è ricca né varia l’esperienza del dolore.
Il corpo della donna.
Un corpo sempre sotto sorveglianza, alla berlina, brutalmente sezionato, gli occhi, la pelle, i capelli, di cui occuparsi un pezzo alla volta per adeguarlo a un ideale di perfezione.
Il matrimonio e la disparità.
Dall’inizio del matrimonio ho la sensazione di rincorrere un’uguaglianza che mi sfugge sempre.
L'esperienza salvifica della lettura.
Soprattutto, ovunque, in qualunque momento, poteva immergersi nella lettura. [..] A lei invidio l’espressione strana, impenetrabile, distante da me, da noi, il silenzio in cui sprofonda, il corpo di colpo gravato da un’immobilità perfetta.
LA MADRE.
Voleva una figlia che, a differenza sua, non finisse a lavorare in fabbrica, che potesse mandare tutti a fanculo, che fosse libera, e per lei l’istruzione era quel fanculo e quella libertà.
Forse la sua opera che mi è maggiormente piaciuta.
Con perizia chirurgica e con una spietatezza algida viviseziona e analizza i comportamenti e il sentire femminile nella società dei suoi tempi. E credo che in questo stia lo spessore, già riconoscibile in questa che è una delle sue prime opere.
Gli indottrinamenti ricevuti.
Eppure deve aver lasciato delle tracce, questo costante indottrinamento ascoltato per dodici anni, che esalta il dono di sé e il sacrificio. Il corpo è sporco, l’intelligenza un peccato.
L'esperienza del parto.
Le stesse immagini, ancora e ancora, per sei ore, non è ricca né varia l’esperienza del dolore.
Il corpo della donna.
Un corpo sempre sotto sorveglianza, alla berlina, brutalmente sezionato, gli occhi, la pelle, i capelli, di cui occuparsi un pezzo alla volta per adeguarlo a un ideale di perfezione.
Il matrimonio e la disparità.
Dall’inizio del matrimonio ho la sensazione di rincorrere un’uguaglianza che mi sfugge sempre.
L'esperienza salvifica della lettura.
Soprattutto, ovunque, in qualunque momento, poteva immergersi nella lettura. [..] A lei invidio l’espressione strana, impenetrabile, distante da me, da noi, il silenzio in cui sprofonda, il corpo di colpo gravato da un’immobilità perfetta.
LA MADRE.
Voleva una figlia che, a differenza sua, non finisse a lavorare in fabbrica, che potesse mandare tutti a fanculo, che fosse libera, e per lei l’istruzione era quel fanculo e quella libertà.
Forse la sua opera che mi è maggiormente piaciuta.
May 17, 2025
Ancora una volta, anche in questo romanzo, Annie Ernaux parte dalla sua storia particolare per narrare una storia universale, quella che riguarda tutte le donne, nel pieno della propria condizione "subalterna" rispetto a quella maschile.
Il suo percorso di emancipazione inizia sin dall'infanzia, visto che nel suo album della memoria non compaiono donne senza voce, sottomesse: "Donne fragili e vaporose, fate dalle mani dolci, aliti leggiadri della casa che in silenzio fanno nascere l’ordine e la bellezza, donne senza voce, sottomesse: nel paesaggio della mia infanzia, per quanto mi sforzi, non riesco a vederne molte di donne così."
A partire dai modelli di donne che compaiono nella sua vita, fu per lei naturale non badare alle distinzioni di genere che vede, come luogo comune, l'uomo dedito agli affari e la donna dedita alle cure domestiche: "Le donne della mia vita parlavano tutte a voce alta, avevano corpi trascurati, troppo grassi o troppo scialbi, dita ruvide, volti senza un filo di belletto o altrimenti truccati in modo esagerato, vistoso, con grandi chiazze rosse sulle guance e sulle labbra. Le loro competenze culinarie non si spingevano oltre il coniglio in umido e un colloso budino di riso, non sospettavano nemmeno che la polvere andasse tolta tutti i giorni, avevano lavorato o lavoravano nei campi, in fabbrica, nei negozietti aperti da mattina a sera."
Deve a sua madre l'essere cresciuta con l'unico valore che conta: quella ciò di curare la propria formazione culturale, mettendo in secondo piano quella domestica. Questi suoi ricordi mi hanno fatto sorridere e mi hanno fatto pensare alla mia di madre che sin da quando ero bambina mi ripeteva: "Lascia stare, faccio io, vai a studiare." Anche per la mia era più importante che mi dedicassi allo studio, lasciando da parte le faccende domestiche, alle quali pensava lei. C'è da dire che però, mia madre era convinta che io non avessi bisogno di imparare a furia di fare, perché bastava che guardassi come faceva lei per imparare a saper fare; la motivazione di questa sua convinzione era semplice: così aveva imparato lei, guardando fare mia nonna, così dovevo imparare io, guardando fare lei.
E se a casa ha la figura della madre emancipata, nell'adolescenza Annie Ernaux deve la sua crescita all'amica Brigitte: “Impossibile, con Brigitte, vergognarsi della prima volta in cui un fremito mi ha scossa sotto le lenzuola, lei se la ride, tranquilla succede pure a me, ma non raccontarlo al prete, non sono fatti suoi.”
Ad un certo punto però anche Brigitte capitola e corona la sua realizzazione nel matrimonio.
Annie all'inizio sembra immune da questo epilogo, ma la convinzione dura fino a quando non si innamora: "Io, per giunta, sono cascata nella trappola della donna completa, in fin dei conti orgogliosa di riuscire a conciliare tutto, barcamenarsi tra la cucina, un figlio e tre classi di francese, custode del focolare e dispensatrice di sapere, super!, non soltanto un’intellettuale, una donna a tutto tondo, insomma, armoniosa. Il lirismo come ultima spiaggia, quando il resto, soprattutto lo spirito critico, è venuto meno."
E con il matrimonio, arriva anche la maternità, duplice:
“Sono finiti senza che me ne accorgessi, i miei anni di apprendistato. Dopo arriva l’abitudine. Una somma di intimi rumori d’interno, macinacaffè, pentole, una professoressa sobria, la moglie di un quadro che per uscire si veste Cacharel o Rodier. Una donna gelata.”
E poi è un attimo anche per lei, per trovarsi a un passo dal confine: “A un passo dal confine, soltanto a un passo. Presto avrò uno di quei volti segnati, patetici, che osservo con orrore dal parrucchiere, quando giacciono riversi, gli occhi chiusi, durante lo shampoo. Quanti anni mancano, al confine delle rughe che non si possono più nascondere, dei cedimenti?
Sono già io, quel volto.”
Nonostante tutte queste premesse, con questo romanzo non è scattata la molla, al contrario di tutti gli altri letti.
Il suo percorso di emancipazione inizia sin dall'infanzia, visto che nel suo album della memoria non compaiono donne senza voce, sottomesse: "Donne fragili e vaporose, fate dalle mani dolci, aliti leggiadri della casa che in silenzio fanno nascere l’ordine e la bellezza, donne senza voce, sottomesse: nel paesaggio della mia infanzia, per quanto mi sforzi, non riesco a vederne molte di donne così."
A partire dai modelli di donne che compaiono nella sua vita, fu per lei naturale non badare alle distinzioni di genere che vede, come luogo comune, l'uomo dedito agli affari e la donna dedita alle cure domestiche: "Le donne della mia vita parlavano tutte a voce alta, avevano corpi trascurati, troppo grassi o troppo scialbi, dita ruvide, volti senza un filo di belletto o altrimenti truccati in modo esagerato, vistoso, con grandi chiazze rosse sulle guance e sulle labbra. Le loro competenze culinarie non si spingevano oltre il coniglio in umido e un colloso budino di riso, non sospettavano nemmeno che la polvere andasse tolta tutti i giorni, avevano lavorato o lavoravano nei campi, in fabbrica, nei negozietti aperti da mattina a sera."
Deve a sua madre l'essere cresciuta con l'unico valore che conta: quella ciò di curare la propria formazione culturale, mettendo in secondo piano quella domestica. Questi suoi ricordi mi hanno fatto sorridere e mi hanno fatto pensare alla mia di madre che sin da quando ero bambina mi ripeteva: "Lascia stare, faccio io, vai a studiare." Anche per la mia era più importante che mi dedicassi allo studio, lasciando da parte le faccende domestiche, alle quali pensava lei. C'è da dire che però, mia madre era convinta che io non avessi bisogno di imparare a furia di fare, perché bastava che guardassi come faceva lei per imparare a saper fare; la motivazione di questa sua convinzione era semplice: così aveva imparato lei, guardando fare mia nonna, così dovevo imparare io, guardando fare lei.
E se a casa ha la figura della madre emancipata, nell'adolescenza Annie Ernaux deve la sua crescita all'amica Brigitte: “Impossibile, con Brigitte, vergognarsi della prima volta in cui un fremito mi ha scossa sotto le lenzuola, lei se la ride, tranquilla succede pure a me, ma non raccontarlo al prete, non sono fatti suoi.”
Ad un certo punto però anche Brigitte capitola e corona la sua realizzazione nel matrimonio.
Annie all'inizio sembra immune da questo epilogo, ma la convinzione dura fino a quando non si innamora: "Io, per giunta, sono cascata nella trappola della donna completa, in fin dei conti orgogliosa di riuscire a conciliare tutto, barcamenarsi tra la cucina, un figlio e tre classi di francese, custode del focolare e dispensatrice di sapere, super!, non soltanto un’intellettuale, una donna a tutto tondo, insomma, armoniosa. Il lirismo come ultima spiaggia, quando il resto, soprattutto lo spirito critico, è venuto meno."
E con il matrimonio, arriva anche la maternità, duplice:
“Sono finiti senza che me ne accorgessi, i miei anni di apprendistato. Dopo arriva l’abitudine. Una somma di intimi rumori d’interno, macinacaffè, pentole, una professoressa sobria, la moglie di un quadro che per uscire si veste Cacharel o Rodier. Una donna gelata.”
E poi è un attimo anche per lei, per trovarsi a un passo dal confine: “A un passo dal confine, soltanto a un passo. Presto avrò uno di quei volti segnati, patetici, che osservo con orrore dal parrucchiere, quando giacciono riversi, gli occhi chiusi, durante lo shampoo. Quanti anni mancano, al confine delle rughe che non si possono più nascondere, dei cedimenti?
Sono già io, quel volto.”
Nonostante tutte queste premesse, con questo romanzo non è scattata la molla, al contrario di tutti gli altri letti.
April 24, 2023
Lieliski dusmīgs stāsts par sabiedrības/vīra/iedomu sasaldētu dzīvi. Vismaz tad, ja sanāk tikt pie normāla tulkojuma, jo latviešu versijai būtu max 2*
June 11, 2023
Directa al gra: "Toda mi historia de mujer se reduce a una escalera que se baja resoplando".
March 2, 2022
"Toda mi historia de mujer es la de una escalera que se va bajando a regañadientes".
Una Annie Ernaux temprana, antes de haber encontrado su estilo con "El lugar", pero consistente con los temas alrededor del ser mujer y la construcción de la feminidad, siempre con esa interseccionalidad con las cuestiones de clase.
Narrando los primeros treinta años de una vida femenina, Ernaux expone esa frase de Beauvoir que bien nos sabemos (y vivimos): "On ne naît pas femme : on le devient" ("No se nace mujer, se llega a serlo"). De una infancia que ignora la existencia del patriarcado, a una juventud en la que se trabaja para "ser alguien", a un matrimonio condenado por los moldes de siempre, con las páginas somos testigos de esa edificación de lo femenino, esa que hace que hasta una mujer tremendamente decidida a "ser igual" al otro (como la protagonista), termine congelada por la domesticidad, los roles y el interior eterno de la madre y la ama de casa; lo cual no es ningún spoiler, viene claro en la contraportada y en la vida real.
Brutal.
(Necesito más).
Una Annie Ernaux temprana, antes de haber encontrado su estilo con "El lugar", pero consistente con los temas alrededor del ser mujer y la construcción de la feminidad, siempre con esa interseccionalidad con las cuestiones de clase.
Narrando los primeros treinta años de una vida femenina, Ernaux expone esa frase de Beauvoir que bien nos sabemos (y vivimos): "On ne naît pas femme : on le devient" ("No se nace mujer, se llega a serlo"). De una infancia que ignora la existencia del patriarcado, a una juventud en la que se trabaja para "ser alguien", a un matrimonio condenado por los moldes de siempre, con las páginas somos testigos de esa edificación de lo femenino, esa que hace que hasta una mujer tremendamente decidida a "ser igual" al otro (como la protagonista), termine congelada por la domesticidad, los roles y el interior eterno de la madre y la ama de casa; lo cual no es ningún spoiler, viene claro en la contraportada y en la vida real.
Brutal.
(Necesito más).
February 6, 2023
There are a lot of memoirs and pieces of cultural criticism available that relate the ways in which women are diminished by external social pressures. I have read a lot of books of that type, and some of those books are excellent, but in my experience none are like Ernaux's. I have been trying to put my finger on the differences between Ernaux and others, and while I don't think I have them nailed down, I have a few thoughts.
Many writers on this topic focus on external limitations on girls and women, on being kept down by The Man (which also includes women -- the world is full of Aunt Lydia's.) Ernaux does not ignore the external, in fact she regularly acknowledges it as the first step in the process of limiting women. Then she moves past that step and a lot of her work is about her own lens was shifted, how she went from "people expect me to..." to "I want to do this" even when things gave her no pleasure. She moves the focus from the external to the internal, to the problem being how we are brainwashed into viewing ourselves differently, and how the external limitations and pressures conferred by the patriarchy limit our capacity for success outside of the arena of home and family.
Ernaux was raised in a home where her mother ran the family store and her father took on most of the domestic work. She was spared domestic duties, she excelled in school and had no chores so she never learned to fold laundry and cook and clean. It was a happy home in that people played to their strengths and were content in their roles. When others mocked her parents she came to know it was something she should be embarrassed about. Then came the shift. She was afraid people would see her like her mother, and she moved her energies from academic success to making the very best chocolate mousse and cleaning her room. In her early teens she set herself to being a sexually desirable woman with the same vigor. She was convinced she was defective for wanting to be an accomplished woman when she could be obsessing about boys who held no interest other than fulfilling the drive (which drive came from outside, not from her needs) to be noticed by males. The same later applied to having children. Neither she nor her husband wanted children, Ernaux felt external pressures, and made that her goal though she longed to finish her degree and become a teacher. Despite not enjoying raising her son, and loving her teaching, when she was finally freed of the diapers and nursing stage of parenting (which she clearly detested) she convinced herself that she wanted a second even against her husbands wishes.
Ernaux has such a dazzling present memory of the process of internalizing those strictures and she writes about that so spectacularly well that I came to see those processes in my own life and the lives of the women I know best. These things snuck up on me, I don't remember being socialized, I just was. I never questioned a lot of my choices, and I thought many of my decisions were all mine. I now see how they were forced on me. Seeing her process helps me understand my own, and it helps me to better guide my grad students who are analyzing and making their own choices now. Also truthfully, she helps me see how I view women, and honestly sometimes judge women, differently than men. Embarrassing but true. I think we all know how ludicrous and racist it is when people say they "don't see color", but we do not see that it is equally ludicrous and sexist to "not see" gender. Not seeing, not acknowledging differing starting lines and differing life experience and social messaging is the same as saying "I really want to keep the status quo." I am embarrassed to be a person who for so long thought that the erasure of gender based lines in the workplace was the goal. Ernaux helps me see my error, my lack of an imagination strong enough to envision real equity.
This book takes place in an era different than the one we are in, but I found it far less dated than I wanted it to be. Yes, we are in an era where most women have careers in addition to parenting and running the home, but still, 50 years later over 90% of women who work outside of the home do at least an hour a day of housework compared to 30% of men. When I was in the thick of parenting most all the women I knew spent all their non-office time on home and children while all the men in those homes had hobbies, golf, gaming, woodworking, etc. We still see women as "lucky" if their men "help" with home and childcare. Women are expected to perform at a higher level in the workplace than men, and are judged for outsourcing their domestic responsibilities. So yes, some of this is a bit dated, but I really wish it felt more dated -- this is no relic.
This was a 4.5 for me, but really only because I think some of her later work is stronger, and not because there is anything missing here.
Many writers on this topic focus on external limitations on girls and women, on being kept down by The Man (which also includes women -- the world is full of Aunt Lydia's.) Ernaux does not ignore the external, in fact she regularly acknowledges it as the first step in the process of limiting women. Then she moves past that step and a lot of her work is about her own lens was shifted, how she went from "people expect me to..." to "I want to do this" even when things gave her no pleasure. She moves the focus from the external to the internal, to the problem being how we are brainwashed into viewing ourselves differently, and how the external limitations and pressures conferred by the patriarchy limit our capacity for success outside of the arena of home and family.
Ernaux was raised in a home where her mother ran the family store and her father took on most of the domestic work. She was spared domestic duties, she excelled in school and had no chores so she never learned to fold laundry and cook and clean. It was a happy home in that people played to their strengths and were content in their roles. When others mocked her parents she came to know it was something she should be embarrassed about. Then came the shift. She was afraid people would see her like her mother, and she moved her energies from academic success to making the very best chocolate mousse and cleaning her room. In her early teens she set herself to being a sexually desirable woman with the same vigor. She was convinced she was defective for wanting to be an accomplished woman when she could be obsessing about boys who held no interest other than fulfilling the drive (which drive came from outside, not from her needs) to be noticed by males. The same later applied to having children. Neither she nor her husband wanted children, Ernaux felt external pressures, and made that her goal though she longed to finish her degree and become a teacher. Despite not enjoying raising her son, and loving her teaching, when she was finally freed of the diapers and nursing stage of parenting (which she clearly detested) she convinced herself that she wanted a second even against her husbands wishes.
Ernaux has such a dazzling present memory of the process of internalizing those strictures and she writes about that so spectacularly well that I came to see those processes in my own life and the lives of the women I know best. These things snuck up on me, I don't remember being socialized, I just was. I never questioned a lot of my choices, and I thought many of my decisions were all mine. I now see how they were forced on me. Seeing her process helps me understand my own, and it helps me to better guide my grad students who are analyzing and making their own choices now. Also truthfully, she helps me see how I view women, and honestly sometimes judge women, differently than men. Embarrassing but true. I think we all know how ludicrous and racist it is when people say they "don't see color", but we do not see that it is equally ludicrous and sexist to "not see" gender. Not seeing, not acknowledging differing starting lines and differing life experience and social messaging is the same as saying "I really want to keep the status quo." I am embarrassed to be a person who for so long thought that the erasure of gender based lines in the workplace was the goal. Ernaux helps me see my error, my lack of an imagination strong enough to envision real equity.
This book takes place in an era different than the one we are in, but I found it far less dated than I wanted it to be. Yes, we are in an era where most women have careers in addition to parenting and running the home, but still, 50 years later over 90% of women who work outside of the home do at least an hour a day of housework compared to 30% of men. When I was in the thick of parenting most all the women I knew spent all their non-office time on home and children while all the men in those homes had hobbies, golf, gaming, woodworking, etc. We still see women as "lucky" if their men "help" with home and childcare. Women are expected to perform at a higher level in the workplace than men, and are judged for outsourcing their domestic responsibilities. So yes, some of this is a bit dated, but I really wish it felt more dated -- this is no relic.
This was a 4.5 for me, but really only because I think some of her later work is stronger, and not because there is anything missing here.
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