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Voyage de noces
«Je suis tombé sur la vieille coupure de journal qui datait de l'hiver où Ingrid avait rencontré Rigaud. C'était Ingrid qui me l'avait donnée la dernière fois que je l'avais vue. Pendant le dîner, elle avait commencé à me parler de toute cette époque, et elle avait sorti de son sac un portefeuille en crocodile, et de ce portefeuille la coupure de journal soigneusement pliée, qu'elle avait gardée sur elle pendant toutes ces années. Je me souviens qu'elle s'était tue à ce moment-là et que son regard prenait une drôle d'expression, comme si elle voulait me transmettre un fardeau qui lui avait pesé depuis longtemps ou qu'elle devinait que moi aussi, plus tard, je partirais à sa recherche.
C'était un tout petit entrefilet parmi les autres annonces, les demandes et les offres d'emplois, la rubrique des transactions immobilières et commerciales : On recherche une jeune fille, Ingrid Teyrsen, seize ans, 1,60 m, visage ovale, yeux gris, manteau sport brun, pull-over bleu clair, jupe et chapeau beiges, chaussures sport noires. Adresser toutes indications à M. Teyrsen, 39 bis boulevard Ornano, Paris.»
C'était un tout petit entrefilet parmi les autres annonces, les demandes et les offres d'emplois, la rubrique des transactions immobilières et commerciales : On recherche une jeune fille, Ingrid Teyrsen, seize ans, 1,60 m, visage ovale, yeux gris, manteau sport brun, pull-over bleu clair, jupe et chapeau beiges, chaussures sport noires. Adresser toutes indications à M. Teyrsen, 39 bis boulevard Ornano, Paris.»
157 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1990
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1991 people want to read
About the author
Patrick Modiano
138 books2,142 followersPatrick Modiano is a French-language author and playwright and winner of the 2014 Nobel Prize in Literature.
He is a winner of the 1972 Grand prix du roman de l'Académie française, and the 1978 Prix Goncourt for his novel "Rue des boutiques obscures".
Modiano's parents met in occupied Paris during World War II and began a clandestine relationship. Modiano's childhood took place in a unique atmosphere: with an absent father -- of which he heard troubled stories of dealings with the Vichy regime -- and a Flemish-actress mother who frequently toured. His younger brother's sudden death also greatly influenced his writings.
While he was at Henri-IV lycee, he took geometry lessons from writer Raymond Queneau, who was a friend of Modiano's mother. He entered the Sorbonne, but did not complete his studies.
Queneau, the author of "Zazie dans le métro", introduced Modiano to the literary world via a cocktail party given by publishing house Éditions Gallimard. Modiano published his first novel, "La Place de l’Étoile", with Gallimard in 1968, after having read the manuscript to Raymond Queneau. Starting that year, he did nothing but write.
On September 12, 1970, Modiano married Dominique Zerhfuss. "I have a catastrophic souvenir of the day of our marriage. It rained. A real nightmare. Our groomsmen were Queneau, who had mentored Patrick since his adolescence, and Malraux, a friend of my father. They started to argue about Dubuffet, and it was like we were watching a tennis match! That said, it would have been funny to have some photos, but the only person who had a camera forgot to bring a roll of film. There is only one photo remaining of us, from behind and under an umbrella!" (Interview with Elle, 6 October 2003). From their marriage came two girls, Zina (1974) and Marie (1978).
Modiano has mentioned on Oct 9, 2014, during an interview with La Grande Librairie, that one of the books which had a great impact on his writing life was 'Le cœur est un chasseur solitaire' (The Heart is a Lonely Hunter), the first novel published by Carson McCullers in 1940.
(Arabic: باتريك موديانو)
He is a winner of the 1972 Grand prix du roman de l'Académie française, and the 1978 Prix Goncourt for his novel "Rue des boutiques obscures".
Modiano's parents met in occupied Paris during World War II and began a clandestine relationship. Modiano's childhood took place in a unique atmosphere: with an absent father -- of which he heard troubled stories of dealings with the Vichy regime -- and a Flemish-actress mother who frequently toured. His younger brother's sudden death also greatly influenced his writings.
While he was at Henri-IV lycee, he took geometry lessons from writer Raymond Queneau, who was a friend of Modiano's mother. He entered the Sorbonne, but did not complete his studies.
Queneau, the author of "Zazie dans le métro", introduced Modiano to the literary world via a cocktail party given by publishing house Éditions Gallimard. Modiano published his first novel, "La Place de l’Étoile", with Gallimard in 1968, after having read the manuscript to Raymond Queneau. Starting that year, he did nothing but write.
On September 12, 1970, Modiano married Dominique Zerhfuss. "I have a catastrophic souvenir of the day of our marriage. It rained. A real nightmare. Our groomsmen were Queneau, who had mentored Patrick since his adolescence, and Malraux, a friend of my father. They started to argue about Dubuffet, and it was like we were watching a tennis match! That said, it would have been funny to have some photos, but the only person who had a camera forgot to bring a roll of film. There is only one photo remaining of us, from behind and under an umbrella!" (Interview with Elle, 6 October 2003). From their marriage came two girls, Zina (1974) and Marie (1978).
Modiano has mentioned on Oct 9, 2014, during an interview with La Grande Librairie, that one of the books which had a great impact on his writing life was 'Le cœur est un chasseur solitaire' (The Heart is a Lonely Hunter), the first novel published by Carson McCullers in 1940.
(Arabic: باتريك موديانو)
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December 26, 2025
I really enjoyed this story by France’s 2014 winner of the Nobel prize. I found the story riveting in the sense that I could have read it in a sitting (although I didn’t).
The main character has what many folks, especially young people, would consider a dream job: he travels around the world with a crew making documentary films. They are finishing up a project in Brazil and for the next one they will trace the route of 1931 auto expedition across Asia. Yet he’s disillusioned by this work and feels the need to “grow up.”
Some of his disillusionment is surely related to his marital situation. He knows his wife is having an affair with one of the crew and she knows he knows. On and off they try to get back together even though it seems he doesn’t hold her in very high esteem. At one point she writes him a note and he thinks [and what would their marriage counselor think of this?] “On the envelope…I recognized one of the qualities I most admired in my wife: the beautiful big handwriting of the illiterate that she was.” An intermediary sent by his wife tells him “She’s afraid you’re going to involve her in an adventure that leads nowhere…She told me that she isn’t twenty anymore.”
The real story begins while he’s in a hotel in Milan. He happens to hear from the concierge that a French woman from Paris had committed suicide in the hotel last night. When he returns to Paris he learns more about the event and he realizes that he knew this woman and her husband twenty years ago when he was a youth back-packing across Europe.
The woman who killed herself was about twenty years older than the young man. She was a teenager during WW II and the Nazi occupation of France. Although the boy and the woman were not lovers, he seems obsessed with her now that she is gone. He recalls that “The contact of her arm and shoulder gave me an impression I had never yet had, that of finding myself under someone’s protection. She would be the first person who could help me.”
The woman’s death triggers something in him.
He hides out in suburban Paris and starts tracking down her life and writing a biography of her – which he had actually started and set aside long before her death. We imagine it might eventually turn into a documentary. He goes through old records and newspaper articles, tracking down where she lived. So I don’t introduce any spoilers I won’t reveal what he finds out about her other than that she and her father, a doctor, were “underground” in Paris during the Nazi occupation. The author never tells us specifically why, but he gives us enough clues to quickly figure it out.
There is good writing and humor. Here’s a scene when he is hanging out on the patio at the house of the woman and her husband in Provence and they are trying to avoid pesky neighbors:
“If they come right up to us, we’ll just have to pretend to be asleep, he [the husband] said.
And if they tap us on the shoulder to wake us up? I asked.
Well in that case we’ll pretend to be dead, she [the wife] said.”
Some of Modiano’s writing is quasi-autobiographical. Apparently a recurring theme in his novels is a young man whose parents sent him off to boarding schools to get rid of him, as is the case in this story. This was true of Modiano himself. It’s recalled in a line made by the woman after she and her husband picked him up hitchhiking: “When I saw you by the side of the road this morning, I wondered whether you had parents.”
A good story and a fairly quick read – almost a novella. But I should also say it’s my preference to give this a ‘5,’ – the overall GR rating is 3.7 – good but not great.
I have read and reviewed several other novels by Nobel Prize Winner Patrick Modiano. Links to my other reviews are below:
In the Café of Lost Youth
So You Don’t Get Lost in the Neighborhood
Young Once
Black Notebook
Top photo of Paris by Steve Whiston from gettyimages.com
Photo of Nazi-occupied Paris from api.time.com
The author from wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons
The main character has what many folks, especially young people, would consider a dream job: he travels around the world with a crew making documentary films. They are finishing up a project in Brazil and for the next one they will trace the route of 1931 auto expedition across Asia. Yet he’s disillusioned by this work and feels the need to “grow up.”
Some of his disillusionment is surely related to his marital situation. He knows his wife is having an affair with one of the crew and she knows he knows. On and off they try to get back together even though it seems he doesn’t hold her in very high esteem. At one point she writes him a note and he thinks [and what would their marriage counselor think of this?] “On the envelope…I recognized one of the qualities I most admired in my wife: the beautiful big handwriting of the illiterate that she was.” An intermediary sent by his wife tells him “She’s afraid you’re going to involve her in an adventure that leads nowhere…She told me that she isn’t twenty anymore.”
The real story begins while he’s in a hotel in Milan. He happens to hear from the concierge that a French woman from Paris had committed suicide in the hotel last night. When he returns to Paris he learns more about the event and he realizes that he knew this woman and her husband twenty years ago when he was a youth back-packing across Europe.
The woman who killed herself was about twenty years older than the young man. She was a teenager during WW II and the Nazi occupation of France. Although the boy and the woman were not lovers, he seems obsessed with her now that she is gone. He recalls that “The contact of her arm and shoulder gave me an impression I had never yet had, that of finding myself under someone’s protection. She would be the first person who could help me.”
The woman’s death triggers something in him.
He hides out in suburban Paris and starts tracking down her life and writing a biography of her – which he had actually started and set aside long before her death. We imagine it might eventually turn into a documentary. He goes through old records and newspaper articles, tracking down where she lived. So I don’t introduce any spoilers I won’t reveal what he finds out about her other than that she and her father, a doctor, were “underground” in Paris during the Nazi occupation. The author never tells us specifically why, but he gives us enough clues to quickly figure it out.
There is good writing and humor. Here’s a scene when he is hanging out on the patio at the house of the woman and her husband in Provence and they are trying to avoid pesky neighbors:
“If they come right up to us, we’ll just have to pretend to be asleep, he [the husband] said.
And if they tap us on the shoulder to wake us up? I asked.
Well in that case we’ll pretend to be dead, she [the wife] said.”
Some of Modiano’s writing is quasi-autobiographical. Apparently a recurring theme in his novels is a young man whose parents sent him off to boarding schools to get rid of him, as is the case in this story. This was true of Modiano himself. It’s recalled in a line made by the woman after she and her husband picked him up hitchhiking: “When I saw you by the side of the road this morning, I wondered whether you had parents.”
A good story and a fairly quick read – almost a novella. But I should also say it’s my preference to give this a ‘5,’ – the overall GR rating is 3.7 – good but not great.
I have read and reviewed several other novels by Nobel Prize Winner Patrick Modiano. Links to my other reviews are below:
In the Café of Lost Youth
So You Don’t Get Lost in the Neighborhood
Young Once
Black Notebook
Top photo of Paris by Steve Whiston from gettyimages.com
Photo of Nazi-occupied Paris from api.time.com
The author from wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons
July 31, 2019
”It does also happen that one evening, because of someone’s attentive gaze, you feel a need to communicate to him not your experience, but quite simply some of the various details connected by an invisible thread, a thread which is in danger of breaking and which is called the course of life.”
Jean B. is in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe it is the right place at the right time. He chases the ghosts of lost explorers for a living so he is used to going to places much more uncomfortable than Milan in August. The shops have closed down. The hotel is barren of guests, but the staff is still talking about he Parisian woman who came to Milan in the heat of the summer and killed herself.
The world is still a small place despite the fact that it is teaming with more human beings every nanosecond. What are the chances that Jean would be in Milan the very August that Ingrid decides to kill herself, and to make it more improbable, book a room in the same hotel? He is supposed to be preparing to go to Rio de Janeiro to meet up with the film crew that will follow him as he reconstructs another missing explorer’s final trudging moments.
”The public had lost interest in the documentaries we were bringing back from the antipodes. All those journeys, those countries where they had monsoons, earthquakes, amoebas and virgin forests, had lost their charm for me. Had they ever had any?”
We are confronted with mysteries all the time. We hear stories about someone we knew or someone we met who died without anyone understanding why. People disappear and never reappear. When we hear these things, we usually shrug our shoulders or maybe shake our heads, and in the time that it takes to sip some wine, we have moved passed that unpleasantness and turned our mind to other more immediate concerns.
Not Jean.
He is a barnacle attached to the bottom of a rotting boat. His life is mildewed and stagnant, so maybe without ever articulating it or ever consciously accepting it, he has reached a point where he needs to be scraped off the rotting boat. The mystery of Ingrid’s suicide is a catalyst, or maybe the enigma of who she is has always been percolating in his mind. He blows off Rio de Janeiro and goes back to the beginning, back to where Ingrid lived with her husband Rigaud in Paris. Jean met her twice. The first time she was cool, crisp, and strange, but the second time she had become a paler version of herself, diminished by an epoch of life characterized by insecurities and growing fears.
“Then she lowered her arm and the gate closed behind her. That arm suddenly falling and the metallic clank of the gate shutting made me understand that from one moment to another one can lose heart.”
Jean lives in Paris with his wife Annette, but Paris is such a big place, and the area where he needs to research the final days of Rigaud and Ingrid is the poorer section of Paris, a place where he and Annette used to go when they had no money. He even stays in the same hotels, in a sense, reconstructing his life before he became trapped in capitalism. He avoids the areas of Paris where he runs the risk of running into people he knows.
The threads of his search are slender.
Patrick Modiano writes sparse, fascinating tales. I’ve now read and reviewed three of his books. They are cerebral stories with no action, no grand events, but usually based around a niggling of a thought, something not quite right that needs to be investigated further. The majority of readers will find points of comparison between the characters dilemmas and their own lives. It is almost impossible to read a Modiano without taking moments to contemplate your own state of being as the plot gently unspools before you.
Out of the Dark Out of the Dark Review
My favorite book by him so far is Missing Person Missing Person Review
See more of my writing at http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
You can like my blog page on Facebook here. JeffreyKeeten Blog page
Jean B. is in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe it is the right place at the right time. He chases the ghosts of lost explorers for a living so he is used to going to places much more uncomfortable than Milan in August. The shops have closed down. The hotel is barren of guests, but the staff is still talking about he Parisian woman who came to Milan in the heat of the summer and killed herself.
The world is still a small place despite the fact that it is teaming with more human beings every nanosecond. What are the chances that Jean would be in Milan the very August that Ingrid decides to kill herself, and to make it more improbable, book a room in the same hotel? He is supposed to be preparing to go to Rio de Janeiro to meet up with the film crew that will follow him as he reconstructs another missing explorer’s final trudging moments.
”The public had lost interest in the documentaries we were bringing back from the antipodes. All those journeys, those countries where they had monsoons, earthquakes, amoebas and virgin forests, had lost their charm for me. Had they ever had any?”
We are confronted with mysteries all the time. We hear stories about someone we knew or someone we met who died without anyone understanding why. People disappear and never reappear. When we hear these things, we usually shrug our shoulders or maybe shake our heads, and in the time that it takes to sip some wine, we have moved passed that unpleasantness and turned our mind to other more immediate concerns.
Not Jean.
He is a barnacle attached to the bottom of a rotting boat. His life is mildewed and stagnant, so maybe without ever articulating it or ever consciously accepting it, he has reached a point where he needs to be scraped off the rotting boat. The mystery of Ingrid’s suicide is a catalyst, or maybe the enigma of who she is has always been percolating in his mind. He blows off Rio de Janeiro and goes back to the beginning, back to where Ingrid lived with her husband Rigaud in Paris. Jean met her twice. The first time she was cool, crisp, and strange, but the second time she had become a paler version of herself, diminished by an epoch of life characterized by insecurities and growing fears.
“Then she lowered her arm and the gate closed behind her. That arm suddenly falling and the metallic clank of the gate shutting made me understand that from one moment to another one can lose heart.”
Jean lives in Paris with his wife Annette, but Paris is such a big place, and the area where he needs to research the final days of Rigaud and Ingrid is the poorer section of Paris, a place where he and Annette used to go when they had no money. He even stays in the same hotels, in a sense, reconstructing his life before he became trapped in capitalism. He avoids the areas of Paris where he runs the risk of running into people he knows.
The threads of his search are slender.
Patrick Modiano writes sparse, fascinating tales. I’ve now read and reviewed three of his books. They are cerebral stories with no action, no grand events, but usually based around a niggling of a thought, something not quite right that needs to be investigated further. The majority of readers will find points of comparison between the characters dilemmas and their own lives. It is almost impossible to read a Modiano without taking moments to contemplate your own state of being as the plot gently unspools before you.
Out of the Dark Out of the Dark Review
My favorite book by him so far is Missing Person Missing Person Review
See more of my writing at http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
You can like my blog page on Facebook here. JeffreyKeeten Blog page
October 22, 2023
Read in June. Rated and reviewed in October.
Patrick Modiano is the winner of the Nobel Prize in literature 2014 for "the art of memory with which he has evoked the most ungraspable human destinies and uncovered the life-world of the occupation" The phrase can also summarize this novel pretty well.
Modiano is a French author who writes short but poignant novels. Even though my memory fails me, I still remember that memory played an important role in this book, just as the Nobel prize guys said. This fellow, the narrator, finds out during a trip to Milan that a woman he knew committed suicide. He then begins to tell her story (and of her partner's). She (or maybe both) were Jewish and were moving from place to place during the occupied France period to hide their identity. That was when the narrator met them for the first time, and became fascinated by their personality. Also, the narrator, has marital problems. His obsession with the couple's destiny is intermingled with his own failed marriage. I have issues remembering a lot more but I also do not to add more spoilers. Anyway, it is the king of book of atmosphere and beautiful writing where the plot is secondary.
September 20, 2022
Another slender tale of memories, mystery and poignant nostalgia from the 2014 Nobel recipient, that is well within the realms of reading in one sitting (I did it in two as I needed a coffee & Croissant fix), and right from the off there is something beguiling about how Modiano opens the story. Jean, the aging documentary film-maker and narrator, a stop-over in Milan, and the suicide of a French woman who he finds out was known to him when he was twenty. In a sudden move he returns to Paris instead of flying to Rio on Business, and in the suburbs begins, in a sporadic dreamy state of mind, to piece together the life of Ingrid Teyrsen, the woman who took her own life.
Jean investigating her disappearance has now become a disappeared person himself. This is classic Modiano territory, and he does owe a lot to both sleuth-hound fiction and film-noir. He has a knack of creating these atmospheric and achingly tender narratives with the puzzle like effect of being stuck in a house of mirrors. As the story slowly opens up Jean learns of a time during World War II occupied Paris when sixteen-year-old Ingrid meets and falls in love with Rigaud, a young man who shelters her after she didn't return home after curfew. At some point they fled Paris for the Riviera, and with false papers made out they were newly weds on their Honeymoon.
As this was France during the occupation, a world of shifting identities and mysterious hidden agendas, the couple are careful who to trust, not attract unwanted attention. And this is when Jean would enter their lives. Again Modiano emphasizes that what interests him the most is not the clear and obvious actions but the gaps in people's lives. The parts that can be difficult to account for.
Jean is trying to imagine or reconstruct a lost world that is simply an obsession to him, but, alas, he also knows that the task has a high probability of failure.
This was my fifth Modiano, and four of them (this one included) felt like a different variation on the same story. Not that I'm complaining, it's just that the earlier ones, especially Missing Person which I think is a masterpiece, seeped into my consciousness on a deeper level. Despite the caffeine, this one kind of went in and out again. If only it has been the first. 3.5 stars.
January 1, 2016
I felt a vague twinge of remorse: has a reader the right to criticize certain details under the pretext that she considers them superfluous?
Beginning my review by borrowing a line from the novel and infusing it with my words means two things: one, the novel did not leave me without anything and two, the novel did not stay with me enough.
Honeymoon; the title alone was a powerful catalyst to tilt the scales in its favour, overpowering its more compelling cousins namely Missing Person and The Search Warrant to emerge as my first choice to explore the Modiano world. But like many honeymoons of recent times, the euphoria around the event was far more jubilant than the event itself.
I met a forty-something Jean, a documentary film-maker on the streets of Paris where he was determined to conjure a breathing parallel life with a couple he had met twenty years ago; within the warm pages of a ‘Memoir’, of course. Amid changing hotels and treading streets that he suspected would have borne Ingrid’s and Rigaud’s footprints two decades back, dodging known faces and sinking into unknown ones, striking random conversations and hiring dilapidated, isolated villas, his search for a version of redemption that one seeks after breaching the finishing line in the worldly race with a frantic pace, was a tantalizingly delicious premise to shift the gear to one and then, two. However, that’s exactly where the gear got stuck for the rest of the journey. And this happened when we had hardly ever gone a few furlongs. Hard as I tried, I could not walk alongside Jean for long before looking to recede into a café to gorge on macaroons and Mistry. I re-emerged at another junction, half-hoping Jean would pull a surprise by talking less of Ingrid and Rigaud and more about himself, occasionally pushing an anecdote to act as an antidote to my boredom. But alas! film-makers are crafty people; what they craft, sometimes, they alone understand. So I went back home and rejoined him the next morning, assured that the sun might have enervated his cells and the lubricant might get him to pace up to the desired destination. But much as I love the journey, this gentleman loved to stand still. And still, at a junction that had nothing to cheer me up, unless his idea of supine street lamps, lethargic petrol pumps boys, damp hotel rooms, gloomy rains, confused agents and insipid memory flights had a cryptic aurum streak under their lacklustre veneers that my myopic eyes could not see.
Have you ever sat next to a person in a car which he/she abruptly brings to a halt at the behest of a breathtaking rainbow that despite your best glasses and intent, eludes your vision? Or that wonderful song that he/she plays with the most enthusiastic nod that can resurrect the dead which you can only, at best, attribute to a lullaby for the toddlers?
My apologies, Mr. Modiano. I assume much has been lost in the translation.
Beginning my review by borrowing a line from the novel and infusing it with my words means two things: one, the novel did not leave me without anything and two, the novel did not stay with me enough.
Honeymoon; the title alone was a powerful catalyst to tilt the scales in its favour, overpowering its more compelling cousins namely Missing Person and The Search Warrant to emerge as my first choice to explore the Modiano world. But like many honeymoons of recent times, the euphoria around the event was far more jubilant than the event itself.
I met a forty-something Jean, a documentary film-maker on the streets of Paris where he was determined to conjure a breathing parallel life with a couple he had met twenty years ago; within the warm pages of a ‘Memoir’, of course. Amid changing hotels and treading streets that he suspected would have borne Ingrid’s and Rigaud’s footprints two decades back, dodging known faces and sinking into unknown ones, striking random conversations and hiring dilapidated, isolated villas, his search for a version of redemption that one seeks after breaching the finishing line in the worldly race with a frantic pace, was a tantalizingly delicious premise to shift the gear to one and then, two. However, that’s exactly where the gear got stuck for the rest of the journey. And this happened when we had hardly ever gone a few furlongs. Hard as I tried, I could not walk alongside Jean for long before looking to recede into a café to gorge on macaroons and Mistry. I re-emerged at another junction, half-hoping Jean would pull a surprise by talking less of Ingrid and Rigaud and more about himself, occasionally pushing an anecdote to act as an antidote to my boredom. But alas! film-makers are crafty people; what they craft, sometimes, they alone understand. So I went back home and rejoined him the next morning, assured that the sun might have enervated his cells and the lubricant might get him to pace up to the desired destination. But much as I love the journey, this gentleman loved to stand still. And still, at a junction that had nothing to cheer me up, unless his idea of supine street lamps, lethargic petrol pumps boys, damp hotel rooms, gloomy rains, confused agents and insipid memory flights had a cryptic aurum streak under their lacklustre veneers that my myopic eyes could not see.
Have you ever sat next to a person in a car which he/she abruptly brings to a halt at the behest of a breathtaking rainbow that despite your best glasses and intent, eludes your vision? Or that wonderful song that he/she plays with the most enthusiastic nod that can resurrect the dead which you can only, at best, attribute to a lullaby for the toddlers?
My apologies, Mr. Modiano. I assume much has been lost in the translation.
April 23, 2023
آیا یک زندگینامه نویس حق دارد به بهانه ی اینکه برخی جزییات را اضافی میبيند حذفشان کند؟ یا هر کدام از آنها برای خودش اهمیتی دارد و باید همه را گردآوری کند و به خودش اجازه ندهد از امتیاز یکی چشم بپوشد و آن را به دیگری بدهد و نباید حتی یک مورد هم حذف شود، درست مانند صورت اموال توقیفی!
مگر آنکه خط زندگی کسی با رسیدن به نقطه ی پایانی ، خود به خود از تمام عناصر تزیینی و بی مصرف پاک شود.
آن وقت فقط عناصر اصلی باقی می ماند.
نانوشته ها ، ناگفته ها و سکوت ها...!
مگر آنکه خط زندگی کسی با رسیدن به نقطه ی پایانی ، خود به خود از تمام عناصر تزیینی و بی مصرف پاک شود.
آن وقت فقط عناصر اصلی باقی می ماند.
نانوشته ها ، ناگفته ها و سکوت ها...!
October 23, 2017
گمشده: دختر جوان، به نام انگیرید تیرسن،شانزده ساله ، قد یک متر و شصت سانتی متر، صورت بیضی شکل ، چشمهای خاکستری، با کت ورزشی قهوه ای ، پلیور آبی روشن،دامن و کلا بژ رنگ ، کفش ورزشی مشکی،خواهشمند است اطلاعات خود را به آقای ترسن به نشانی پاریس ، بلوار ارنانو ، در دوم پلاک 39 ، ارسال کنید.
جمله پایانی کتاب:شرایط و موقعیت کنونی شما هرچه باشد، روزی حس خلا و ندامت گذشته شما را فراخواهد گرفت. سپس مثل یک موج عقب می کشد و ناپدید می شود. اما سرانجام بازمی گردد و اینگرید نمی توانست از آن خلاص شود. من هم.
این کتاب از جمله کتاب های بود با فضایی سرد و تاریک و ارام و بی هیچ هیجان و تندی...در فضایی بسیار آرام و بسیار منزوی و دپرسی پیش میرفت و من با حس آرامش همراه با ناراحتی این کتاب رو خوندم.شاید کتاب چیز خاصی نداشت و در 2-3صفحه آخر چیز خاصی بیان نشد و کل داستان سفرگونه و سیر در گذشته بود اما صفحه آخر یعنی اخر سفر با بغض همراه بود.
جمله پایانی کتاب:شرایط و موقعیت کنونی شما هرچه باشد، روزی حس خلا و ندامت گذشته شما را فراخواهد گرفت. سپس مثل یک موج عقب می کشد و ناپدید می شود. اما سرانجام بازمی گردد و اینگرید نمی توانست از آن خلاص شود. من هم.
این کتاب از جمله کتاب های بود با فضایی سرد و تاریک و ارام و بی هیچ هیجان و تندی...در فضایی بسیار آرام و بسیار منزوی و دپرسی پیش میرفت و من با حس آرامش همراه با ناراحتی این کتاب رو خوندم.شاید کتاب چیز خاصی نداشت و در 2-3صفحه آخر چیز خاصی بیان نشد و کل داستان سفرگونه و سیر در گذشته بود اما صفحه آخر یعنی اخر سفر با بغض همراه بود.
January 31, 2015
Like Camus' The Stranger in its brevity and intensity. A powerful meditation on the past and how memory can both separate us from and connect us to our present life. He says, “There’s no frontier between the seasons anymore, or between the past and the present.” If all his books are this good no wonder he won the Nobel.
August 13, 2021
Mi-am propus să-l citesc pe Modiano sistematic & integral - toate edițiile romanelor sale în românește! Dar m-ar tenta (barem câteva) și-n franceză, i-o intuiesc a fi tare dulce.
Nu m-aș sătura niciodată de modul lui de a împleti fraza cu timpul, pe față și pe dos, în ochiuri mari și line, avântând-o bine temperată către final ca într-un vals lent de secol 19. E un geniu al atmosferei Modiano! Odată ce “setează” atmosfera, ar putea relata orice pe fundalul acela, iar noi - gata înrobiți, vrăjiți...
Îmi aduce aminte cu stăruință de Camus și în mod particular de Juan Carlos Onetti (Șantierul fantomă, de exemplu): dezabuzare, abur de vis, o pătimire surdă, înăbușită, dusă pe picioare, o depresie senină, psihosomatizată într-o stare de nestare, în plimbări, în călătorii semiconștiente și evaziuni neobosite.
Traducerea: perfectă!
Nu m-aș sătura niciodată de modul lui de a împleti fraza cu timpul, pe față și pe dos, în ochiuri mari și line, avântând-o bine temperată către final ca într-un vals lent de secol 19. E un geniu al atmosferei Modiano! Odată ce “setează” atmosfera, ar putea relata orice pe fundalul acela, iar noi - gata înrobiți, vrăjiți...
Îmi aduce aminte cu stăruință de Camus și în mod particular de Juan Carlos Onetti (Șantierul fantomă, de exemplu): dezabuzare, abur de vis, o pătimire surdă, înăbușită, dusă pe picioare, o depresie senină, psihosomatizată într-o stare de nestare, în plimbări, în călătorii semiconștiente și evaziuni neobosite.
Traducerea: perfectă!
August 23, 2021
وقتی می خواستم،نمره به این اثر مودیانو بدهم ،خیلی راحت بدون ذره ای تردید دستم رفت سراغ نمره 5،مودیانو نویسنده مورد علاقه ام است چند سالی است جایش را در دلم باز کرده،نثر روان،پرسه زنی های شخصیت های داستان،غبار خاطرات دور،جستجویی بدون توقف در مورد هویت و روایت زندگی هایی غبار گرفته و خاک گرفته.... مودیانو همیشه از بلوارها خیابان هایی برایمان حرف میزند،در پاریس ،شهر رویایی خیلی از ما (خیلی از کسانی که من لااقل میشناسم... به تعبیری شهر عشاق)تصاویر را به ساده ترین شکل ممکن در برابر چشم های خسته و خواب الوده ،تصویر میکند،ریتم داستان هایش کند و کشدار است برای من داستان های مودیانو مثل سواری روی یک canoe کهنه در یک رودخانه ارام میان درختان انبوه جنگلی حاره ای است... سکوت عجیبی که تو را در بر میگیرد و ارامش فرای توصیفی که در وجودتت ارام ارام رخنه می کند،تنها تصویر لرزان موج های کوچک از حرکت canoe و بازی لطیف نوری که به زور از میان برگ های درهم پیچده درخت ها، روی چهره ات می لغزد در برابرت رنگ میگیرد. کافی است بدون هیچ تفکری،بدون هیچ سوالی خودت را به این جریان بسپاری...سفر ماه عسل داستان کلیشه ای مدرنی دارد ؛مردی که شغل اش، سفر اکتشافی به نقاط دنیاست ناگهان خانه و زندگی اش را رها می کند تا در مورد زندگی یک زنی که بصورت تصادفی در جوانی ملاقات کرده تحقیق کند!این تم رها کردن زندگی ،انهم بصورت ناگهانی،در خیلی از رمان های قرن 20 تو چشم میزند،اما نکته قابل تامل اثر مودیانو شخصیت پردازی این مرد است،مردی که تمام زندگی اش در دور تند، در میانه اقیانوس ها و قاره ها در سفر و کشف بوده،بیشتر زندگی اش سوار بر هواپیما یا کشتی منتظر دیدار سرزمین های نو بود؛او چرا باید یهو دچار مرض دلزدگی شود!!! بعد در کنار ماجرای ژان(همین شخصیت)داستان زن و مردی به نام ریگو و اینگرید،روایت میشود،ژان به گذشته سفر میکند با تخیل و اطلاعات اندکی، سعی میکند زندگی این دو را به تصویر بکشد،چرا؟نمی دانیم ....خودمان را به جریان روایت میسپاریم(ژان در جوانی یک بار زمانی که تمام پولش تمام میشود این دو را ملاقات می کند ،و ان ها هم بدون هیچ سوالی به او کمک می کنند.)حالا همین برخورد کوتاه که در عنفوان جوانی اش رخ داده، جایی در گوشه ذهن ژان ،حک شده و تصمیم میگیرد به تمام مکان هایی که ریگو وانگیرید رفته اند برود در جست جویی رد پایی از گذشته!مطمئنم روایت خطی و اشفته من از خط سیر داستان ترغیب برانگیز نیست. اما ان ها که مودیانو را می شناسند و طعم سواری میان قصه های خواب گونه اش را چشیده اند می دانند از چه حرف میزنم."برگشت و با چشم هایی خاکستری اش به سوی من نگاه کرد.به آرامی دست ش را بلند کردو با سر انگشتانش،شقیقه و گونه مرا لمس کرد،گویی به دنبال یک تماس برای اخرین بار بود.سپس دستش را پایین آوردو در،پشت سرش بسته شد.دستی که ناگهان افتاد و صدای زنگ دار دری که بسته شد،به من گواهی داد زمانی از زندگی میرسد که دیگر هیچ دلبستگی وجود نخواهد داشت." و من به جمله ای فکر میکنم که خواندم که در زندگی زمانی است که دلبستگی معنا ندارد....راست اش ترسیدم،زندگی بنظرم بدون دلبستگی و دلداگی هیچ است.....به فکر فرو رفتم بلند شدم و کتاب دیگری از قفسه برداشتم دورا برودر!اثر دیگر در راستای این اثر......جملات پایانی در سرم چرخ می خورد ،"شرایط و موقعیت کنونی شما هرچه باشد،روزی حس خلا و ندامت گذشته شما را فرا خواهد گرفت.سپس مثل یک موج عقب میکشد و ناپدید می شود. اما سرانجام باز میگرددو اینگرید نمی تواست از ان خلاص شود.من هم"این روزها نیاز دارم خودم را به جریان واژه های گرم و فضای مه گونه قصه های مودیانو بیاندازم باشد که من خلاص شوم،از تلخی ها از ....روزگار عجیبی که در ان هستم... راستی خاطره این روزهایم چه شکلی میشود.؟
March 4, 2026
Due vite che si incrociano, un po’ si specchiano, vanno alla deriva. Frammenti di esistenze, memoria, sovrapposizioni temporali, nostalgia.
Jean e Ingrid si incontrano in costa azzurra, in quel luogo di incanto che è Juan-Les-Pins.
Ingrid ci aveva fatto, vent’anni prima, il suo “viaggio di nozze” con Rigaud, in cerca di un luogo sicuro, oltre la Francia occupata dai nazisti. A Parigi aveva lasciato il padre, che non rivedrà. Poi la vita la porterà in America e ancora nelle periferie parigine. Con Rigaud il rapporto, in qualche modo, finirà. Il capolinea di Ingrid sarà nella Milano deserta di un giorno d'agosto.
Jean a JLP conosce Annette, la donna che sposerà. Viaggerà per il mondo, girando documentari. Annette e gli amici lo tradiscono, il lavoro perde di interesse. Farà perdere le sue tracce, inizierà a girovagare per le periferie parigine. Cercherà di ricostruire la storia di Ingrid e Giraud. Per ritrovare quei momenti di felicità di vent'anni prima, quel contatto con Ingrid, quell’amore per Annette.
Una scrittura asciutta e pulita. Che tratteggia, accenna, ti fa intravedere, lascia molti non detti da riempire con l’immaginazione. Un libro breve ma profondo.
Jean e Ingrid si incontrano in costa azzurra, in quel luogo di incanto che è Juan-Les-Pins.
Ingrid ci aveva fatto, vent’anni prima, il suo “viaggio di nozze” con Rigaud, in cerca di un luogo sicuro, oltre la Francia occupata dai nazisti. A Parigi aveva lasciato il padre, che non rivedrà. Poi la vita la porterà in America e ancora nelle periferie parigine. Con Rigaud il rapporto, in qualche modo, finirà. Il capolinea di Ingrid sarà nella Milano deserta di un giorno d'agosto.
Jean a JLP conosce Annette, la donna che sposerà. Viaggerà per il mondo, girando documentari. Annette e gli amici lo tradiscono, il lavoro perde di interesse. Farà perdere le sue tracce, inizierà a girovagare per le periferie parigine. Cercherà di ricostruire la storia di Ingrid e Giraud. Per ritrovare quei momenti di felicità di vent'anni prima, quel contatto con Ingrid, quell’amore per Annette.
"Non contano le circostanze e lo scenario. Quella sensazione di vuoto e di rimorso ti sommerge, un giorno. Poi, come una marea, si ritira e sparisce. Ma alla fine ritorna con violenza, e lei non poteva liberarsene. Io neppure."
"A meno che la linea di una vita, una volta giunta alla fine, non si depuri da sola di ogni elemento inutile e decorativo. E rimanga solo l’essenziale: gli spiazzi bianchi, i silenzi e i punti fermi. "
Una scrittura asciutta e pulita. Che tratteggia, accenna, ti fa intravedere, lascia molti non detti da riempire con l’immaginazione. Un libro breve ma profondo.
December 22, 2014
Modiano has an annoyingly imprecise writing style. He alludes and hints, but never makes things explicit. Some of the details seem extraneous. Character development is very superficial. The type of philosophical discussion typical of authors like Hesse is completely missing. Finally, the novel is provincial in the sense that it seems to be directed at a French readership intimately familiar with Parisian streets and landmarks.
The style reminds me of the stereotypical French movie: endless talking and smoking, but no action.
I am giving the novel three stars because it does accomplish a continuous time shift between France in the time of the narrator and the Vichy period.
The style reminds me of the stereotypical French movie: endless talking and smoking, but no action.
I am giving the novel three stars because it does accomplish a continuous time shift between France in the time of the narrator and the Vichy period.
July 5, 2015
مرور خاطره ای دور در میان مقطع ی از زندگی که تردید دمار از روزگار آدمی در می آورد!!...
کل رمان همان حس بالاست برای راوئی که اسیر خاطرست و تردید...
متن بسیار عالی ، پر احساس و زنده. نوشته ای مثل نوک انگشتانی نرم که گونه ات را نوازش می کند!
از متن کتاب:
مگر نه اینکه مسیر یک زندگی، روزی که به پایان می رسد،خودش را از تمام چیزهای بی فایده و تزئینی پاک می کند. پس تنها موارد اصلی باقی می ماند: جاهای خالی، سکوت ها و مکث ها....
کل رمان همان حس بالاست برای راوئی که اسیر خاطرست و تردید...
متن بسیار عالی ، پر احساس و زنده. نوشته ای مثل نوک انگشتانی نرم که گونه ات را نوازش می کند!
از متن کتاب:
مگر نه اینکه مسیر یک زندگی، روزی که به پایان می رسد،خودش را از تمام چیزهای بی فایده و تزئینی پاک می کند. پس تنها موارد اصلی باقی می ماند: جاهای خالی، سکوت ها و مکث ها....
July 17, 2024
دوستان اومدن میگن داستان جمع بندی و پایان و فراز و فرود نداشت
پس ضعیفه و نوبل ادبیشو نقد میکنن بنظرم با این نوع سلیقه فهیمه رحیمی خودن لذت بخش تر میتونه باشه واسشون
دوست عزیز سبک ادبی و نوشتاری مودیانو اینجوریه
داستان سرشار از احوالات درونی نویسندس، گذشته، پوچی ، خستگی،
و با اینکه کتاب کم حجمیه ولی ساده خون نیست نه اینکه اذیت کنه ولی زمان باید بذاری پاش
پس ضعیفه و نوبل ادبیشو نقد میکنن بنظرم با این نوع سلیقه فهیمه رحیمی خودن لذت بخش تر میتونه باشه واسشون
دوست عزیز سبک ادبی و نوشتاری مودیانو اینجوریه
داستان سرشار از احوالات درونی نویسندس، گذشته، پوچی ، خستگی،
و با اینکه کتاب کم حجمیه ولی ساده خون نیست نه اینکه اذیت کنه ولی زمان باید بذاری پاش
January 21, 2025
Memories, together with being unmoored in real life,
(travelling between Copenhagen, Milan, Paris, Brazil), leads a man to retreat into the past and the fate of two acquaintances during the Second World War
That arm suddenly falling and the metallic clank of the gate shutting made me understand that from one moment to another one can lose heart.
Milan in August, filled with oppressive heat, forms the backdrop to the start of Honeymoon. Soon we learn however that physical places are subservient to the journey in the mind in this novel. The story centres on a suicide of a woman who the narrator knew from hitchhiking. It drives him to abandon his life and wife, trying to fake his death. In Paris he reminisces on getting to know the woman and her husband, and reconstructing their life (the both seem to be Jewish) in occupied France during the Second World War. Lounging in fancy hotels for a “honeymoon” is interrupted by pogroms.
This is mirrored in current day living in hotels, living in memories, which makes this novel feel quite ethereal. Despite the small length, I often kind of wondered what I was reading and found it hard to keep track of events, however limited they were. Maybe Patrick Modiano, the 2014 Nobel laureate, is just a bit too subtle for me in this novel, 2.5 stars rounded down.
(travelling between Copenhagen, Milan, Paris, Brazil), leads a man to retreat into the past and the fate of two acquaintances during the Second World War
That arm suddenly falling and the metallic clank of the gate shutting made me understand that from one moment to another one can lose heart.
Milan in August, filled with oppressive heat, forms the backdrop to the start of Honeymoon. Soon we learn however that physical places are subservient to the journey in the mind in this novel. The story centres on a suicide of a woman who the narrator knew from hitchhiking. It drives him to abandon his life and wife, trying to fake his death. In Paris he reminisces on getting to know the woman and her husband, and reconstructing their life (the both seem to be Jewish) in occupied France during the Second World War. Lounging in fancy hotels for a “honeymoon” is interrupted by pogroms.
This is mirrored in current day living in hotels, living in memories, which makes this novel feel quite ethereal. Despite the small length, I often kind of wondered what I was reading and found it hard to keep track of events, however limited they were. Maybe Patrick Modiano, the 2014 Nobel laureate, is just a bit too subtle for me in this novel, 2.5 stars rounded down.
September 16, 2016
وقتی روی جلد کتابی مینویسند برندهی نوبل ادبیات کار اظهارنظر دربارهاش اگر به ریاکاری نکشد قطعاً خیلی سخت میشود. من ترجیح میدهم همان کار سخت را انجام بدهم.
خب، شروعش خوب است و میگیرد. زبانش پخته است. بیتکلف، آرام و صیقل خورده. البته ترجمه هم خوب و هموار و درست است و این جای خوشحالی دارد. یعنی اگر چیزی به کتاب اضافه نکرده باشد بعید میدانم ضربهای زده باشد. درستترش این است که متن را مقابله کنیم تا بفهمیم چه کرده که چون متن اصلی فرانسه است فعلاً از من برنمیآید.
نقطهی قوت دیگرش این است که لحنش به درستی لحن یک مرد میانسال است. همانقدر خسته و همانقدر پخته. دوباره رسیدیم به پختگی. چقدر این خصیصه مهم است و چقدر دست یافتن به آن سخت. به هر حال اینجا هم باید از مترجم ممنون باشیم که کارش را درست انجام داده.
اما همهی اینها بیشتر از آن دو ستاره نمیشود. چون قصهی خوب به گمان من باید چیز بیشتری داشته باشد. خیلی حرف پیچیدهای هم نمیخواهم بزنم. یعنی بلد نیستم. مسئلهام این است که اگر قرار نیست در هر قدم بدانیم که داریم چه چیزی را میخوانیم دستکم حق داریم که آخرش بفهمیم برای چه چیزی وقتمان را هدر دادهایم. باید معلوم بشود که نویسنده میخواسته چهکار بکند. چه چیزی را بگوید. حواسمان باشد که این لزوماً ربطی به پایانبندی کلاسیک ندارد. تکلیف باید «اساساً» معلوم باشد. بلاتکلیفی به مسخره بازی بیشتر شبیه است تا هر چیز دیگری.
مثلا در داستان «علت» بریدن و خستگی ژان «معلوم» نمیشود. آدمی که شغل جذاب و هیجانانگیزی هم دارد باید علت خوبی برای درماندگیاش داشته باشد. یک علت قانعکننده. علت علاقهاش به سرنوشت اینگرید و ریگو هم مبهم و دمدستی است. علت بیتفاوتیاش نسبت به خیانت همسرش هم. اینکه چطور این هجم از اطلاعات را دربارهی زندگی ریگو میداند و چرا باید آن را برای ما «بازگو» کند هم مجهول است. مثلا قرار است از مقایسهی زندگی او و ریگو به بصیرت خاصی برسیم؟ نباید این چیزها «صورت» داستان به خودشان میگرفتند؟ یعنی همینطور از وسط زندگی ایشان سردرآوردیم و همان وسط ها هم ول شدیم که چه؟ با یک مشت مجهول که نمیشود قصه گفت. درام و تعلیقش با معما باید یک فرقهایی داشته باشد.
بسیار خب، معلوم شد که من اصلا از این اثر برندهی نوبل خوشم نیامده است. بهعلاوه به عقیدهام کتاب به شدت بومی است. یعنی به بوم فرانسه و زندگی فرانسوی به ویژه پاریسی ربط دارد و اصلا اگر فهم بشود در همان بوم فهم میشود نه اینجا. بعد از همهی آن تعریفهایی که از مترجم کردم باید دربارهی انتخابش جداً از دستش عصبانی باشم. از آنجا که نمیشود توقع داشت که در یک اثر داستانی دایم پانویس بزنیم و دربارهی اصطلاحات و مکانها و روابطی که نویسنده از آنها حرف میزند توضیح بدهیم، البته به شرطی که توضیح واقعاً ممکن و موثر باشد، پس حتیالامکان باید کتابی را انتخاب کنیم که با حداقل انرژی به فضایش وارد می شویم. نه چیزی مثل این کتاب که اهمیت شناختن کوچهها و محلههای پاریس در همراهی با قهرمان نقش اساسی دارد.
اگر رمان را یکجور سفر درنظر بگیریم توقعمان از آن چه خواهد بود؟ اینکه مجموعهای باشد از پیادهرویها، ولگردیها و سفرهای نصفه و نیمهی بیسرانجام یا یک سفر «کامل» که ممکن است لابه لایش از این کارها هم از ما سربزند؟ پاسخ من که روشن است ولی جواب «درست» هرچه که باشد قطعاً این کتاب مصداق یک سفر کامل نیست.
خب، شروعش خوب است و میگیرد. زبانش پخته است. بیتکلف، آرام و صیقل خورده. البته ترجمه هم خوب و هموار و درست است و این جای خوشحالی دارد. یعنی اگر چیزی به کتاب اضافه نکرده باشد بعید میدانم ضربهای زده باشد. درستترش این است که متن را مقابله کنیم تا بفهمیم چه کرده که چون متن اصلی فرانسه است فعلاً از من برنمیآید.
نقطهی قوت دیگرش این است که لحنش به درستی لحن یک مرد میانسال است. همانقدر خسته و همانقدر پخته. دوباره رسیدیم به پختگی. چقدر این خصیصه مهم است و چقدر دست یافتن به آن سخت. به هر حال اینجا هم باید از مترجم ممنون باشیم که کارش را درست انجام داده.
اما همهی اینها بیشتر از آن دو ستاره نمیشود. چون قصهی خوب به گمان من باید چیز بیشتری داشته باشد. خیلی حرف پیچیدهای هم نمیخواهم بزنم. یعنی بلد نیستم. مسئلهام این است که اگر قرار نیست در هر قدم بدانیم که داریم چه چیزی را میخوانیم دستکم حق داریم که آخرش بفهمیم برای چه چیزی وقتمان را هدر دادهایم. باید معلوم بشود که نویسنده میخواسته چهکار بکند. چه چیزی را بگوید. حواسمان باشد که این لزوماً ربطی به پایانبندی کلاسیک ندارد. تکلیف باید «اساساً» معلوم باشد. بلاتکلیفی به مسخره بازی بیشتر شبیه است تا هر چیز دیگری.
مثلا در داستان «علت» بریدن و خستگی ژان «معلوم» نمیشود. آدمی که شغل جذاب و هیجانانگیزی هم دارد باید علت خوبی برای درماندگیاش داشته باشد. یک علت قانعکننده. علت علاقهاش به سرنوشت اینگرید و ریگو هم مبهم و دمدستی است. علت بیتفاوتیاش نسبت به خیانت همسرش هم. اینکه چطور این هجم از اطلاعات را دربارهی زندگی ریگو میداند و چرا باید آن را برای ما «بازگو» کند هم مجهول است. مثلا قرار است از مقایسهی زندگی او و ریگو به بصیرت خاصی برسیم؟ نباید این چیزها «صورت» داستان به خودشان میگرفتند؟ یعنی همینطور از وسط زندگی ایشان سردرآوردیم و همان وسط ها هم ول شدیم که چه؟ با یک مشت مجهول که نمیشود قصه گفت. درام و تعلیقش با معما باید یک فرقهایی داشته باشد.
بسیار خب، معلوم شد که من اصلا از این اثر برندهی نوبل خوشم نیامده است. بهعلاوه به عقیدهام کتاب به شدت بومی است. یعنی به بوم فرانسه و زندگی فرانسوی به ویژه پاریسی ربط دارد و اصلا اگر فهم بشود در همان بوم فهم میشود نه اینجا. بعد از همهی آن تعریفهایی که از مترجم کردم باید دربارهی انتخابش جداً از دستش عصبانی باشم. از آنجا که نمیشود توقع داشت که در یک اثر داستانی دایم پانویس بزنیم و دربارهی اصطلاحات و مکانها و روابطی که نویسنده از آنها حرف میزند توضیح بدهیم، البته به شرطی که توضیح واقعاً ممکن و موثر باشد، پس حتیالامکان باید کتابی را انتخاب کنیم که با حداقل انرژی به فضایش وارد می شویم. نه چیزی مثل این کتاب که اهمیت شناختن کوچهها و محلههای پاریس در همراهی با قهرمان نقش اساسی دارد.
اگر رمان را یکجور سفر درنظر بگیریم توقعمان از آن چه خواهد بود؟ اینکه مجموعهای باشد از پیادهرویها، ولگردیها و سفرهای نصفه و نیمهی بیسرانجام یا یک سفر «کامل» که ممکن است لابه لایش از این کارها هم از ما سربزند؟ پاسخ من که روشن است ولی جواب «درست» هرچه که باشد قطعاً این کتاب مصداق یک سفر کامل نیست.
July 4, 2018
و حالا من به جلوی آن سینما رسیدم که به یک فروشگاه تبدیل شده است. سمت دیگر خیابان، هتلی که اینگرید با پدرش در آن زندگی میکردند، ساختمانی شده است مانند ساختمانهای دیگر. کافهی طبقه همکف که راجع به آن با من صحبت کرده بود، دیگر وجود ندارد. شبی خودش نیز به این منطقه بازگشته بود و برای اولین بار احساس خلأ کرده بود.
شرایط و موقعیت کنونی شما هر چه باشد، روزی حس خلأ و ندامت گذشته شما را فراخواهد گرفت. سپس مثل یک موج عقب میکشد و ناپدید میشود. اما سرانجام بازمیگردد و اینگرید نمیتوانست از آن خلاص شود. من هم.
از متن کتاب
شرایط و موقعیت کنونی شما هر چه باشد، روزی حس خلأ و ندامت گذشته شما را فراخواهد گرفت. سپس مثل یک موج عقب میکشد و ناپدید میشود. اما سرانجام بازمیگردد و اینگرید نمیتوانست از آن خلاص شود. من هم.
از متن کتاب
March 16, 2020
She raised her arm gently and ran the tips of her fingers over my temple and cheek, as if she was for one last time seeking a contact. Then she lowered her arm and the gate closed behind her. That arm suddenly falling and the metallic clank of the gate shutting made me understand that from one moment to another one can lose heart.
*
They had to get used to this world in which everything could fluctuate from one moment to the next.
*
Circumstances and settings are of no importance. One day this sense of emptiness and remorse submerges you. Then, like a tide, it ebbs and disappears. But in the end it returns in force, and she couldn't shake it off. Nor could I.
*
They had to get used to this world in which everything could fluctuate from one moment to the next.
*
Circumstances and settings are of no importance. One day this sense of emptiness and remorse submerges you. Then, like a tide, it ebbs and disappears. But in the end it returns in force, and she couldn't shake it off. Nor could I.
May 13, 2021
به مانند تمام آثار مودیانو،احساس پوچی و یاس در فرد و جستجویش در گذشته خود.
آثار مودیانو برای من همچون میان وعده لذیذی است که همیشه با اشتیاق پذیرایش هستم.
آثار مودیانو برای من همچون میان وعده لذیذی است که همیشه با اشتیاق پذیرایش هستم.
March 15, 2015
Attenzione: in questa recensione potrebbero esserci quelli che vengono solitamente definiti “spoiler” o che voi potreste considerare tali, benché ci sia poco o nulla da rivelare, perché è un viaggio dell’anima e nell’anima, più che un romanzo, e ciascuno trarrà, ovviamente, le conclusioni che crede. Ad ogni modo, prestate la dovuta cautela.
Non posso assolutamente affermare che quest’opera di Modiano mi sia piaciuta, però ne ho molto apprezzato il ritmo e l’andamento. Ho commesso un errore nel non leggerlo tutto di seguito, inframmezzando una pausa per rispettare i tempi del GdL. Cosa che vi sconsiglio assolutamente di fare, se avete intenzione di leggerlo. E’ meglio prenderlo in mano e immergervisi completamente, perché, altrimenti, è possibile che vi sfugga la struggente armonia che lo regge.
Jean e Ingrid sono due figure speculari, benché appartengano essenzialmente a due tempi diversi. Tuttavia, il ricordo fa sì che, comunque, continuino a incrociarsi. A volte, brevemente, anche nella realtà, ma molto più spesso nella memoria di Jean. Sono due persone in fuga e piene di rimorsi, perché hanno entrambe tradito qualcuno e qualcosa, ciascuno a modo proprio e pur senza l’intenzione di farlo. Ma, come dice Modiano:
Non contano le circostanze e lo scenario. Quella sensazione di vuoto e di rimorso ti sommerge, un giorno. Poi, come una marea, si ritira e sparisce. Ma alla fine ritorna con violenza, e lei non poteva liberarsene. Io neppure.
Quindi, credo proprio che anche la loro fine sarà la stessa.
Ed è proprio in questa angosciante chiusa che il lettore ritrova finalmente il senso di tutto quell’apparentemente inutile vagabondare di Jean per una Parigi notturna, periferica, descritta con abbondanza di particolari, quasi a farla diventare un personaggio essa stessa. Cerca Ingrid, certo, ma cerca anche il se stesso che era e che ha smarrito per strada. Ma è troppo tardi. Come troppo tardi era per Ingrid.
Di primo acchito, il libro lascia perplessi e, più che altro, si ha l’impressione che l’autore non sapesse nemmeno lui dove andare a parare. Ma poi, bisogna riconoscerlo, si impone alla coscienza del lettore, quasi di soppiatto, e suggerisce di ripensarlo, di riassaporarlo col palato e ritrovarne il gusto. Come un bicchiere di vino bevuto un paio d’ore prima, di cui non ci si era accorti, al momento, quante sfumature possedesse.
Resta il fatto, però, che quello di Modiano è un percorso e un modo di esprimersi personalissimo, intimamente legato alle sue personali esperienze. Non di facile approccio, direi, perché pare più parlare a se stesso che non al lettore. L’esigenza, sembrerebbe, è quella di far chiarezza dentro di sé, piuttosto che condividere. C’è quasi un senso di isolamento, di distacco, di solitudine, che si riflette nella scarna, benché precisa, scrittura.
Comunque, mi ripropongo un’ulteriore esperienza con Modiano. Penso valga la pena approfondirlo.
******
Ventiquattresimo GdL della Stamberga dei Lettori:
Da lunedì 01/12/14 a domenica 07/12/14: dalla frase "Ritorneranno ancore le giornate estive …" alla frase "e far finta di essere morti."
Da lunedì 08/12/14 a domenica 14/12/14: dalla frase "Sono andato di nuovo davanti …" alla frase "Io neppure."
Non posso assolutamente affermare che quest’opera di Modiano mi sia piaciuta, però ne ho molto apprezzato il ritmo e l’andamento. Ho commesso un errore nel non leggerlo tutto di seguito, inframmezzando una pausa per rispettare i tempi del GdL. Cosa che vi sconsiglio assolutamente di fare, se avete intenzione di leggerlo. E’ meglio prenderlo in mano e immergervisi completamente, perché, altrimenti, è possibile che vi sfugga la struggente armonia che lo regge.
Jean e Ingrid sono due figure speculari, benché appartengano essenzialmente a due tempi diversi. Tuttavia, il ricordo fa sì che, comunque, continuino a incrociarsi. A volte, brevemente, anche nella realtà, ma molto più spesso nella memoria di Jean. Sono due persone in fuga e piene di rimorsi, perché hanno entrambe tradito qualcuno e qualcosa, ciascuno a modo proprio e pur senza l’intenzione di farlo. Ma, come dice Modiano:
Non contano le circostanze e lo scenario. Quella sensazione di vuoto e di rimorso ti sommerge, un giorno. Poi, come una marea, si ritira e sparisce. Ma alla fine ritorna con violenza, e lei non poteva liberarsene. Io neppure.
Quindi, credo proprio che anche la loro fine sarà la stessa.
Ed è proprio in questa angosciante chiusa che il lettore ritrova finalmente il senso di tutto quell’apparentemente inutile vagabondare di Jean per una Parigi notturna, periferica, descritta con abbondanza di particolari, quasi a farla diventare un personaggio essa stessa. Cerca Ingrid, certo, ma cerca anche il se stesso che era e che ha smarrito per strada. Ma è troppo tardi. Come troppo tardi era per Ingrid.
Di primo acchito, il libro lascia perplessi e, più che altro, si ha l’impressione che l’autore non sapesse nemmeno lui dove andare a parare. Ma poi, bisogna riconoscerlo, si impone alla coscienza del lettore, quasi di soppiatto, e suggerisce di ripensarlo, di riassaporarlo col palato e ritrovarne il gusto. Come un bicchiere di vino bevuto un paio d’ore prima, di cui non ci si era accorti, al momento, quante sfumature possedesse.
Resta il fatto, però, che quello di Modiano è un percorso e un modo di esprimersi personalissimo, intimamente legato alle sue personali esperienze. Non di facile approccio, direi, perché pare più parlare a se stesso che non al lettore. L’esigenza, sembrerebbe, è quella di far chiarezza dentro di sé, piuttosto che condividere. C’è quasi un senso di isolamento, di distacco, di solitudine, che si riflette nella scarna, benché precisa, scrittura.
Comunque, mi ripropongo un’ulteriore esperienza con Modiano. Penso valga la pena approfondirlo.
******
Ventiquattresimo GdL della Stamberga dei Lettori:
Da lunedì 01/12/14 a domenica 07/12/14: dalla frase "Ritorneranno ancore le giornate estive …" alla frase "e far finta di essere morti."
Da lunedì 08/12/14 a domenica 14/12/14: dalla frase "Sono andato di nuovo davanti …" alla frase "Io neppure."
November 15, 2015
Omaggio a Parigi
A qualcuno può sembrare ripetitivo, noioso, o confuso; ma per me Modiano è diventato un amico con cui passare volentieri il tempo, da ascoltare in silenzio; un amico che ormai conosco e apprezzo proprio per quelle atmosfere pacate e nebbiose; per le sensazioni di vaghezza e mistero; per l'alternarsi di ricordi e sogni, di realtà e fantasie. E anche questa volta la sua storia ogni tanto confonde, sembra fluttuare e sfuggire. Anche questa volta riflette ansie, inquietudini, disagi, vertigini; fughe continue e ritorni; eppure fa respirare sempre un'aria calma e leggera. Un'aria ovattata di nebbie, in cui sembra di perdere la storia principale, per vagare tra sfumature di silenzi e foschie, eppure sentirsi presenti e partecipi. Aria confusa e malinconica ma lieve, su Parigi.
Ogni volta, alla stessa ora, un annunciatore dalla voce metallica dava notizie della guerra leggendo un editoriale. [...] Quella voce non poteva durare, si capiva dal timbro sempre più metallico, era già una voce dell'oltretomba. Si sarebbe sentita ancora un po' fin che fosse durata la guerra e poi si sarebbe spenta dall'oggi al domani. [...] La voce avrebbe tentato invano di lottare contro la tempesta che la sommergeva. Un'ultima volta prima di annegare, avrebbe scandito una frase ripetuta come un grido di odio o un'invocazione di aiuto. [...] Talvolta la guerra si avvicinava e turbava il loro viaggio di nozze, come continuava a chiamarlo Rigaud. [...] Bisognava spegnere le luci e far finta di essere morti.
A qualcuno può sembrare ripetitivo, noioso, o confuso; ma per me Modiano è diventato un amico con cui passare volentieri il tempo, da ascoltare in silenzio; un amico che ormai conosco e apprezzo proprio per quelle atmosfere pacate e nebbiose; per le sensazioni di vaghezza e mistero; per l'alternarsi di ricordi e sogni, di realtà e fantasie. E anche questa volta la sua storia ogni tanto confonde, sembra fluttuare e sfuggire. Anche questa volta riflette ansie, inquietudini, disagi, vertigini; fughe continue e ritorni; eppure fa respirare sempre un'aria calma e leggera. Un'aria ovattata di nebbie, in cui sembra di perdere la storia principale, per vagare tra sfumature di silenzi e foschie, eppure sentirsi presenti e partecipi. Aria confusa e malinconica ma lieve, su Parigi.
Ogni volta, alla stessa ora, un annunciatore dalla voce metallica dava notizie della guerra leggendo un editoriale. [...] Quella voce non poteva durare, si capiva dal timbro sempre più metallico, era già una voce dell'oltretomba. Si sarebbe sentita ancora un po' fin che fosse durata la guerra e poi si sarebbe spenta dall'oggi al domani. [...] La voce avrebbe tentato invano di lottare contro la tempesta che la sommergeva. Un'ultima volta prima di annegare, avrebbe scandito una frase ripetuta come un grido di odio o un'invocazione di aiuto. [...] Talvolta la guerra si avvicinava e turbava il loro viaggio di nozze, come continuava a chiamarlo Rigaud. [...] Bisognava spegnere le luci e far finta di essere morti.
June 26, 2016
ما جوان تر نمی شیم، گذشته برنمیگرده،درعوض همیشه مارو دنبال می کنه و اگه روزی بلاخره گیرمون بندازه،دیگه از حس پوچی
گریزی نخواهیم داشت
We are not getting any younger, the past won't return, instead it will always haunt us, and if one day it catches us, there will be no escape from the emptiness inside.
گریزی نخواهیم داشت
We are not getting any younger, the past won't return, instead it will always haunt us, and if one day it catches us, there will be no escape from the emptiness inside.
December 31, 2018
Honeymoon is an especially puzzling Patrick Modiano novel. Brief but dense, it rewards careful reading and perhaps even immediate rereading. Honeymoon is best read more for its moody remembrances and less for the twists and turns of its plot, which moves back and forth over several decades. As sometimes with Modiano novels, Honeymoon’s time-frame confuses.
In Honeymoon, Modiano gives us Jean, a documentary filmmaker and explorer, newly questioning his marriage, his profession, his life. Escaping from his life in Paris, Jean finds himself in Milan and remembers reading eighteen years ago in the Corriere della Sera of the suicide of Ingrid Rigaud, née Teyrsen, on an August 15th when she was forty-five years of age. Feeling the threads of his own life unravel, Jean seeks understanding in trying to unravel the threads of Ingrid’s life and the mystery of the motives behind her suicide. ”What a strange idea to come and commit suicide here, when friends are waiting for you in Capri. . . What caused her to do it I might never know.” As typical of Modiano’s principal characters, Jean becomes obsessed with the lives of the Rigauds and especially of Ingrid, trying to recreate how they lived separately and together in the Côte d'Azur, the Midi, in America, and in Paris. Jean even rents the Paris apartment that they lived. Jean’s unmoored from his life, and feels a kinship with the long-dead and equally unmoored Ingrid as he imagines her: ”Circumstances and settings are of no importance. One day this sense of emptiness and remorse submerges you. Then, like a tide, it ebbs and disappears. But in the end it returns in force, and she couldn’t shake it off. Nor could I.”
Modiano’s novels serve as vehicles for his meditations about life, memories, and time, and especially so in Honeymoon. Here’s Jean musing about biography, but even more basically about how to understand lives: ”I felt a vague twinge of remorse: has a biographer the right to suppress certain details under the pretext that he considers them superfluous? Or do they all have their importance, and must he present them one after the other, impartially, so that not a single one is left out, as in the inventory of a distraint? / Unless the line of a life, once it has reached its terms, purges itself of all its useless and decorative elements. In which case, all that remains is the essential: the blanks, the silences and the pauses.” And here’s Jean on memory: ”I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t entirely share their lightheartedness and joie de vivre. I was somewhere else, in another summer, more and more distant, and with time the light of that summer underwent a curious transformation: far from fading, like old, over-exposed photos, the contrasts of sun and shade became so accentuated that I recall everything in black and white.” And Jean on time: ”The past and the present merge in my mind through a phenomenon of superimposition. That’s where the malaise musts come from. It’s a malaise that I don’t only feel in a state of solitude, as today, but at all our fourteenth of July parties. . .”
Honeymoon should reward the Modiano fan and the careful reader, and may frustrate other readers seeking clarity and a straight-forward plot.
In Honeymoon, Modiano gives us Jean, a documentary filmmaker and explorer, newly questioning his marriage, his profession, his life. Escaping from his life in Paris, Jean finds himself in Milan and remembers reading eighteen years ago in the Corriere della Sera of the suicide of Ingrid Rigaud, née Teyrsen, on an August 15th when she was forty-five years of age. Feeling the threads of his own life unravel, Jean seeks understanding in trying to unravel the threads of Ingrid’s life and the mystery of the motives behind her suicide. ”What a strange idea to come and commit suicide here, when friends are waiting for you in Capri. . . What caused her to do it I might never know.” As typical of Modiano’s principal characters, Jean becomes obsessed with the lives of the Rigauds and especially of Ingrid, trying to recreate how they lived separately and together in the Côte d'Azur, the Midi, in America, and in Paris. Jean even rents the Paris apartment that they lived. Jean’s unmoored from his life, and feels a kinship with the long-dead and equally unmoored Ingrid as he imagines her: ”Circumstances and settings are of no importance. One day this sense of emptiness and remorse submerges you. Then, like a tide, it ebbs and disappears. But in the end it returns in force, and she couldn’t shake it off. Nor could I.”
Modiano’s novels serve as vehicles for his meditations about life, memories, and time, and especially so in Honeymoon. Here’s Jean musing about biography, but even more basically about how to understand lives: ”I felt a vague twinge of remorse: has a biographer the right to suppress certain details under the pretext that he considers them superfluous? Or do they all have their importance, and must he present them one after the other, impartially, so that not a single one is left out, as in the inventory of a distraint? / Unless the line of a life, once it has reached its terms, purges itself of all its useless and decorative elements. In which case, all that remains is the essential: the blanks, the silences and the pauses.” And here’s Jean on memory: ”I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t entirely share their lightheartedness and joie de vivre. I was somewhere else, in another summer, more and more distant, and with time the light of that summer underwent a curious transformation: far from fading, like old, over-exposed photos, the contrasts of sun and shade became so accentuated that I recall everything in black and white.” And Jean on time: ”The past and the present merge in my mind through a phenomenon of superimposition. That’s where the malaise musts come from. It’s a malaise that I don’t only feel in a state of solitude, as today, but at all our fourteenth of July parties. . .”
Honeymoon should reward the Modiano fan and the careful reader, and may frustrate other readers seeking clarity and a straight-forward plot.
August 7, 2017
Jean, narratore e protagonista del romanzo, lascia improvvisamente la famiglia e il lavoro alla ricerca delle tracce lasciate da una donna francese che si è uccisa diciotto anni. Jean aveva incontrato la donna da ragazzo in Costa Azzurra ed aveva condiviso, con lei e con l’uomo che era con lei, un breve periodo di tempo. I due erano in Costa Azzurra per ricordare il loro viaggio di nozze fatto nel 1942 in seguito al finto matrimonio fatto per evitare alla donna, ebrea, le persecuzioni naziste.
Il romanzo non è facile, come tutti i libri di Modiano; la scrittura è intima, raffinata, fredda, distaccata, affascinante. Va letto con molta attenzione e senza pause per non perdere i dettagli dei temi trattati e per non perderne l’atmosfera che è parte integrante della storia.
"Il sole era appena calato e il cielo era ancora azzurro. Prima che si accendessero i lampioni, volevo godermi il mio momento preferito della giornata. Non completamente giorno, ma non ancora buio, dà un senso di tregua e di calma e invita a prestare orecchio agli echi che vengono da lontano"
Ci sono molti elementi in comune con “Dora Bruner”: la ricerca di informazioni su qualcuno scomparso, la guerra e l’olocausto in sottofondo, Parigi e le sue strade da percorrere per rivivere le stesse sensazioni.
Come Dora Bruder colpisce la malinconia profonda, l’ossessione per i ricordi di qualcosa che c’era e ora non c’è più. Atmosfere crepuscolari che si placano solo con il suicidio o con la dissoluzione dei rapporti. Per Modiano sembra che l’oggi non conti, conta solo il passato con le sue ossessioni, con quella sensazione di vuoto che lo scrittore, con la sua continua ricerca degli altri e di sé stesso, sembra voler colmare.
"Non contano le circostanze o lo scenario. Quella sensazione di vuoto e di rimorso ti sommerge, un giorno. Poi, come una marea, si ritira e sparisce. Ma alla fine ritorna con violenza, ma lei non poteva liberarsene. Io neppure."
Non manda messaggi espliciti, Modiano. Investiga ed espone i risultati, inquadrandoli nella cornice appropriata. Il resto, ossia la comprensione, le associazioni, il peso dei singoli episodi e delle singole parole, in qualche modo ce lo dobbiamo mettere noi, con la nostra attenzione e la nostra sensibilità.
Forse è per questa ragione che i pareri in merito a Modiano sono così controversi. Forse il lettore deve metterci un contributo importante...
Il romanzo non è facile, come tutti i libri di Modiano; la scrittura è intima, raffinata, fredda, distaccata, affascinante. Va letto con molta attenzione e senza pause per non perdere i dettagli dei temi trattati e per non perderne l’atmosfera che è parte integrante della storia.
"Il sole era appena calato e il cielo era ancora azzurro. Prima che si accendessero i lampioni, volevo godermi il mio momento preferito della giornata. Non completamente giorno, ma non ancora buio, dà un senso di tregua e di calma e invita a prestare orecchio agli echi che vengono da lontano"
Ci sono molti elementi in comune con “Dora Bruner”: la ricerca di informazioni su qualcuno scomparso, la guerra e l’olocausto in sottofondo, Parigi e le sue strade da percorrere per rivivere le stesse sensazioni.
Come Dora Bruder colpisce la malinconia profonda, l’ossessione per i ricordi di qualcosa che c’era e ora non c’è più. Atmosfere crepuscolari che si placano solo con il suicidio o con la dissoluzione dei rapporti. Per Modiano sembra che l’oggi non conti, conta solo il passato con le sue ossessioni, con quella sensazione di vuoto che lo scrittore, con la sua continua ricerca degli altri e di sé stesso, sembra voler colmare.
"Non contano le circostanze o lo scenario. Quella sensazione di vuoto e di rimorso ti sommerge, un giorno. Poi, come una marea, si ritira e sparisce. Ma alla fine ritorna con violenza, ma lei non poteva liberarsene. Io neppure."
Non manda messaggi espliciti, Modiano. Investiga ed espone i risultati, inquadrandoli nella cornice appropriata. Il resto, ossia la comprensione, le associazioni, il peso dei singoli episodi e delle singole parole, in qualche modo ce lo dobbiamo mettere noi, con la nostra attenzione e la nostra sensibilità.
Forse è per questa ragione che i pareri in merito a Modiano sono così controversi. Forse il lettore deve metterci un contributo importante...
August 3, 2016
I first heard of Patrick Modiano in a Times review, from December '15. Modiano won the Nobel Prize in 2014 and a translation of Modiano's autobiography was being reviewed along with four of his other books. Despite that the review doesn't mention Honeymoon at all (It turns out he is quite prolific although most of his English translations have come out since winning the Nobel). Instead I picked my first Modiano from a tripadvisor post on the topic "fiction set in Provence and Côte d'Azur". (Yes, I am one of those types.)
Indeed, Honeymoon, is partly set in the Côte d'Azur town of Juan-les-pins. A rootless young man hitches a ride with a couple in their forties. In the effortless manner of a Murakami novel he is swept along on a sort of honeymoon. He finds himself tagging along with them on an errand and then to their villa on the beach: one follows the signpost "Tahiti-Moorea". He falls asleep exhausted and feels contented for what he claims is the first time in his life. He hints at an unhappy childhood. His gracious hosts, a man named Rigaud and his wife Ingrid née Teyrsen, are polite, partial to wry asides and maybe a little bit eccentric. They take the young man under their wing, finally sending him on his way back to Paris after secretly slipping some money into his suitcase.
Honeymoon takes place in three distinct periods sometimes forcing you to do a bit of math to figure out the ages of different characters. Also the narrator's subplot and numerous references to street names and neighborhoods can be distracting. But the mystery of M. et Mme. Rigaud was compelling enough to hold on to me. You too may feel some of that contentment that our narrator felt on the beach that day when reading about them. Don't be too complacent of course. This idyll is tinged with melancholy. One of Modiano's themes is "the impenetrability of France's wartime past." The shadow of the occupation falls even on the sunny beaches of Juan-les-pins and St Tropez.
The review: http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/12/13/...
Tripadvisor lit picks: https://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowTopic...
Indeed, Honeymoon, is partly set in the Côte d'Azur town of Juan-les-pins. A rootless young man hitches a ride with a couple in their forties. In the effortless manner of a Murakami novel he is swept along on a sort of honeymoon. He finds himself tagging along with them on an errand and then to their villa on the beach: one follows the signpost "Tahiti-Moorea". He falls asleep exhausted and feels contented for what he claims is the first time in his life. He hints at an unhappy childhood. His gracious hosts, a man named Rigaud and his wife Ingrid née Teyrsen, are polite, partial to wry asides and maybe a little bit eccentric. They take the young man under their wing, finally sending him on his way back to Paris after secretly slipping some money into his suitcase.
Honeymoon takes place in three distinct periods sometimes forcing you to do a bit of math to figure out the ages of different characters. Also the narrator's subplot and numerous references to street names and neighborhoods can be distracting. But the mystery of M. et Mme. Rigaud was compelling enough to hold on to me. You too may feel some of that contentment that our narrator felt on the beach that day when reading about them. Don't be too complacent of course. This idyll is tinged with melancholy. One of Modiano's themes is "the impenetrability of France's wartime past." The shadow of the occupation falls even on the sunny beaches of Juan-les-pins and St Tropez.
The review: http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/12/13/...
Tripadvisor lit picks: https://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowTopic...
May 6, 2019
life is too short to read a book you are NOT enjoying.
That is why I read half the book even if am really bored.
I force myself till the half or maybe a little less.
The established Nobel winner writer knows how to take his time to build the story. After deciding to stop reading this book.I reached page 64,but the book turned interesting somehow
so Jean leaves his wife and wanders France and Brazil till his wife thinks he is dead and remarry
Jean is sick of his old life routine which is exploring the world for life "one starts out full of enthusiasm and the spirit of adventure, bur after a few years it becomes a job and a routine"
still loves his wife and obsessed over a unique couple (Ingrid & Riguad) he met and spent days with when all his money got stolen
totally head over heals for Ingrid. Riguad adores her and protects her as Jean keeps up with the ongoing relationships she went through leading to her mysterious suicide.
The final pages gives you why Jean and all the fucked up character are stuck in the void though their fabulous life.
HERE ARE SOME LONG QUOTES THAT WOULD NOT FIT THE READING PROGRESS POSTS
* he took my arm because of the sloping road. The contact of her arm and shoulder gave me an impression I had never yet had, that of finding myself under someone's protection. She would be the first person who could help me. I fe lt light headed. All those waves of tenderness that she communicated to me through the simple contact of her arm, and the pale blue look she gave me fr om time to time- I didn't know that such things could happen, in life.
* Cir cumstances and settings are of no importance. One day this sense of emptiness and remorse sub merges you. Then, like a tide, it ebbs and disappears. But in the end it returns in fo rce, and she couldn' t shake it of f. Nor could I.
December 17, 2014
Tanto era l'entusiasmo iniziale quanto la delusione a fine lettura.
La sinossi non mi aveva colpito in modo particolare, ma la curiosità di scoprire un nuovo autore, per di più appena insignito del Nobel per la letteratura, mi ha avvicinato al testo con, forse, troppe aspettative.
La lettura è stata veloce: ho bevuto il breve racconto nell'arco di una mattinata, spinta dall'incontrollata speranza che prima o poi qualcosa sarebbe successo, narrativamente parlando. Così non è stato. Neanche nel finale, ché avevo intuito quello che molti hanno definito "un colpo di scena" quasi da subito.
Lo stile non mi ha trasmesso nulla. Asciutto, troppo pulito da sembrare freddo, per niente incisivo. Non ne conservo alcun ricordo né in positivo né in negativo, e questo a mio modesto avviso è il difetto maggiore.
Si assiste a un avvicendarsi appena sbozzato e singhiozzante di vari eventi. La storia si svolge su due piani narrativi diversi, ma inesorabilmente destinati a concludersi in modo identico: da una parte la vita di Jean, in avanti, dall'altra quella di Ingrid, a ritroso.
Per quanto Modiano si sia sforzato di rendere i personaggi peculiari, la caratterizzazione è talmente poco analizzata da ottenere un effetto macchiettistico.
L'impressione che ho avuto, è che Modiano/Jean fosse troppo stanco per scrivere e analizzare, mettendo a fuoco l'insufficiente e lasciando il resto in balia delle speculazioni e delle interpretazioni del lettore; come se fosse partito da un effetto e avesse tentato di ricercare la/le causa/e in corso d'opera, e mio parere c'è riuscito per metà e in modo banale.
La sinossi non mi aveva colpito in modo particolare, ma la curiosità di scoprire un nuovo autore, per di più appena insignito del Nobel per la letteratura, mi ha avvicinato al testo con, forse, troppe aspettative.
La lettura è stata veloce: ho bevuto il breve racconto nell'arco di una mattinata, spinta dall'incontrollata speranza che prima o poi qualcosa sarebbe successo, narrativamente parlando. Così non è stato. Neanche nel finale, ché avevo intuito quello che molti hanno definito "un colpo di scena" quasi da subito.
Lo stile non mi ha trasmesso nulla. Asciutto, troppo pulito da sembrare freddo, per niente incisivo. Non ne conservo alcun ricordo né in positivo né in negativo, e questo a mio modesto avviso è il difetto maggiore.
Si assiste a un avvicendarsi appena sbozzato e singhiozzante di vari eventi. La storia si svolge su due piani narrativi diversi, ma inesorabilmente destinati a concludersi in modo identico: da una parte la vita di Jean, in avanti, dall'altra quella di Ingrid, a ritroso.
Per quanto Modiano si sia sforzato di rendere i personaggi peculiari, la caratterizzazione è talmente poco analizzata da ottenere un effetto macchiettistico.
L'impressione che ho avuto, è che Modiano/Jean fosse troppo stanco per scrivere e analizzare, mettendo a fuoco l'insufficiente e lasciando il resto in balia delle speculazioni e delle interpretazioni del lettore; come se fosse partito da un effetto e avesse tentato di ricercare la/le causa/e in corso d'opera, e mio parere c'è riuscito per metà e in modo banale.
August 21, 2020
Có những cuốn sách mà khi mở ra đọc ta có cảm giác như là sự sắp xếp của số mệnh, mà đây là một trong số đó. Chứ điều gì có thể giải thích cho việc ngày 16/08/2020 tôi giở sách ra thì một trong những dòng đầu tiên là: "It was the day after the fifteen of August" để rồi từ đó đi theo Jean kiếm tìm những bóng ma quá khứ đã ám ảnh ông mãi vào những mùa hè, mà ông đã chọn cách sắp xếp cho sự biến mất của mình như một lời đoạn tuyệt với cuộc sống hiện tại để sống trong những ký ức mà thôi.
March 31, 2015
Cercando Dora.
Quando nel 1988 Patrick Modiano trova una vecchia copia del giornale Paris-Soir del 31 dicembre 1941, resta colpito da un annuncio, un piccolo trafiletto che i genitori di Dora Bruder, una quindicenne ebrea, hanno fatto pubblicare nella speranza di riuscire a ritrovare la figlia, scomparsa qualche tempo prima.
«PARIGI Si cerca una ragazza di 15 anni. Dora Bruder, m. 1,55, volto ovale, occhi castano-grigi, cappotto sportivo grigio, pullover bordeaux, gonna e cappello blu marina, scarpe sportive color marrone. Inviare eventuali informazioni ai coniugi Bruder, 41 boulevard Ornano, Parigi.»
Sono queste le parole che danno il via a una serie di pensieri, di ricerche, di materiale accumulato nel corso del tempo, che prima ancora di confluire nello scritto che porta il nome della ragazza scomparsa - «Non ho smesso di pensarci per mesi e mesi (…) Mi sembrava che non sarei mai arrivato a trovare la minima traccia di Dora Bruder. Allora il vuoto che provavo mi ha spinto a scrivere un altro romanzo, Viaggio di nozze» - Modiano mutua nella storia parallela e immaginaria di Ingrid Teyrsen, la protagonista del romanzo Viaggio di Nozze, nella quale confluisce questo vuoto, questo suo desiderio di sapere, di conoscere, di continuare a scavare nella memoria e nell'identità di Dora Bruder.
Muore suicida in un hotel di Milano, Ingrid Teyrsen, già nelle primissime pagine del romanzo, e il narratore, francese anche lui, e anche lui ospite nello stesso albergo, ritrova la memoria di un ricordo lontano nel tempo, della calda estate in cui, giovanissimo, conobbe Ingrid.
Era il 1942, era la guerra, era la Costa Azzurra, era Juan-Les-Pins, dove Ingrid e il suo compagno di viaggio Rigaud, erano arrivati da Parigi, forse in viaggio di nozze, ufficialmente in viaggio di nozze, per fuggire da qualcosa, o per fuggire qualcuno.
Non c'è altro da aggiungere sulla storia, perché la storia, quella vera, è fra le parole non dette di Jean, il giovane protagonista di allora, il ragazzo soggiogato dal fascino di Ingrid; è negli sguardi silenziosi, nei flashback e nei tre piani temporali che intrecciano le vicende del '42 a quelle del presente narrato, alla storia di Ingrid e Rigaud, alla tragedia mai detta della Shoah; è nella guerra mai descritta, è nelle strade di Parigi che, ancora una volta nelle parole di Modiano, dipanano un lungo filo della memoria che qualcuno, forse, un giorno sarà capace di riavvolgere.
«Passato e presente si confondono nella mia mente per un fenomeno di sovrimpressione. Il malessere è dovuto a questo, probabilmente», dice Jean, scrive Modiano, e chi legge lo percepisce e si lascia avvolgere da questa storia struggente e malinconica, popolata di ombre e ricordi, una storia che è ancora acerba, ma che già lascia presagire quella che sarà la scrittura migliore di Modiano.
«È così, ci muoviamo negli stessi posti in momenti diversi e malgrado la distanza degli anni, finiamo coll'incontrarci.»
«Si cerca una ragazza, Ingrid Teyrsen, sedici anni, altezza un metro e sessanta, viso ovale, cappotto sportivo marrone, maglione celeste, gonna e cappello beige, scarpe sportive nere. Chi può darne notizie si rivolga al signor Teyrsen, 39 bis, boulevard d'Ornano, Parigi.»
E poi, nel 1997, Dora Bruder.
Quando nel 1988 Patrick Modiano trova una vecchia copia del giornale Paris-Soir del 31 dicembre 1941, resta colpito da un annuncio, un piccolo trafiletto che i genitori di Dora Bruder, una quindicenne ebrea, hanno fatto pubblicare nella speranza di riuscire a ritrovare la figlia, scomparsa qualche tempo prima.
«PARIGI Si cerca una ragazza di 15 anni. Dora Bruder, m. 1,55, volto ovale, occhi castano-grigi, cappotto sportivo grigio, pullover bordeaux, gonna e cappello blu marina, scarpe sportive color marrone. Inviare eventuali informazioni ai coniugi Bruder, 41 boulevard Ornano, Parigi.»
Sono queste le parole che danno il via a una serie di pensieri, di ricerche, di materiale accumulato nel corso del tempo, che prima ancora di confluire nello scritto che porta il nome della ragazza scomparsa - «Non ho smesso di pensarci per mesi e mesi (…) Mi sembrava che non sarei mai arrivato a trovare la minima traccia di Dora Bruder. Allora il vuoto che provavo mi ha spinto a scrivere un altro romanzo, Viaggio di nozze» - Modiano mutua nella storia parallela e immaginaria di Ingrid Teyrsen, la protagonista del romanzo Viaggio di Nozze, nella quale confluisce questo vuoto, questo suo desiderio di sapere, di conoscere, di continuare a scavare nella memoria e nell'identità di Dora Bruder.
Muore suicida in un hotel di Milano, Ingrid Teyrsen, già nelle primissime pagine del romanzo, e il narratore, francese anche lui, e anche lui ospite nello stesso albergo, ritrova la memoria di un ricordo lontano nel tempo, della calda estate in cui, giovanissimo, conobbe Ingrid.
Era il 1942, era la guerra, era la Costa Azzurra, era Juan-Les-Pins, dove Ingrid e il suo compagno di viaggio Rigaud, erano arrivati da Parigi, forse in viaggio di nozze, ufficialmente in viaggio di nozze, per fuggire da qualcosa, o per fuggire qualcuno.
Non c'è altro da aggiungere sulla storia, perché la storia, quella vera, è fra le parole non dette di Jean, il giovane protagonista di allora, il ragazzo soggiogato dal fascino di Ingrid; è negli sguardi silenziosi, nei flashback e nei tre piani temporali che intrecciano le vicende del '42 a quelle del presente narrato, alla storia di Ingrid e Rigaud, alla tragedia mai detta della Shoah; è nella guerra mai descritta, è nelle strade di Parigi che, ancora una volta nelle parole di Modiano, dipanano un lungo filo della memoria che qualcuno, forse, un giorno sarà capace di riavvolgere.
«Passato e presente si confondono nella mia mente per un fenomeno di sovrimpressione. Il malessere è dovuto a questo, probabilmente», dice Jean, scrive Modiano, e chi legge lo percepisce e si lascia avvolgere da questa storia struggente e malinconica, popolata di ombre e ricordi, una storia che è ancora acerba, ma che già lascia presagire quella che sarà la scrittura migliore di Modiano.
«È così, ci muoviamo negli stessi posti in momenti diversi e malgrado la distanza degli anni, finiamo coll'incontrarci.»
«Si cerca una ragazza, Ingrid Teyrsen, sedici anni, altezza un metro e sessanta, viso ovale, cappotto sportivo marrone, maglione celeste, gonna e cappello beige, scarpe sportive nere. Chi può darne notizie si rivolga al signor Teyrsen, 39 bis, boulevard d'Ornano, Parigi.»
E poi, nel 1997, Dora Bruder.
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