Heroines

by Kate Zambreno

reminds me of Nathalie Sarraute’s memoir Enfances. Rhys would have been used to the language of trials as she was perennially hauled into court at this time for physical altercations with neighbors. But in this piece at least there are no easy enemies, and it reflects what I love most about Rhys, the searing exorcism, the naked honesty, the interrogation of the “difficult” woman. In this piece she examines herself ruthlessly, she is both persecuted and persecutor. DEFENCE. It is untrue that you are cold and withdrawn? It is not true. DEFENCE. Did you make great efforts to, shall we say, establish contacts with other people? I mean friendships, love affairs, so on? Yes. Not friendships very much. Did you succeed? Sometimes. For a time. It didn’t last? No. Whose fault was that? Mine I suppose. You suppose? Silence. Better answer. I am tired. I learnt everything too late. Everything was always one jump ahead of me. The phrase is not ‘I do not know’ but ‘I have nothing to say.’ The trouble is I have plenty to say. Not only that but I am bound to say it. Bound? I must. Why? Why? Why? I must write. If I stop writing my life will have been an abject failure. It is that already to other people. But it will be an abject failure to myself. I will not have earned death.