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Viewing: Blog Posts Tagged with: Marguerite Duras, Most Recent at Top [Help]
Results 1 - 6 of 6
1. Love 101: A College Sophomore’s Attempts to Learn the World

When I was a college sophomore, I thought everything I needed to know could be learned from a book. My best friend, Claire*, and I decided to create an independent study on the topic that most fascinated and confounded us at that age: love. We spent hours planning the syllabus in her second-floor single, with [...]

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2. The Lover/Marguerite Duras: Reflections

"I read The Lover to be Marguerite Duras writing about herself," Maxine Hong Kingston posits in her introduction to this classic book labeled "Fiction." Vivian Gornick, too, writes of the book as if it is a memoir, of course a memoir, and everything we know about Duras suggests that memoir was the author's madness and method.

This is, after all, the story of a young, nearly impoverished French girl, fifteen, who conducts an illicit affair with a much older Chinese lover—determinedly, provocatively, in full awareness of the costs, just as Duras did. It involves an unstable mother and two brothers, one of whom Duras refers to as the murderer, the other as the martyred; here biography again asserts itself. The setting is prewar Indochina, where Duras was born and lived until she went to France to study. And a returning, angry, consoling theme is the unnamed narrator's wish to be a writer.

Labeled fiction. But.

I will take this as memoir, too. I will take it as memoir and I will add it to my list of books that teach those who seek to wrestle the form (in past tense, in present tense, in third person, in first). The Lover is a fierce, slender book—forthright and obscuring, declarative and confused, angry and proud. It feels like a book written in a single rush, a mirror of the remembering mind at work. This could be true, this may be true, this was true, and that was me, but that was me then. We haul our past lives forward in this life. We look around and there are multiples.

And once we were young. And once we thought we would not have to forgive or not have to love any one person more than we love ourselves. Among the many things The Lover is about is the knowledge we gain too late in life.

Which is why this book should be read by the young.

An excerpt from a story that folds in upon itself, then unfolds, that yields genre-less wisdoms like these:
People ought to be told of such things. Ought to be taught that immortality is mortal, that it can die, it's happened before and it happens still. It doesn't ever announce itself as such—it's duplicity itself.... It's while being lived that life is immortal, while it's still alive.
For more thoughts on memoirs, memoir making, and prompt exercises, please visit my dedicated Handling the Truth page.

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3. Duras on film

The South London Gallery in collaboration with the French Institute and Tate Modern present Marguerite Duras: In the World of Images, curated by Pascale Cassagnau:


Marguerite Duras's films are 'films of voices' in which one 'reads the film and sees the book'. Duras shares with contemporary artists this way of looking at cinematic writing as a 'kaleidoscope space'.

This series of screenings explores the links between Duras's work and contemporary film-making.

27 October, 7pm, £5/£3 conc
David Lamelas, Interview with Marguerite Duras, 1970, 5’13’’
Philippe Terrier-Hermann, La Dérive, 2009, 61’ (followed by a discussion with Philippe Terrier-Hermann)

3 November, 7pm, £5/£3 conc Florence Pezon, I Would Prefer Not To, 1998, 12’18’’
Marguerite Duras, Nathalie Granger, 1981, 85’

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4. Moderato Cantabile


Moderato Cantabile by Marguerite Duras is a curious novella. It is short, 122 pages in my One World Classic version, but has a much more expansive feel to it. The story takes place over the course of a week. Anne Desbaredes, and she is always Anne Desbaredes, is in Mrs. Giraud’s apartment with her young son for his piano lesson when they hear a scream and a ruckus in the street below. It turns out a woman has been murdered by her lover in a cafe.

Anne Desbaredes becomes obsessed with the murder and goes to the cafe nearly everyday where she drinks too much wine and talks with Chauvin, an unemployed worker from one of her husband’s factories. Anne Desbaredes and Chauvin talk of the murder and try to puzzle out why the man would kill his lover.

That’s the story on the surface. Underneath there is Anne Desbaredes’s unhappiness. One gets the sense that for her, everyday is pretty much the same day. But now, here she is, one of the wealthiest women in town, sitting in a shabby cafe getting drunk and talking to an unemployed factory worker who knows way too much about her. Each year Anne Desbaredes’s husband holds a reception at his big expensive house at the end of the street for all his workers. Chauvin has been there, he knows what the inside of the house looks like. He talks to Anne Desbaredes about her bedroom and what she does when she can’t sleep and what she sees from her window.

For Anne Desbaredes, being in the cafe is a social faux pas. She should not be there as it is where the workers from her husband’s factories go when their day is done. This might be why she drinks so much wine, it calms her and keeps her from worrying about the stares from the men. It also helps her focus on Chauvin and the love affair they conduct in words. But the words are never about their own love affair. They are always sitting in public and have nothing in particular to hide, but everyone who sees them seems to know what is going on. There is as much going on with what is not said as there is with what is said.

Anne Desbaredes always goes out with her child. Her excuse to go to the cafe is that she and the boy are out on their evening walk. It’s not clear how old the boy is but my guess is 6 or 7. He plays outside the cafe and comes and looks in the door now and then to check to see that his mother is still there. Anne Desbaredes loves the child but clearly has not much interest in him. She seems rather distant and the boy seems rather desperate for her love and attention.

The title of the book means moderately and melodiously. It is taken from the Diabelli Sonata that the boy is learning at his piano lessons. The tempo of the piece is moderato cantabile. This can also be used to describe the book itself. It moves along at a moderate and melodious pace. The language is beautiful and rhythmic and I floated along through it. I could have read the book in a few hours but I came out of my story trance about halfway through and stopped on purpose because I did not want to rush to the end.

I have not read Duras before but have always meant to. I don’t know much about her so I had to look her up. She was born in 1914 near Saigon in what is now Vietnam and was then French Indochina. Her parents moved there because the French government was encouraging people to work in the colony. Her father died when she was young and the family lived in poverty after her mother made a bad real estate investment. As a teen Duras had an affair with a Chinese man. And was supposedly she was beaten by her brother and her mother.

Duras went to France for college, studied the law, became a Communist, worked for the French government, married (her husband was in the French Resistance and almost died in Bergen-Belsen), and finally ended up becoming a writer of novels and plays as well as a respected filmmaker. She died in 1996 of throat cancer.

Because I had no idea what the Diabelli Sonata sounded like, I Googled it and found a YouTube video of a six-year-old boy playing it at a recital. What could be more perfect?

Posted in Books, Reviews Tagged: Marguerite Duras

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5. Marguerite Duras (and Robbe-Grillet)

Are duras.ifrance.com and Société Marguerite Duras really the best the web can do for Marguerite Duras pages? Goodness. This is woeful. I needs to sort me out my minisites and knock something decent together for Ms Duras asap!


Robbe-Grillet doesn't fair much better either. John Leo's Robbe-Grillet Homepage and The Modern Word's page are the best he gets. Hmmm. Work to do!

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6. Teaser Tuesday - Vanishing Teachers

I've never done Teaser Tuesday. But [info]mandywriter  's post inspired me to play.


A couple of minutes later, the substitute arrived, but Mrs. Jenson never did. The dismissal bell rang and I rose to leave. I felt Kyle’s eyes on me. As I looked back, he walked to the chalkboard and pulled that piece of chalk from his pocket.

Someone pushed me out the door. “Move geek.” I didn’t get to see what Kyle did with the chalk.

I joined Jasmine at our spot. Felicia was at the water fountain with Matt. They looked at me and laughed. I turned away, remembering Felicia’s words from the night before. You’re so lucky. You have what I call, ‘wash and wear’ hair. Maybe I shouldn’t have called the office. Was it worth losing a friend?

“Hey, ladies.” I snapped my head around. Chandler stood next to a tiny, blond Barbie doll. “This is Heather. Sorry I can’t stay and chat,” he looked directly at me. “I’m showing Heather to Mrs. Jenson’s class. C’mon, Heather.”

I watched as Chandler walked away. He didn’t look back. Her hand was on his arm. Shoot, she was all over him.

Bambi walked off with the proud hunter. The rejected Indian princess watched them with narrowed eyes. Pulling an arrow from her quiver, she threaded it on the bow. Lining up Bambi in her sites, she let the arrow fly.

“Don’t look like that, Katie. There’s probably a good explanation. I told you. He’s all about you.”

“Whatever. Let’s go to class.”

Right now Chandler was crap. And Heather was the fly.

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