Tuesday books - Loris S. Musumeci
The author of Incest has long been a success. Christine Angot has her readers, who eagerly await the «new Angot» at the start of each new literary season. She's also the talk of the town, piling up polemical positions and outbursts. And the phenomenon has only increased since she took up the coveted position of columnist on Laurent Ruquier's popular TV show, «On n'est pas couché», on France 2. Christine Angot: too artistic? too frank? too sensitive? too real for the vile world of television? Perhaps it is. But it's equally doubtful.
In spite of sales figures that are as strong as ever, the writer is not universally acclaimed. In fact, it's fashionable to criticize his very oral, somewhat colloquial, overly unstructured style. Eric Naulleau, one of her predecessors at Ruquier and her sworn enemy, never misses an opportunity to call her «the greatest literary fraud of the last twenty years». But let's be honest: is it fair to make fun of an author, aligning oneself with Naulleau and so many others who criticize her, without ever having read one of her works?
That's the question I've been asking myself. I have no particular sympathy for Angot - and her behavior on certain ’On n'est pas couché« shows hasn't helped matters. Nevertheless, it's time to take the plunge and read her at last. A turning point in lifeSo, is Christine Angot's new novel really bad? A direct and passionate answer would lead me straight to the affirmative. A thoughtful answer, on the other hand, would lead me to the subtlety of saying that if the new Angot really is really bad, it is not totally bad.
A hearty rhythm
Among the novel's good elements, the pace comes first. The short sentences and secant punctuation let the pages turn on their own. It's a seamless read. With astonishing speed. This is thanks to the rhythm that the author sets for her story, in tune with the restless breath of a couple experiencing the confusion of feelings, the anguish of the future, the fear of the past.
«We took the spiral staircase. He gave me his hand. He let go. Alex had just taken the stairs. At the bottom, I stayed in the hall long enough to say goodbye to Vincent. A large metal door opened onto the street. A bellboy slowed it down. Alex pushed it open. He stepped out. It closed slowly. I caught a glimpse of Claire's silhouette waiting for the cab on the sidewalk. I approached Vincent's face and he put his lips to mine. I turned my head away. I took a step back. The door had reopened in the meantime. From outside, with his legs planted in the ground, Alex stared at me. I motioned to him that I was coming.»
Psychology that rings true
The portrayal of female psychology, too, has the merit of ringing true. The constant hesitation, the staircase mentality and the incessant rehashing of thoughts confirm what I believe - perhaps wrongly! my readers will judge - to be the case with women. What's more, you get the sense that this is not just a woman writing about the psychology of a woman, but a woman who embodies and transmits the psychology of a woman without intermission.
«My heart sank. It was a real pain. It hurt. I thought, ‘Okay. I love Vincent. But I hope it will be possible not to have sex with him.’ I tapped: ‘My day is very difficult today. I'll explain it to you. I can't now. I'm not on my own. Alex saw you kiss me on the mouth! He's furious. Life can be sad. If only we could think intelligently and love at the same time. I too was sad yesterday when I left you.’ He replied: ‘We're trying, but we'll never be united.’»
Tear-jerking dialogue
So you understand that Christine Angot's novel is not totally bad. As announced, however, it is really bad. And it's the dialogue that sets the stage for disaster. Admittedly, the short rhythm was praised. But the dialogue just doesn't cut it. Quite simply. By trying too hard to be natural and spontaneous, the writer delivers dialogues that make you weep, not with emotion, but with despair. The discussions go round in circles to say nothing. To be tolerant, this could be considered a stylistic device. However, the problem is confirmed when we realize that not only do the discussions say nothing, but they also appear totally artificial and clumsy.
«- I have four days free. Shall I join you or not? - If you like, Alex. But in the middle of summer, I don't think there'll be any room on the trains. Just like that, at the last minute. - I found one on the seven o'clock train tomorrow. I've reserved it. I'm waiting for you to tell me how to pay for it. If you want, I can be there tomorrow at eleven. - As you wish. - You want to? - If you like. - I'll take my wife back then. Forever, if she'll have me. - Uh... rejoin if you will. Rather than take her back. I prefer it. I'm not a thing. You don't own me. I'd rather ‘join’ if you don't mind. - OK, I've come to join my wife...»
In terms of style in general, it doesn't fly very high either. Christine Angot's writing is so poor that she's obliged to multiply exclamation marks to give her text a semblance of agitation, as in this supposedly critical passage, which is rather laughable for its ridiculousness: «- You too, Alex, don't talk about me! [...] And I can't take it anymore. Do you hear me? I can't take it anymore!!!!!» Yes, you counted right: five exclamation marks. So the protagonist isn't very happy. Finally, Madame Angot should be offered a thesaurus so that she can vary her vocabulary a little.
The fatal blow
As for the subject matter, does it make sense to tackle it? Okay, so the novel tries to tell a love story. In itself, why not? It's the most common subject in literature. But, at the very least, the love story in question should involve tensions, twists and turns, ups and downs, progress and regression. Here, nothing. The narrator loves Vincent, she loves Alex, then she's not sure, so she calls her girlfriend, then it turns out that she's always loved Vincent, that she's always loved Alex, but maybe she hasn't, and then what does it matter, why bother, but in reality it's quite important, to love someone is a turning point in life... Do you have a headache? I've got one too.
Of course, she also has to talk about sex. Again, a good idea. However, it would be a good idea if she had a little more control over her writing and avoided writing, when she feels like it, that her sex got wet or that ’he put his sex between my thighs« and that she reacted with a »Noooooo. I told you no. NO NO NO.«
What will remain of this novel? For me, it was all the same a turning point in life. Because I've understood, once and for all, that Naulleau has always been right about Christine Angot: «she's the greatest literary fraud of the last twenty years.»
Christine Angot
A turning point in life
Editions Flammarion
2018
182 pages
Write to the author : loris.musumeci@leregardlibre.com
Photo credit: © Loris S. Musumeci for Le Regard Libre
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