Myriam Wahli and the fulgurance of childhood

Le Regard Libre N° 39 - Alexandre Wälti

A child's voice crossing the fields, carefree despite the gravity of reality. The sentence sketches a summary of Coming big without commas by Myriam Wahli. A first novel colored by literary inventiveness and contrasting emotions. An opportunity to meet her and discover more about the glittering universe that sparkles in her words.

There's a serene rebellion in the attitude of Myriam Wahli, lanky, with a full golden curl hanging from one ear, a thin black sweater, a pastel-blue down jacket over it and a royal-blue bonnet under which very short hair barely protrudes from the top of her forehead. She approaches, greets the waitress of Les Menteurs in Swiss German - an important dialect in the Coming big without commas, published by Editions de l'Aire, in the «Alcantara des premiers romans» collection. She strides along the rough concrete floor of the former Cardinal brewery in Fribourg.

Read also: « Coming big without commas, the freshness of simplicity».»

She confesses, as soon as she sits down, that she is a woman of instinct: «In the writing process itself, I did everything I could to eliminate the mental as much as possible and to rely completely on intuition. I didn't really write with plans or strategies. Simply, when I had the time, I'd sit down at my desk, listen to music and write.» This spontaneity also sounds in every word like a continual search for simplicity. We then ask her why she fights so hard against adults - who take their toll in the novel. She opens her dark eyes wide, stares at us and nuances our remarks, adding: «It's more a struggle against the mind and for intuition than against adults and for childhood.»

A writer for whom intuition is definitely more important than any kind of planning. That much is clear now. This spontaneous urgency is a perfect match for Myriam Wahli's rhythmic writing. It's as if feelings had to be expressed before they died out. As if we had to vomit them out to share them better. As if emotions had to be brought to light to brighten everyday life, which is not always easy. These sometimes precipitous bursts of childhood color with joy the seriousness that suffocates the family of... Coming big without commas. A bowl of childhood for an air of freedom. The novel deserves to be read aloud, so much so that the tone of the writing also says something about the daily life of the little girl at the center of the story. Myriam Wahli confirms our impression with a metaphor, using the radio episode as an example: «In fact, the real world comes out of the radio like a vermicelli press. In its mechanism, the pressure is constantly increasing. I've read this passage aloud before, and its rhythm undoubtedly increases the pressure on the reader. Incidentally, the little girl, right afterwards, leaves as many words as possible lying around on her way to school.»

To each his own flower meadow

Le Rossé serves as a counterweight to the family's gravity. A solitary man, often seated on a bench - «like on the chest of drawers with all the drawers in it underneath» according to the little girl - Le Rossé is the perfect counterbalance to his family's seriousness.  who overlooks the region, to whom she repeatedly flees and who, in her words in the novel, has «the sea in his eyes». Myriam Wahli confides that this character is indeed her «flower meadow». The conversation then becomes more alert, almost engaged - she stretches out her arms on the long wooden table and leans forward - when we broach the role of Rossé. In our opinion, it deserved more depth. The writer accepts and doesn't see criticism as a negative thing. On the contrary, she admits, thoughtfully, «it's always good to have to question what we write.» She adds, after a sigh of relief, that Le Rossé is «the all-purpose godfather or idealized grandfather to whom we escape when the need is too great». Above all, he is the «positive authority» she wished she had had when she was younger.

To the question of the greater bond she could have built between Le Rossé and the little girl's family, Myriam Wahli replies after some reflection, with half her gaze hanging out the window, that «he would then have been complicit in the heaviness of the family.» Consequently, «he had to be totally external to form a counterweight to the social, religious and family straitjacket.» She concludes, laconically, «it was necessary to get the little girl out of that slimy thing.» She adds that the little girl «puts the needle in the balloon», exploding this rigid family framework with her need for freedom; her only rebellion is to take a «sometimes painful» look at the family.

The smell of the day's menu gradually fills the large concrete room, which has the air of a cosy canteen. The long wooden tables and chairs with a small gold medal screwed into the back, stamped 1788, the year the Cardinal brasserie was founded, are still empty. A few customers arrive in «dribs and drabs», as the wall of mirrors in front of us reveals. A cook raises his voice. Our discussion becomes more technical, and it's time to talk style, or something close to it.

When landscape becomes landscape

Of course, we emphasize the choice of writing in a continuous stream, without commas. Myriam Wahli stops, looks relaxed, bursts into laughter and just manages to say these few words: «Let's get back to the vomit!» After this shared burst of laughter, however, she explains that her first page came out without commas, and that this was not a prior decision. Once again, she simply listened to her intuition and persisted in following it to the letter. She points out that she writes very slowly, very sparingly, and that she never reworks her texts, so under no circumstances should she interrupt the moment of writing.

We'd also like to mention the novel's other stylistic feature: comparison. These abound and reinforce the little girl's credibility, as she often associates what she sees with elements full of candor. Indeed, she perceives the world in her own words: a hill, for example, like the belly of a fat man. Myriam Wahli insists that she «didn't write this book on purpose, really. She admits, after a sigh, that there are also »a lot of conjunctions and, in itself, it's bad writing, it's handicapped.« Nevertheless, her tone of voice seems to betray a teasing pleasure in writing in this way - fortunately - even if she admits that our question gives her pause insofar as no one has ever remarked on it before.

She writes the nuanced colors of childhood, between escapes and wounds, with a writing style that is «slow and regular, though close to vomit, to loghorrée», as she always repeats to us with the same self-mockery. Finally, our exchanges reveal an admiration - the word is not too much, given her dark eyes that suddenly sparkle with light - for Ramuz. An author who «isn't afraid to clash words» and who naturally imposes himself on our discussion. More specifically, she talks about the novel Derborence - (Laughter). Ramuz is inspiring because he often bases his stories on a fairly small community of people. And... he always puts an extraordinary amount of tension into it. For me, a good novel is like a thunderstorm in a small mountain village. The part that takes place before and after the storm is particularly interesting. I love this author most of all (his voice is getting more and more enthusiastic) because every element of the landscape is almost as important as the characters. And I think that's wonderful! When the landscape is almost a character in its own right. That's very important to me.«

Read, it's good for the mind

We're slowly coming to the end of our interview. Just as the waitress asks if «we have everything we need» at our table. We nod. We then ask the traditional question that always concludes our meetings: what should our readers read? First of all, all of Ramuz, of whom Myriam Wahli is an avid reader, of course, and then she goes on to quote The Laughing Man by Victor Hugo, which «really shook her up» - not so surprising in light of the words exchanged - and highly recommends Summer of carrion by Simon Johannin, «even though it's a pretty dark book.»

We chat for a few more minutes in complete relaxation, off-microphone. Just enough time to point our fingers at certain institutions, which are certainly very useful and enriching, but which standardize, often crush intuition, confine the imagination, and sometimes go against human nature, the freedom to be and the outpourings of the heart, essential to intimate balance.

Myriam Wahli then leaves as she came: with a lively, determined step. Like this sentence from the novel, which she says sums up the book's intention: «I come with all these words they've put in my head, and I leave with dancing bees.» And this choppy, clear response, when we submitted the above sentence for her comment: «Too many words enclose. Too many words weigh down. Too many words limit. Too many words block being, being, feeling things.»

Write to the author : alexandre.waelti@leregardlibre.com

Photo credit: © Anja Fonseka