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Exteriors

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With that being said, there are a handful of scenes so specific that I wonder how she recorded them. who revive our memory and reveal our true selves through the interest, the anger or the shame that they send rippling through us.

This may sometimes, though not always be true since I have acquired the mental habit not only of experiencing emotions but of 'getting them into perspective'. It's funny how delving into the lives of others, in only a handful of lines, can often prove to be more captivating to read than even the most labored of novels. Ernaux nem csak megfigyel és rögzít, ez a gyűjtemény, ahogy a könyvei nagy része (nem nyilatkozhatok mindről, még nem olvastam a teljes életművet), társadalomkritika is. This semi-autobiographical novel is a brief, aching requiem for the Prix Renaudot-winning author's mother, a victim of Alzheimer's disease. Interesting observations from 1985 till 1992 that still capture a lot of relevant themes of the current day.By upsetting our complacency, she encourages readers to continually question her writing, and thus art generally. All this – the suffering and anxiety of waiting, the brief soulagement of lovemaking, the lethargy and fatigue that follow, the renewal of desire, the little indignities and abjections of both obsession and abandonment – Ernaux tells with calm, almost tranquillized matter-of-factness [that] feels like determination, truth to self, clarity of purpose. Exteriors, Fitzcarraldo’s latest translation from the oeuvre of Annie Ernaux, consists of a series of fragmented paragraphs depicting things seen in the world, all taken from diaries kept between 1985 and 1992.

I look around the train, glancing the same old sea of faces staring at black mirrors (this is a tired description, and I’m leaving it there). It is a collection of journal entries written over the course of seven years (1985-1992), when she lived in Cergy-Pontoise, a new town forty kilometers outside of Paris. Glimpses" would have been an equally worthy name, and perhaps a more truthful one as these individuals' "exteriors" often do tell us more about them, and — as the author noted above — us, than the word "exteriors" may suggest.In some of the books she tries to be almost ruthlessly unemotional, focusing on cold descriptions of events and relationships. What mesmerizes here, as elsewhere in Ernaux’s oeuvre, is the interplay between the solipsistic intensity of the material and its documentary, disinterested, almost egoless presentation. As per I find Ernaux sometimes illuminating, but mostly less than impressive and at times, pretentious. I’ refers to oneself, the reader, and it is inconceivable, or unthinkable, for me to read my own horoscope and behave like some mushy schoolgirl. Her autobiographical novels like Cleaned Out, A Woman's Story, A Man's Place and Simple Passion succeeded brilliantly because Ernaux is mordantly critical of every character--especially her own.

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