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袛薪械胁薪懈泻 褍谢懈褑
袛薪械胁薪懈泻 褍谢懈褑 褋芯褋褌芯懈褌 懈蟹 蟹邪屑械褌芯泻, 泻芯褌芯褉褘械 袗薪薪懈 协褉薪芯 写械谢邪谢邪 胁 1985-1992 谐芯写邪褏 芯斜 褍胁懈写械薪薪芯屑 懈 锌芯写褋谢褍褕邪薪薪芯屑 胁 锌芯械蟹写邪褏, 褌芯褉谐芯胁褘褏 褑械薪褌褉邪褏, 屑械褌褉芯, 薪邪 谐芯褉芯写褋泻懈褏 斜褍谢褜胁邪褉邪褏, 胁芯泻蟹邪谢邪褏 懈 锌谢芯褖邪写褟褏. 小谢械锌芯泻 泻芯谢谢械泻褌懈胁薪芯泄 褎褉邪薪褑褍蟹褋泻芯泄 卸懈蟹薪懈, 泻谢邪褋褋芯胁芯 懈 泻褍谢褜褌褍褉薪芯 褉邪褋褋谢芯械薪薪芯谐芯 芯斜褖械褋褌胁邪, 褝褌懈 泻芯褉芯褌泻懈械 褋褑械薪泻懈 褋 褍褔邪褋褌懈械屑 褋谢褍褔邪泄薪褘褏 锌褉芯褏芯卸懈褏 懈 锌芯锌褍褌褔懈泻芯胁, 斜褍褉卸褍邪 懈 斜械蟹写芯屑薪褘褏, 锌褉芯写邪胁褖懈褑 懈 锌芯泻褍锌邪褌械谢褜薪懈褑 蟹邪写褍屑褘胁邪谢懈褋褜 泻邪泻 "褎芯褌芯谐褉邪褎懈褔械褋泻芯械 锌懈褋褜屑芯 褉械邪谢褜薪芯褋褌懈", 薪芯, 锌芯 锌褉懈蟹薪邪薪懈褞 协褉薪芯, 芯褌泻褉褘谢懈 械泄 芯 薪械泄 褋邪屑芯泄 斜芯谢褜褕械, 褔械屑 懈薪褌褉芯褋锌械泻褌懈胁薪芯械 胁械写械薪懈械 谢懈褔薪芯谐芯 写薪械胁薪懈泻邪.
80 pages, Paperback
First published December 1, 1993
219 people are currently reading
11.4k people want to read
About the author
Annie Ernaux
84听books8,818听followersThe author of some twenty works of fiction and memoir, Annie Ernaux is considered by many to be France鈥檚 most important writer. In 2022, she was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. She has also won the Prix Renaudot for A Man's Place and the Marguerite Yourcenar Prize for her body of work. More recently she received the International Strega Prize, the Prix Formentor, the French-American Translation Prize, and the Warwick Prize for Women in Translation for The Years, which was also shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize in 2019. Her other works include Exteriors, A Girl's Story, A Woman's Story, The Possession, Simple Passion, Happening, I Remain in Darkness, Shame, A Frozen Woman, and A Man's Place.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 617 reviews
April 24, 2024
Deserved winner of the 2022 Nobel Prize for Literature!
Sexism, economic inequality and classism; Annie Ernaux observes a lot of broader society from overheard metro conversations, from shopping in malls, by visiting galeries and observing life in general around Paris.
I鈥檓 visited by people and their lives - like a whore.
Interesting observations from 1985 till 1992 that still capture a lot of relevant themes of the current day. The exhibitionism of people, discussing loudly their lives in public transport while being dressed in tracksuits, made me think of social media and how much easier it is nowadays to mass broadcast oneself to the world. Also the collapse of retail is clearly not effectuated in Ernaux her book, but can be seen sort of starting, with cashiers chatting, people to pick up trolleys being laid off and butcher visits as the heart of the social happening in the town slowly fading out.
Graffiti (against colonial wars for instance) and homeless people often recur, being seen and documented by in this slim book. The conversations she writes down, sometime ad verbatim, are often hilarious: It鈥檚 just not fair. Then: I want to go back into my egg, it was nice and cosy.
All the while the author is acutely aware that it is hard to move from general observations to the interior or statements on the broader time and age, shown by sentences like: I realize that I am forever combing reality for signs of literature.
Overall I really like the writing style of Ernaux and the social perspective that is apparent in her writing. This was a shorter and older work, also less personal than the auto fiction she is more known for, but it still is very much an interesting read. 3.5 stars rounded down.
Sexism, economic inequality and classism; Annie Ernaux observes a lot of broader society from overheard metro conversations, from shopping in malls, by visiting galeries and observing life in general around Paris.
I鈥檓 visited by people and their lives - like a whore.
Interesting observations from 1985 till 1992 that still capture a lot of relevant themes of the current day. The exhibitionism of people, discussing loudly their lives in public transport while being dressed in tracksuits, made me think of social media and how much easier it is nowadays to mass broadcast oneself to the world. Also the collapse of retail is clearly not effectuated in Ernaux her book, but can be seen sort of starting, with cashiers chatting, people to pick up trolleys being laid off and butcher visits as the heart of the social happening in the town slowly fading out.
Graffiti (against colonial wars for instance) and homeless people often recur, being seen and documented by in this slim book. The conversations she writes down, sometime ad verbatim, are often hilarious: It鈥檚 just not fair. Then: I want to go back into my egg, it was nice and cosy.
All the while the author is acutely aware that it is hard to move from general observations to the interior or statements on the broader time and age, shown by sentences like: I realize that I am forever combing reality for signs of literature.
Overall I really like the writing style of Ernaux and the social perspective that is apparent in her writing. This was a shorter and older work, also less personal than the auto fiction she is more known for, but it still is very much an interesting read. 3.5 stars rounded down.
March 18, 2023
37th book of 2023.
Not even sure this took an hour to read. A nothing book from Ernaux. Fragmented descriptions, no real emotion, and obviously no character, beside Ernaux herself. As per I find Ernaux sometimes illuminating, but mostly less than impressive and at times, pretentious. There's just something about her I can't get behind. I thought The Years was good, better, but this and Getting Lost were mostly just a waste of time. This didn't really need publishing, at all. Maybe I like overwriting? Who knows. But honestly, I finished this in a bookshop, put it on the shelf, and it immediately vanished from my mind. Felt like reading a load of chopped-up things on the Internet, time-passing but devoid of any guts.
Not even sure this took an hour to read. A nothing book from Ernaux. Fragmented descriptions, no real emotion, and obviously no character, beside Ernaux herself. As per I find Ernaux sometimes illuminating, but mostly less than impressive and at times, pretentious. There's just something about her I can't get behind. I thought The Years was good, better, but this and Getting Lost were mostly just a waste of time. This didn't really need publishing, at all. Maybe I like overwriting? Who knows. But honestly, I finished this in a bookshop, put it on the shelf, and it immediately vanished from my mind. Felt like reading a load of chopped-up things on the Internet, time-passing but devoid of any guts.
July 28, 2023
I realize that I am forever combing reality for signs of literature.
In this memoire Ernaux sets out to relate her observations during her daily outings on the train, in the supermarket or the mall like a series of snapshots.
February 6, 2022
So I think this is the last of the several brief memoirs or autofictions I have read and all in 2022 so far (!) from Annie Ernaux. I read ones about her mother, her father, her early sexual life, an affair with an older, married man, an abortion, all in separate books, many based on detailed diaries she kept over the years. This one, Exteriors, is Ernaux looking more 鈥渙ut鈥� on the 鈥渆xterior鈥� world.
Again, she draws on diary entries she wrote while commuting on the Paris M茅tro, usually just observing strangers, and seeing how they help her reflect on her own life. Actually, she might say that the exterior life becomes her life, she uses it as a way to reflect on her own memories:
". . . anonymous figures glimpsed in the M茅tro or in waiting rooms . . . who revive our memory and reveal our true selves through the interest, the anger or the shame that they send rippling through us."
In some of the books she tries to be almost ruthlessly unemotional, focusing on cold descriptions of events and relationships. In Exteriors she is maybe more directly reflective. Here鈥檚 a kind of similar reflection to the last quotation, a little more expanded::
鈥淢y reaction confirms a well-known truth: we believe, because we stop using them, that certain words have disappeared or that poverty has ceased to exist now that we earn a living. Strangely enough, there exists another truth, the exact opposite: when we go back to a town we left a long time ago, we imagine that the people there will still be the same, unchanged. Both laws rely on the same misconception of reality, the only reference being oneself: in the first case, we imagine everyone else has lived our life, while in the second, we long to recapture our past identity through people who are frozen in time, whose features are the same as when we last saw them.鈥�
She tells us that she decided to write this book when her mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer鈥檚, seeing that people she knew were becoming strangers. She says she wanted to take a closer look at strangers she encountered in her own world, to see what they might offer her.
Again, she draws on diary entries she wrote while commuting on the Paris M茅tro, usually just observing strangers, and seeing how they help her reflect on her own life. Actually, she might say that the exterior life becomes her life, she uses it as a way to reflect on her own memories:
". . . anonymous figures glimpsed in the M茅tro or in waiting rooms . . . who revive our memory and reveal our true selves through the interest, the anger or the shame that they send rippling through us."
In some of the books she tries to be almost ruthlessly unemotional, focusing on cold descriptions of events and relationships. In Exteriors she is maybe more directly reflective. Here鈥檚 a kind of similar reflection to the last quotation, a little more expanded::
鈥淢y reaction confirms a well-known truth: we believe, because we stop using them, that certain words have disappeared or that poverty has ceased to exist now that we earn a living. Strangely enough, there exists another truth, the exact opposite: when we go back to a town we left a long time ago, we imagine that the people there will still be the same, unchanged. Both laws rely on the same misconception of reality, the only reference being oneself: in the first case, we imagine everyone else has lived our life, while in the second, we long to recapture our past identity through people who are frozen in time, whose features are the same as when we last saw them.鈥�
She tells us that she decided to write this book when her mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer鈥檚, seeing that people she knew were becoming strangers. She says she wanted to take a closer look at strangers she encountered in her own world, to see what they might offer her.
December 10, 2022
Ernaux Season. Day 6.
Ernaux capturing her surroundings in mini paragraphs makes me want to do the same.
The train crawls along, as the autumn conditions in Toronto necessitate caution when navigating the open-space areas of the subway track. The rays of sunshine make reading difficult. I look around the train, glancing the same old sea of faces staring at black mirrors (this is a tired description, and I鈥檓 leaving it there). A young couple by one of the window double-seats. Must be their second or third month of dating - it cannot be more than that. He grabs her hand tentatively, bringing it up to his lips and placing a tender kiss on its fingers. She giggles, throws her shoulders up to savour the moment, then looks out the window. A few more stops left for me. He looks relieved. He has defeated a vicious beast - nerves. I can鈥檛 help but take pleasure in having witnessed the building blocks of a budding romance. Will it last? I find myself thinking. Does it matter? The process, the process, the process. Over and above everything.
***
It might be the day after, it might be the same stretch of subway tracks. We stop at a station, I look up from my book. A girl walks in, and I have a chance to glimpse her profile. She turns her head slightly and I see her whole face. Innocence personified. She takes a seat a few feet away from me. I go back to reading. Once in a while, I gaze ahead, but from the corner of my eyes, I can see her. She is hunched over, looking at what she is holding in her hands, thumbs twiddling. Black mirror theme again, I assume. It鈥檚 the same series of actions carried out by all others around me. After a few paragraphs, I chance a look. She doesn鈥檛 have a phone in her hands. No. She is twirling one single bead on a wrist band. The motion is so tender, so loving. I fight back tears.
***
I showed my friend a watch I purchased the other day. Cheap watch, purchased off of Amazon. I just liked the look of it. I was tired of wearing the same couple over and over again, but I didn鈥檛 want to blow the bank on something extravagant. I was excited to show him the watch, because he had told me that cheap watches can be bought and worn, can be fashion statements despite their price. If it looks good, he had told me, then it looks good. He saw the watch, saw that it was Amazon-branded and purchased from them. He started to get testy, heated. I probed. He told me that he thought I was trying to goad him into a reaction by showing him the watch and its manufacturer, having previously known his political stance and general affiliation with the company. The lenses of narcissism have thickened for everyone. A simple act of joy turned vicious, having unsuspectingly intruded on a personal bubble of creed. This is my friend, I thought. Imagine what it could be like for perfect strangers.
***
The first year of my studies as a graduate student comes to me. The basement was new, most of my cohort had offices on this level. The maze was a challenge. There was a small hit of pride every time I would remember that someone鈥檚 office was B_ _ _. I was bedding myself into the atmosphere, we all were. Today I鈥檓 alone. Same office, same place, same basement. Same smells, same maze. Everything is different. I find myself turning the corner, hoping to run into someone I spoke to a few years ago, just to have the chance to strike up a conversation that will bring us back to those days. We鈥檙e all different.
***
I am thinking about attraction tonight. I鈥檝e been open to it again, these past few months. Let it back into my life. I take a long walk with a friend. Years ago, we used to be something. She tells me about her boyfriend, how they鈥檙e going strong. I feel nothing but joy for her. I tell her about a girl. She鈥檚 excited, wants to know more. We had grabbed coffee, had a chat, gazed into each other鈥檚 eyes. That was it. Really. She seems disappointed. You didn鈥檛 do anything? Text her? Ask her out again? Make a move? No. I hadn鈥檛 felt the attraction, I lie. Why do I lie? I want her to stop bringing it down to the practical, to the physical, for one second. I hadn鈥檛 texted her again, but I might just do so. We had gazed into each other鈥檚 eyes for as long as 20, 30 seconds. I need to process that.
***
These are some things I jotted down when I was reading the book. I can鈥檛 come close to capturing what I see and how I feel like Ernaux, but I find that I need to write something down. Endlessly stimulating author.
Quotes:
鈥淎ll storytelling operates along the same lines as eroticism.鈥�
鈥淚 realize that I am forever combing reality for signs of literature.鈥�
Ernaux capturing her surroundings in mini paragraphs makes me want to do the same.
The train crawls along, as the autumn conditions in Toronto necessitate caution when navigating the open-space areas of the subway track. The rays of sunshine make reading difficult. I look around the train, glancing the same old sea of faces staring at black mirrors (this is a tired description, and I鈥檓 leaving it there). A young couple by one of the window double-seats. Must be their second or third month of dating - it cannot be more than that. He grabs her hand tentatively, bringing it up to his lips and placing a tender kiss on its fingers. She giggles, throws her shoulders up to savour the moment, then looks out the window. A few more stops left for me. He looks relieved. He has defeated a vicious beast - nerves. I can鈥檛 help but take pleasure in having witnessed the building blocks of a budding romance. Will it last? I find myself thinking. Does it matter? The process, the process, the process. Over and above everything.
***
It might be the day after, it might be the same stretch of subway tracks. We stop at a station, I look up from my book. A girl walks in, and I have a chance to glimpse her profile. She turns her head slightly and I see her whole face. Innocence personified. She takes a seat a few feet away from me. I go back to reading. Once in a while, I gaze ahead, but from the corner of my eyes, I can see her. She is hunched over, looking at what she is holding in her hands, thumbs twiddling. Black mirror theme again, I assume. It鈥檚 the same series of actions carried out by all others around me. After a few paragraphs, I chance a look. She doesn鈥檛 have a phone in her hands. No. She is twirling one single bead on a wrist band. The motion is so tender, so loving. I fight back tears.
***
I showed my friend a watch I purchased the other day. Cheap watch, purchased off of Amazon. I just liked the look of it. I was tired of wearing the same couple over and over again, but I didn鈥檛 want to blow the bank on something extravagant. I was excited to show him the watch, because he had told me that cheap watches can be bought and worn, can be fashion statements despite their price. If it looks good, he had told me, then it looks good. He saw the watch, saw that it was Amazon-branded and purchased from them. He started to get testy, heated. I probed. He told me that he thought I was trying to goad him into a reaction by showing him the watch and its manufacturer, having previously known his political stance and general affiliation with the company. The lenses of narcissism have thickened for everyone. A simple act of joy turned vicious, having unsuspectingly intruded on a personal bubble of creed. This is my friend, I thought. Imagine what it could be like for perfect strangers.
***
The first year of my studies as a graduate student comes to me. The basement was new, most of my cohort had offices on this level. The maze was a challenge. There was a small hit of pride every time I would remember that someone鈥檚 office was B_ _ _. I was bedding myself into the atmosphere, we all were. Today I鈥檓 alone. Same office, same place, same basement. Same smells, same maze. Everything is different. I find myself turning the corner, hoping to run into someone I spoke to a few years ago, just to have the chance to strike up a conversation that will bring us back to those days. We鈥檙e all different.
***
I am thinking about attraction tonight. I鈥檝e been open to it again, these past few months. Let it back into my life. I take a long walk with a friend. Years ago, we used to be something. She tells me about her boyfriend, how they鈥檙e going strong. I feel nothing but joy for her. I tell her about a girl. She鈥檚 excited, wants to know more. We had grabbed coffee, had a chat, gazed into each other鈥檚 eyes. That was it. Really. She seems disappointed. You didn鈥檛 do anything? Text her? Ask her out again? Make a move? No. I hadn鈥檛 felt the attraction, I lie. Why do I lie? I want her to stop bringing it down to the practical, to the physical, for one second. I hadn鈥檛 texted her again, but I might just do so. We had gazed into each other鈥檚 eyes for as long as 20, 30 seconds. I need to process that.
***
These are some things I jotted down when I was reading the book. I can鈥檛 come close to capturing what I see and how I feel like Ernaux, but I find that I need to write something down. Endlessly stimulating author.
Quotes:
鈥淎ll storytelling operates along the same lines as eroticism.鈥�
鈥淚 realize that I am forever combing reality for signs of literature.鈥�
November 25, 2024
# nonfictionnovember 2024
3,5*
I realize that I am forever combing reality for signs of literature.
Quase duas d茅cadas antes de receber o Pr茅mio Nobel da Literatura, Annie Ernaux j谩 tinha o privil茅gio de ter algu茅m interessado em publicar um conjunto de instant芒neos que pouco mais s茫o dos que observa莽玫es daquilo que v锚 e ouve na rua, nos transportes p煤blicos, em estabelecimentos comerciais e na comunica莽茫o social. Se s茫o interessantes para o leitor, 茅 como tudo, depende do que 茅 contado, de como 茅 contado e quais as ila莽玫es que a autora e/ou o leitor tira de cada epis贸dio, que constituem entradas dos seus 诲颈谩谤颈辞s entre 1985 e 1992.
So it is outside my own life that my past existence lies: in passengers commuting on the M茅tro or the RER; in shoppers glimpsed on escalators at Auchan or in the Galeries Lafayette; in complete strangers who cannot know that they possess part of my story; in faces and bodies which I shall never see again. In the same way, I myself, anonymous among the bustling crowds on streets and in department stores, must secretly play a role in the lives of others.
Um dos momentos dignos de nota 茅 Ernaux a ser Ernaux, mais uma vez a salientar a utiliza莽茫o da primeira pessoa do singular nas suas obras memorialistas:
I bought a copy of Marie-Claire at the station in the New Town. This month鈥檚 horoscope: 鈥榊ou will meet a wonderful man.鈥� Throughout the day I wondered whether each man I spoke to was the one they meant. (By choosing to write in the first person, I am laying myself open to criticism, which would not have been the case had I written 鈥榮he wondered if each man she spoke to was the one they meant.鈥� The third person 鈥� he/she 鈥� is always somebody else, free to do whatever they choose. 鈥業鈥� refers to oneself, the reader, and it is inconceivable, or unthinkable, for me to read my own horoscope and behave like some mushy schoolgirl. 鈥業鈥� shames the reader.)
Ou a dar uma das suas estocadas feministas:
鈥楪o home!鈥� the man tells his dog; it slinks away, submissive, guilty. The same expression used throughout history for children, women and dogs.
Ou a comentar as alegrias do conv铆vio nos transportes p煤blicos:
He got on at Ach猫res-Ville 鈥� twenty, maybe twenty-five years old. He settles across two seats, his legs stretched out, sideways. From his pocket he extracts a pair of nail clippers and uses them, contemplating the beauty obtained after treating each finger, extending his hand in front of him. The passengers around him pretend not to notice. It seems to be the first time he has owned a pair of nail clippers. Insolently happy. Nobody can mar his happiness, the happiness of a man with 鈥� as the expressions of those around him suggest 鈥� bad manners.
No meio de v谩rios ocorr锚ncias mundanas, daquelas que acontecem basicamente a toda a gente em alguma altura da vida, guardo duas reflex玫es not谩veis.
It鈥檚 only natural to throw away paper wrappings and cans in this wild setting; to reclaim one鈥檚 traces is the sign of a civilized superego.
Yet the very starkness and paucity of music allow me to recall a whole episode of my life and the girl I used to be when I listen to 鈥業鈥檓 Just a Dancing Partner鈥� thirty years later. Whereas the beauty and fullness of 鈥楾he Beautiful Summer鈥� and 鈥業n Search of Lost Time鈥�, which I have reread two or three times, can never give me back my life.
3,5*
I realize that I am forever combing reality for signs of literature.
Quase duas d茅cadas antes de receber o Pr茅mio Nobel da Literatura, Annie Ernaux j谩 tinha o privil茅gio de ter algu茅m interessado em publicar um conjunto de instant芒neos que pouco mais s茫o dos que observa莽玫es daquilo que v锚 e ouve na rua, nos transportes p煤blicos, em estabelecimentos comerciais e na comunica莽茫o social. Se s茫o interessantes para o leitor, 茅 como tudo, depende do que 茅 contado, de como 茅 contado e quais as ila莽玫es que a autora e/ou o leitor tira de cada epis贸dio, que constituem entradas dos seus 诲颈谩谤颈辞s entre 1985 e 1992.
So it is outside my own life that my past existence lies: in passengers commuting on the M茅tro or the RER; in shoppers glimpsed on escalators at Auchan or in the Galeries Lafayette; in complete strangers who cannot know that they possess part of my story; in faces and bodies which I shall never see again. In the same way, I myself, anonymous among the bustling crowds on streets and in department stores, must secretly play a role in the lives of others.
Um dos momentos dignos de nota 茅 Ernaux a ser Ernaux, mais uma vez a salientar a utiliza莽茫o da primeira pessoa do singular nas suas obras memorialistas:
I bought a copy of Marie-Claire at the station in the New Town. This month鈥檚 horoscope: 鈥榊ou will meet a wonderful man.鈥� Throughout the day I wondered whether each man I spoke to was the one they meant. (By choosing to write in the first person, I am laying myself open to criticism, which would not have been the case had I written 鈥榮he wondered if each man she spoke to was the one they meant.鈥� The third person 鈥� he/she 鈥� is always somebody else, free to do whatever they choose. 鈥業鈥� refers to oneself, the reader, and it is inconceivable, or unthinkable, for me to read my own horoscope and behave like some mushy schoolgirl. 鈥業鈥� shames the reader.)
Ou a dar uma das suas estocadas feministas:
鈥楪o home!鈥� the man tells his dog; it slinks away, submissive, guilty. The same expression used throughout history for children, women and dogs.
Ou a comentar as alegrias do conv铆vio nos transportes p煤blicos:
He got on at Ach猫res-Ville 鈥� twenty, maybe twenty-five years old. He settles across two seats, his legs stretched out, sideways. From his pocket he extracts a pair of nail clippers and uses them, contemplating the beauty obtained after treating each finger, extending his hand in front of him. The passengers around him pretend not to notice. It seems to be the first time he has owned a pair of nail clippers. Insolently happy. Nobody can mar his happiness, the happiness of a man with 鈥� as the expressions of those around him suggest 鈥� bad manners.
No meio de v谩rios ocorr锚ncias mundanas, daquelas que acontecem basicamente a toda a gente em alguma altura da vida, guardo duas reflex玫es not谩veis.
It鈥檚 only natural to throw away paper wrappings and cans in this wild setting; to reclaim one鈥檚 traces is the sign of a civilized superego.
Yet the very starkness and paucity of music allow me to recall a whole episode of my life and the girl I used to be when I listen to 鈥業鈥檓 Just a Dancing Partner鈥� thirty years later. Whereas the beauty and fullness of 鈥楾he Beautiful Summer鈥� and 鈥業n Search of Lost Time鈥�, which I have reread two or three times, can never give me back my life.
October 11, 2022
We must get you a cat. All writers have cats. (...) So writing is not enough; there need to be external signs, material evidence to define what a 'real' writer is. Yet these signs are available to all of us." Annie Ernaux
Mais um livro de Annie Ernaux que estive a ler apaixonado. Desta feita um pequeno "tratado" de geografia e sociologia urbana. A partir de textos curtos, num registo algo diar铆stico, Ernaux apresenta-no o quotidiano do sub煤rbio de Paris onde vive faz mais de trinta anos.
Nos peda莽os de uma prosa simples, mas acutilante, reflecte sobre a condi莽茫o urbana na contemporaneidade de uma metr贸pole europeia, mas tamb茅m sobre a sua condi莽茫o enquanto mulher e enquanto escritora.
Mais um livro de Annie Ernaux que estive a ler apaixonado. Desta feita um pequeno "tratado" de geografia e sociologia urbana. A partir de textos curtos, num registo algo diar铆stico, Ernaux apresenta-no o quotidiano do sub煤rbio de Paris onde vive faz mais de trinta anos.
Nos peda莽os de uma prosa simples, mas acutilante, reflecte sobre a condi莽茫o urbana na contemporaneidade de uma metr贸pole europeia, mas tamb茅m sobre a sua condi莽茫o enquanto mulher e enquanto escritora.
December 6, 2021
This is a pleasant little book (74 pages!) describing various people the French author Annie Ernaux witnessed (usually on the metro) from 1985 to 1992. Or, as the author herself puts it, "anonymous figures glimpsed in the M茅tro or in waiting rooms ... who revive our memory and reveal our true selves through the interest, the anger or the shame that they send rippling through us."
"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 鈥� as the author noted above 鈥� us, than the word "exteriors" may suggest.
"Exteriors" also gives us a look into Ernaux's writing process, and the way literature so completely engages her mind 鈥斕齭omething I found both enviable and amusing.
By describing encounters that last as little as three lines, and rarely more than a dozen, this is the perfect companion to your own trip on the metro, something to take with you to the store where you might be able to snatch an encounter or two in the checkout line.
This is the second or third book I've read by Ernaux, who seems to be a favorite of the British publisher Fitzcarraldo Editions, and it's easily the most enjoyable one I've read so far. 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.
"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 鈥� as the author noted above 鈥� us, than the word "exteriors" may suggest.
"Exteriors" also gives us a look into Ernaux's writing process, and the way literature so completely engages her mind 鈥斕齭omething I found both enviable and amusing.
By describing encounters that last as little as three lines, and rarely more than a dozen, this is the perfect companion to your own trip on the metro, something to take with you to the store where you might be able to snatch an encounter or two in the checkout line.
This is the second or third book I've read by Ernaux, who seems to be a favorite of the British publisher Fitzcarraldo Editions, and it's easily the most enjoyable one I've read so far. 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.
November 27, 2021
"I realize that I am forever combing reality for signs of literature."
March 28, 2024
Whether we are on a commute or having a coffee or even a small rest outside, I think it is inevitable that we start people watching. In my case, although I bring a novel everywhere I go, I will put the book down and observe, never judge but observe.
This makes me wonder why we do it? are we hoping that said person will indulge in a peculiar habit? maybe we want to talk to them or too shy. If one commutes, one sees the same people from inside the vehicle and outside. When there鈥檚 a shared route one does notice that tiny little details of said people start to emerge.
Annie Ernaux鈥檚 Exteriors is precisely a 70 page people watching exercise. From her train commute Ernaux notes the people she sees; their eccentricities, strange happenings. These observations range from mildly humorous to tragic.
In lesser hands this would be a boring exercise but the outcome is rather interesting, mainly it鈥檚 because Annie Ernaux usually writes about herself and this is the first time I鈥檝e read a book by her where she is positioning herself as an observer. This time the narrative is not personal and yet Ernaux notices that all these people, be it a homeless man or little girl are still participating in her life. However, Ernaux is a bystander.
To date, all the Annie Ernaux books I have read are like a puzzle as they focus on different aspects of her life. Exteriors is a bit different for the reasons explained above. However, it鈥檚 also the first time Ernaux is on the side of a reader. Reading itself is a voyeuristic act and with Exteriors Annie Ernaux is playing the role of a ogler, just like us. This reader alliance displays another side of Annie Ernaux and, although Exteriors is brief, it is a snapshot as her versatility as a writer.
This makes me wonder why we do it? are we hoping that said person will indulge in a peculiar habit? maybe we want to talk to them or too shy. If one commutes, one sees the same people from inside the vehicle and outside. When there鈥檚 a shared route one does notice that tiny little details of said people start to emerge.
Annie Ernaux鈥檚 Exteriors is precisely a 70 page people watching exercise. From her train commute Ernaux notes the people she sees; their eccentricities, strange happenings. These observations range from mildly humorous to tragic.
In lesser hands this would be a boring exercise but the outcome is rather interesting, mainly it鈥檚 because Annie Ernaux usually writes about herself and this is the first time I鈥檝e read a book by her where she is positioning herself as an observer. This time the narrative is not personal and yet Ernaux notices that all these people, be it a homeless man or little girl are still participating in her life. However, Ernaux is a bystander.
To date, all the Annie Ernaux books I have read are like a puzzle as they focus on different aspects of her life. Exteriors is a bit different for the reasons explained above. However, it鈥檚 also the first time Ernaux is on the side of a reader. Reading itself is a voyeuristic act and with Exteriors Annie Ernaux is playing the role of a ogler, just like us. This reader alliance displays another side of Annie Ernaux and, although Exteriors is brief, it is a snapshot as her versatility as a writer.
November 28, 2021
I love reading diaries and diary-like things, and especially if they鈥檙e Annie Ernaux鈥檚.
鈥淢y reaction confirms a well-known truth: we believe, because we stop using them, that certain words have disappeared or that poverty has ceased to exist now that we earn a living. Strangely enough, there exists another truth, the exact opposite: when we go back to a town we left a long time ago, we imagine that the people there will still be the same, unchanged. Both laws rely on the same misconception of reality, the only reference being oneself: in the first case, we imagine everyone else has lived our life, while in the second, we long to recapture our past identity through people who are frozen in time, whose features are the same as when we last saw them.鈥�
鈥淢y reaction confirms a well-known truth: we believe, because we stop using them, that certain words have disappeared or that poverty has ceased to exist now that we earn a living. Strangely enough, there exists another truth, the exact opposite: when we go back to a town we left a long time ago, we imagine that the people there will still be the same, unchanged. Both laws rely on the same misconception of reality, the only reference being oneself: in the first case, we imagine everyone else has lived our life, while in the second, we long to recapture our past identity through people who are frozen in time, whose features are the same as when we last saw them.鈥�
November 20, 2022
another lovely, thought-provoking short read from ernaux! i'm diving into her more explicitly biographical works here, as she has a lot of works that are assembled entries from her journal which is a format i've always loved. it works extra well because ernaux is just so smart and writes in such a way that every time she talks about something, it's imbued with so much meaning that you care about it immediately, no matter how small it is. it builds up into this really cool portrait of paris in the late 80s, as well as giving you an idea of how ernaux views the world in an even more raw and unfiltered way than her actual prose does.
February 28, 2023
Pici k枚nyv, tele szil谩nkokkal*. Ez az els艖 - 茅s egyetlen, azt hiszem -, ami nem Ernaux 茅let茅t t谩rgyalja, noha tulajdonk茅ppen ezek a benyom谩sok is szem茅lyesek. Ha egy眉tt utaztunk volna, 谩lltunk volna sorba a hentesn茅l, biztosan m谩st vitt眉nk volna haza 茅lm茅nyk茅nt.
A napl贸szer疟s茅g 1985-t艖l 1992-ig tartalmaz bejegyz茅seket. Annie P谩rizs egyik 煤j k眉lv谩ros谩ban lakik, onnan ing谩zik P谩rizsba. Ez a nyolc 茅v az ing谩z谩snak, a bev谩s谩rl谩snak, a fodr谩szn谩l t枚lt枚tt id艖nek a t枚rt茅n茅seit 枚r枚k铆ti meg nagyr茅szt, innen sz谩rmazik az 茅lm茅nyanyag. Ernaux nem csak megfigyel 茅s r枚gz铆t, ez a gy疟jtem茅ny, ahogy a k枚nyvei nagy r茅sze (nem nyilatkozhatok mindr艖l, m茅g nem olvastam a teljes 茅letm疟vet), t谩rsadalomkritika is. Az olvas谩st feladatk茅nt eml铆t艖 fodr谩szl谩ny (v枚. mos谩s, takar铆t谩s stb.), az 谩llampolg谩rok egy r茅sz茅t lekisemberez艖 k枚zt谩rsas谩gi eln枚k, az anyagi j贸l茅t茅t spekt谩kulumm谩 fejleszt艖 sz疟z茅rmev谩s谩rl贸 h谩zasp谩r a hentesn茅l (a szeg茅nyebb r茅teg szupermarketbe j谩r), a hajl茅ktalanok, a koldusok, a Saint-Lazare p谩lyaudvar, felf眉ggesztve az id艖ben, mind-mind irodalomm谩 l茅nyeg眉l 谩t. Ernaux meg is jegyzi, hogy noha az ehhez hasonl贸 铆r谩sfragmentumok frusztr谩lj谩k, sz眉ks茅g茅t 茅rzi r枚gz铆teni ezeket a benyom谩sokat, ugyanekkor nem sz疟nik meg irodalmat keresni a val贸s谩gban.
Hi谩ba apr贸ka a k枚nyv, nem k枚nnyen fogyaszthat贸. Izgalmas, mert 煤gy mes茅l Annie Ernauxr贸l, hogy azt a vil谩g apr贸 rebben茅sei 茅s a kr贸nik谩s ezekr艖l alkotott benyom谩sai m枚g茅 rejti, azaz egy谩ltal谩n nem szem茅lytelen. Szerettem, mert m谩s mint az autofikci贸i, 茅s egy olyan 茅letbe enged betekint茅st, amir艖l 茅n a nyolcvanas 茅vekben nem is 谩lmodhattam.
*Nem rossz meg谩llap铆t谩s - 谩llap铆tom meg, 铆gy ut贸lag, hiszen a r枚gz铆tett jelenetek j贸 r茅sze sz煤r, f谩jdalmat okoz, 茅les: fragment谩lt.
A napl贸szer疟s茅g 1985-t艖l 1992-ig tartalmaz bejegyz茅seket. Annie P谩rizs egyik 煤j k眉lv谩ros谩ban lakik, onnan ing谩zik P谩rizsba. Ez a nyolc 茅v az ing谩z谩snak, a bev谩s谩rl谩snak, a fodr谩szn谩l t枚lt枚tt id艖nek a t枚rt茅n茅seit 枚r枚k铆ti meg nagyr茅szt, innen sz谩rmazik az 茅lm茅nyanyag. Ernaux nem csak megfigyel 茅s r枚gz铆t, ez a gy疟jtem茅ny, ahogy a k枚nyvei nagy r茅sze (nem nyilatkozhatok mindr艖l, m茅g nem olvastam a teljes 茅letm疟vet), t谩rsadalomkritika is. Az olvas谩st feladatk茅nt eml铆t艖 fodr谩szl谩ny (v枚. mos谩s, takar铆t谩s stb.), az 谩llampolg谩rok egy r茅sz茅t lekisemberez艖 k枚zt谩rsas谩gi eln枚k, az anyagi j贸l茅t茅t spekt谩kulumm谩 fejleszt艖 sz疟z茅rmev谩s谩rl贸 h谩zasp谩r a hentesn茅l (a szeg茅nyebb r茅teg szupermarketbe j谩r), a hajl茅ktalanok, a koldusok, a Saint-Lazare p谩lyaudvar, felf眉ggesztve az id艖ben, mind-mind irodalomm谩 l茅nyeg眉l 谩t. Ernaux meg is jegyzi, hogy noha az ehhez hasonl贸 铆r谩sfragmentumok frusztr谩lj谩k, sz眉ks茅g茅t 茅rzi r枚gz铆teni ezeket a benyom谩sokat, ugyanekkor nem sz疟nik meg irodalmat keresni a val贸s谩gban.
Hi谩ba apr贸ka a k枚nyv, nem k枚nnyen fogyaszthat贸. Izgalmas, mert 煤gy mes茅l Annie Ernauxr贸l, hogy azt a vil谩g apr贸 rebben茅sei 茅s a kr贸nik谩s ezekr艖l alkotott benyom谩sai m枚g茅 rejti, azaz egy谩ltal谩n nem szem茅lytelen. Szerettem, mert m谩s mint az autofikci贸i, 茅s egy olyan 茅letbe enged betekint茅st, amir艖l 茅n a nyolcvanas 茅vekben nem is 谩lmodhattam.
*Nem rossz meg谩llap铆t谩s - 谩llap铆tom meg, 铆gy ut贸lag, hiszen a r枚gz铆tett jelenetek j贸 r茅sze sz煤r, f谩jdalmat okoz, 茅les: fragment谩lt.
January 11, 2023
Kiek kitokia Annie Ernaux. Nebe autofikcija, bet aplinkos steb臈jimas. Pavadinimas labai taiklus. Es臈 sunku pavadinti, labiau 1985-1992 met懦 kasdienyb臈s pasteb臈jimai.
February 13, 2015
She is obviously not indifferent or oblivious to people she sees on her daily commute, in the train, on the platform, in the supermarket, or browsing the lingerie store. And she recognizes these souls as participants in her life just as she is present in theirs. I do like the smart and courageous writing of Annie Ernaux, but I could have taken a pass from reading these snippets taken from her journal and never felt anything missing from my life. It was just one, of many, pleasant walks taken in something resembling an Olmstead designed park.
November 30, 2007
after picking this up in france to read in on my own, i realized what a great resource for teaching culture and writing to french students it is. i've read it over and over since.
May 8, 2023
To jak czytanie jej ma艂ego notesu, kt贸ry zawsze nosi ze sob膮. Kr贸tkie zapiski, notatki z obserwacji ludzi. Po co je pisze? Poniewa偶 to daje jej iluzj臋 blisko艣ci z innymi i pozwala si臋 zastanowi膰 nad tym jakie emocje w niej wywo艂uj膮.
February 18, 2024
Exteriors - Annie Ernaux
卮匕乇丕鬲 毓賳 兀賷丕賲 毓丕丿賷丞 賵丕爻鬲睾乇丕賯 賮賷 鬲兀賲賱 丕賱賮囟丕亍 丕賱毓丕賲貨 丕賱卮賵乇丕毓 賵丕賱賲丨賱丕鬲 丕賱鬲噩丕乇賷丞 賵丕賱丕爻鬲賲丕毓 賱兀丨丕丿賷孬 丕賱睾乇亘丕亍 賮賷 丕賱賲賵丕氐賱丕鬲 丕賱毓丕賲丞貙 賵賲賵丕賯賮 賷賵賲賷丞 毓丕丿賷賾丞 賱賱睾丕賷丞 賵賳馗乇丞 毓賱賶 賳卮乇丕鬲 丕賱兀禺亘丕乇 賵丕賱氐丨賮 賵兀丨賷丕賳賸丕 丕賱鬲噩賵賱 亘賷賳 丕賱賱賵丨丕鬲 賮賷 丕賱賲鬲丕丨賮 賵丕賱賲毓丕乇囟.
賰鬲亘鬲 丌賳賷 廿乇賳賵 賴匕賴 丕賱卮匕乇丕鬲 亘賷賳 1986賲 賵1992賲貙 賵賴匕賴 卮匕乇丕鬲 禺賮賷賮丞 賵賲賳毓卮丞 毓賰爻 賰孬賷乇 賲賳 賰鬲丕亘丕鬲賴丕 賮賷 鬲賱賰 丕賱賮鬲乇丞 .
~
賮噩乇 賷賵賲 丕賱廿孬賳賷賳 丕賱鬲丕爻毓 賲賳 卮毓亘丕賳 - 1445 賴賭.
卮匕乇丕鬲 毓賳 兀賷丕賲 毓丕丿賷丞 賵丕爻鬲睾乇丕賯 賮賷 鬲兀賲賱 丕賱賮囟丕亍 丕賱毓丕賲貨 丕賱卮賵乇丕毓 賵丕賱賲丨賱丕鬲 丕賱鬲噩丕乇賷丞 賵丕賱丕爻鬲賲丕毓 賱兀丨丕丿賷孬 丕賱睾乇亘丕亍 賮賷 丕賱賲賵丕氐賱丕鬲 丕賱毓丕賲丞貙 賵賲賵丕賯賮 賷賵賲賷丞 毓丕丿賷賾丞 賱賱睾丕賷丞 賵賳馗乇丞 毓賱賶 賳卮乇丕鬲 丕賱兀禺亘丕乇 賵丕賱氐丨賮 賵兀丨賷丕賳賸丕 丕賱鬲噩賵賱 亘賷賳 丕賱賱賵丨丕鬲 賮賷 丕賱賲鬲丕丨賮 賵丕賱賲毓丕乇囟.
賰鬲亘鬲 丌賳賷 廿乇賳賵 賴匕賴 丕賱卮匕乇丕鬲 亘賷賳 1986賲 賵1992賲貙 賵賴匕賴 卮匕乇丕鬲 禺賮賷賮丞 賵賲賳毓卮丞 毓賰爻 賰孬賷乇 賲賳 賰鬲丕亘丕鬲賴丕 賮賷 鬲賱賰 丕賱賮鬲乇丞 .
~
賮噩乇 賷賵賲 丕賱廿孬賳賷賳 丕賱鬲丕爻毓 賲賳 卮毓亘丕賳 - 1445 賴賭.
November 9, 2021
My Ernaux odyssey continues with the latest republication by the UK publisher Fitzcarraldo Editions. Exteriors was first published in French in 1993 and in English in 1996. It takes the form of random journal entries between 1985 and 1992. I don鈥檛 think those years have any especial significance once you know when this was first published.
The observations by the author don鈥檛 form a narrative; they are unlinked, other than that they reveal something about the character, personality and obsessions of the writer. They are the briefest of vignettes, often observations on the train or at one or other of the various supermarkets she visits.
One of the key observations, which Ernaux makes in the introduction, is that for twenty years she has lived in Cergy-Pontoise, a new town forty kilometres outside Paris. It is a 鈥減lace bereft of memories鈥�, widely spread and with undefined boundaries. A no-man鈥檚 land. This made her listen closely to the conversations on the trains and in the supermarkets. Her attempt to convey the reality of an epoch. The most interesting moments are the contempt a customer shows for a cashier, or the interactions with a man begging for money.
It was only after recording all these observations and evesdroppings that she became aware of how much of herself was included in the conversations of others. Revealing her own interest, anger or shame.
It is the shortest of books, beginning on page 11 and ending on page 74. Here are my highlight passages, which stood out from the rest and made me stop and think deeper.
From 1988
And finally, this highly prophetic observation from 1987:
Not my favourite Ernaux, I must admit, but as always fascinating. In the way the others have constructed 鈥淔ound鈥� novels from items on the Internet or social media, Ernaux was doing the same decades earlier, from real life.
The observations by the author don鈥檛 form a narrative; they are unlinked, other than that they reveal something about the character, personality and obsessions of the writer. They are the briefest of vignettes, often observations on the train or at one or other of the various supermarkets she visits.
One of the key observations, which Ernaux makes in the introduction, is that for twenty years she has lived in Cergy-Pontoise, a new town forty kilometres outside Paris. It is a 鈥減lace bereft of memories鈥�, widely spread and with undefined boundaries. A no-man鈥檚 land. This made her listen closely to the conversations on the trains and in the supermarkets. Her attempt to convey the reality of an epoch. The most interesting moments are the contempt a customer shows for a cashier, or the interactions with a man begging for money.
It was only after recording all these observations and evesdroppings that she became aware of how much of herself was included in the conversations of others. Revealing her own interest, anger or shame.
It is the shortest of books, beginning on page 11 and ending on page 74. Here are my highlight passages, which stood out from the rest and made me stop and think deeper.
From 1988
I realise that there are two ways of dealing with real facts. One can either relate them in detail, exposing their stark, immediate nature, outside of any narrative form, or else save them for future reference, 鈥榤aking use鈥� of them by incorporating them into an ensemble (a novel, for instance). Fragments of writing, like the ones in this book, arouse in me a feeling of frustration. I need to become involved in a lengthy, structured process (unaffected by chance events and meetings). Yet at the same time I have this need to record scenes glimpsed on the RER, and people鈥檚 words and gestures simply for their own sake, without any ulterior motive.
Go home! The man tells his dog; it slinks away, submissive, guilty. The same expressions used throughout history for children, women and dogs.
Saint-Lazare station, on a Saturday: a couple are waiting in line for a taxi. She looks lost and leans on him for support. He keeps repeating: 鈥淵ou鈥檒l see when I鈥檓 dead.鈥� Then 鈥淚 want to be burned, you know, I want to be burned from head to toe. I don鈥檛 want to go into that thing. It鈥檚 horrible, that thing.鈥� He clutches her to his chest; she is panicked.
I am visited by people and their lives 鈥� like a whore.
From 1987
On a sunny day like today, the seams of buildings lacerate the sky, the glass surfaces radiate light. I have lived in the New Town for twelve years, yet I still don鈥檛 know what it looks like. I am unable to describe it, not knowing where it begins or ends; I always drive through it. I can only write down, 鈥淚 went to the Leclerc hypermarket (or to the Trois-Fontaines shopping centre, to the Franprix in Les Linandes, etc), I turned back on to the motorway, the sky was purple beyond the Marcouville high-rise (or on the 3M Minnesota fa莽ade).鈥� No description, no story either. Just moments in time, chance meetings. Ethnowriting.
And finally, this highly prophetic observation from 1987:
A woman鈥檚 voice, through the loudspeaker, explains the history of April Fools鈥� Day. Then it announces that today there鈥檚 a special on aperitifs and hi-fi equipment. The hypermarket may want to enlighten customers and show that it can play an educational role, or else it鈥檚 a commercial ploy to lessen the onslaught of advertising. I n a few years from now, in the middle of hypermarkets, we shall probably see cinema screens, promotional lectures on painting or literature, maybe even lessons on computers. A sort of peep-show corner.
Not my favourite Ernaux, I must admit, but as always fascinating. In the way the others have constructed 鈥淔ound鈥� novels from items on the Internet or social media, Ernaux was doing the same decades earlier, from real life.
Read
April 26, 2023In which she records fragments of other voices, other bodies, appearances. Rather than 鈥渘ovelize鈥�, she鈥檚 doing phenomenological field recordings鈥攚hich is interesting when you consider this immediacy as the life of direct experience in between major events. This is a completely different mode of writing than anything else I鈥檝e read by her and is additive to her autofictive depiction across her oeuvre, perhaps essential. It adds a characterization of Ernaux as filter, as this particular filter. Another time I might take this to lack depth鈥ut I think it works.
My Ernaux reading year so far鈥�(I鈥檓 ordering by whim)
1) Simple Passion 鉁旓笍
2) Shame 鉁旓笍
3) Exteriors 鉁旓笍
4) I remain in Darkness
5) The possession
6) A frozen Woman 鉁旓笍
7) A girl鈥檚 story 鉁旓笍
8) A Man鈥檚 Place 鉁旓笍
9) A Woman鈥檚 story 鉁旓笍
10) Happening 鉁旓笍
11) The Years
12) Getting Lost
My Ernaux reading year so far鈥�(I鈥檓 ordering by whim)
1) Simple Passion 鉁旓笍
2) Shame 鉁旓笍
3) Exteriors 鉁旓笍
4) I remain in Darkness
5) The possession
6) A frozen Woman 鉁旓笍
7) A girl鈥檚 story 鉁旓笍
8) A Man鈥檚 Place 鉁旓笍
9) A Woman鈥檚 story 鉁旓笍
10) Happening 鉁旓笍
11) The Years
12) Getting Lost
November 27, 2022
I am not French enough for this. I love Annie Ernaux, and the writing is, as always, sublime, but this collection of observations about the suburb of Paris in which she lives, bored me to tears.
June 10, 2023
What a beautiful book :)
February 20, 2023
i absolutely loved these journal entries (which may or may not be related to the fact that i myself have been making a note of such snapshots for as long as i can remember). i also love how ernaux admits that she has put much more of herself into this book than planned, since "memories and obsessions subconsciously dictating my choice of words and the scenes i wished to freeze". more, please!
November 26, 2022
Beautifully written and really liked certain observations but sadly found a lot of it quite boring
October 5, 2023
Of all of Annie Ernaux鈥檚 books that I have read (I am about halfway through Annie Ernaux: The Unboxed Set comprising 12 books), I venture to say Exteriors might be her most self-indulgent. I say that because it seems as if she wrote this book primarily to sustain the edge of her wonderful restrained, understated style of writing. It鈥檚 sort of doing some practices, or drills.
At one point in her life, Ernaux moved to a 鈥渘ew town鈥� on the outskirts of Paris, and since it was a place with no history so far, she began keeping a journal to record history in the making. She includes selected entries from 1985 to 1992, some only a few sentences, some page length. Ernaux wanted to capture images with the eye of a photographer, and then translate those captured images into her more familiar medium, the written word.
The move to the new town made Ernaux a commuter, so a rich and readymade source for her sharp observations was the R茅seau Express R茅gional, the transit system that served Paris and its suburbs. Ernaux鈥檚 journal entries were not all from the train; many different Paris destinations afforded her opportunities to talk about shops and stores and other commercial outlets, not to mention academic institutions, cathedrals, and places of entertainment.
Thus, for me, the enjoyment of Exteriors was to have in my hands an example of a writer honing her craft. Ernaux鈥檚 observations are nothing if not exact, accurate, and faithful; they are as detailed as they are non-judgmental. But ultimately, they are moments in time, movements captured and made static by words. What would be of passing interest is if Ernaux waited a decade or two for the new town to 鈥済row old,鈥� and then repeated the exercise.
It's easy for daily commuting and its related experiences to become boringly repetitive and uninteresting. But after reading Exteriors, I鈥檓 determined to borrow Ernaux鈥檚 lens and find variety and diversity in seeming sameness
At one point in her life, Ernaux moved to a 鈥渘ew town鈥� on the outskirts of Paris, and since it was a place with no history so far, she began keeping a journal to record history in the making. She includes selected entries from 1985 to 1992, some only a few sentences, some page length. Ernaux wanted to capture images with the eye of a photographer, and then translate those captured images into her more familiar medium, the written word.
The move to the new town made Ernaux a commuter, so a rich and readymade source for her sharp observations was the R茅seau Express R茅gional, the transit system that served Paris and its suburbs. Ernaux鈥檚 journal entries were not all from the train; many different Paris destinations afforded her opportunities to talk about shops and stores and other commercial outlets, not to mention academic institutions, cathedrals, and places of entertainment.
Thus, for me, the enjoyment of Exteriors was to have in my hands an example of a writer honing her craft. Ernaux鈥檚 observations are nothing if not exact, accurate, and faithful; they are as detailed as they are non-judgmental. But ultimately, they are moments in time, movements captured and made static by words. What would be of passing interest is if Ernaux waited a decade or two for the new town to 鈥済row old,鈥� and then repeated the exercise.
It's easy for daily commuting and its related experiences to become boringly repetitive and uninteresting. But after reading Exteriors, I鈥檓 determined to borrow Ernaux鈥檚 lens and find variety and diversity in seeming sameness
December 2, 2021
Thanks to @fitzcarraldoeditions
for sending this.
Annie Ernaux reminds me of Joan Didion. Writing that is confessional, possesses the hunt for clarity, quirky observations, and wit that stays with the reader till the end.
My liking for Fitzcarraldo books started with Minor Detail. From being fascinated by the prose to touching the pages delicately, admiring the typeset with my fingers, and looking for more minimalism, I ventured into another work鈥攕hort yet impactful, insightful, and a perfect addition to my library.
I ate EXTERIORS in a day. Sometimes a book is so delicious, one cannot help devour it.
Ernaux, in this collection of journal entries, writes with sheer vulnerability.
For writers to write with vulnerability is scarier than anything I can think of right now. That is why I read poetry, as the dilemma of what it conceals or shows never ends.
Reading Ernaux, I was reminded of how the pathway to owning the surrounding around us by putting the observations in a tabloid is a very indirect way of knowing ourselves.
"What is it I am desperately seeking in reality? Is it meaning? 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'."
Meditating on myth and morality. First-person and second-person in writing (the former shames the reader- she adds). Pressing on the importance of the connection between a painting and its description, Ernaux鈥攖o me it seems鈥攚rote without fear, which is one of the most critical qualities of a writer.
And she sure as hell was one.
for sending this.
Annie Ernaux reminds me of Joan Didion. Writing that is confessional, possesses the hunt for clarity, quirky observations, and wit that stays with the reader till the end.
My liking for Fitzcarraldo books started with Minor Detail. From being fascinated by the prose to touching the pages delicately, admiring the typeset with my fingers, and looking for more minimalism, I ventured into another work鈥攕hort yet impactful, insightful, and a perfect addition to my library.
I ate EXTERIORS in a day. Sometimes a book is so delicious, one cannot help devour it.
Ernaux, in this collection of journal entries, writes with sheer vulnerability.
For writers to write with vulnerability is scarier than anything I can think of right now. That is why I read poetry, as the dilemma of what it conceals or shows never ends.
Reading Ernaux, I was reminded of how the pathway to owning the surrounding around us by putting the observations in a tabloid is a very indirect way of knowing ourselves.
"What is it I am desperately seeking in reality? Is it meaning? 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'."
Meditating on myth and morality. First-person and second-person in writing (the former shames the reader- she adds). Pressing on the importance of the connection between a painting and its description, Ernaux鈥攖o me it seems鈥攚rote without fear, which is one of the most critical qualities of a writer.
And she sure as hell was one.
February 12, 2023
The book every urban commuter wishes she would have written. Glimpses, scenes, and pieces of overheard dialogues from Ernaux's life as she commutes from her home on the outskirts of Paris to the capital itself, walks the city, and goes to the supermarket(s). As a keen observer of people on public transportation, I found it fantastic. Somehow something is made out of nothing. And tied together with the beautiful idea of our own life being projected on strangers, of seeking and getting a deeper understanding of the self by being observant about others.
August 7, 2022
'The lights and clammy atmosphere of the Charles-de-Gaulle-脡toile station. Women were buying jewellery at the foot of the twin escalators. In one corridor, on the ground, in an area marked out by chalk, someone had scribbled: 'To buy food. I have no family.' But the man or woman who had written that had gone, the chalk circle was empty. People avoided walking across it.'
(p20)
(p20)
July 6, 2018
j'aurais voulu en lire davantage, je reste sur ma faim, moi qui 茅tait tr猫s impatiente de lire ce livre, j'avais d茅j脿 茅t茅 d茅莽ue en voyant sa maigre 茅paisseur au moment de l'avoir dans les mains. L'id茅e et le style me s茅duisent mais pour cette fois ce n'est pas assez pour me rassasier !!
December 25, 2020
As much as I appreciated certain observations and the matter of fact writing, I felt like the book was perhaps too short. It felt like an experiment, not quite like a finished work. Not sure why this was written or published.
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