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Mauve Desert
First published in 1987, Nicole Brossard's classic novel returns to Coach House in a new edition. A seminal text in Canadian and feminist literature, Mauve Desert is a must-read for readers and writers alike.
This is both a single novel and three separate novels in one. In the first, Mauve Desert, fifteen-year-old Mélanie drives across the Arizona desert in a white Meteor chasing fear and desire, cutting loose from her mother and her mother's lover, Lorna, in their roadside Mauve Motel. In the second book, Maudes Laures reads Mauve Desert, becomes obsessed with it, and embarks on an extraordinary quest for its mysterious author, characters and meaning. The third book � Mauve, the horizon � is Laures's eventual translation of Mauve Desert. Like all good translations, it is both the same and revealingly different from the original.
Nicole Brossard's writing is agile and inventive; from moment to moment gripping, exhilarating and erotic. Her language drifts and swells like sand dunes in a desert, cresting and accumulating into a landscape that shifts like wind and words; she translates the practice of translation, the pulse of desire.
This is both a single novel and three separate novels in one. In the first, Mauve Desert, fifteen-year-old Mélanie drives across the Arizona desert in a white Meteor chasing fear and desire, cutting loose from her mother and her mother's lover, Lorna, in their roadside Mauve Motel. In the second book, Maudes Laures reads Mauve Desert, becomes obsessed with it, and embarks on an extraordinary quest for its mysterious author, characters and meaning. The third book � Mauve, the horizon � is Laures's eventual translation of Mauve Desert. Like all good translations, it is both the same and revealingly different from the original.
Nicole Brossard's writing is agile and inventive; from moment to moment gripping, exhilarating and erotic. Her language drifts and swells like sand dunes in a desert, cresting and accumulating into a landscape that shifts like wind and words; she translates the practice of translation, the pulse of desire.
206 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1987
17 people are currently reading
1,101 people want to read
About the author
Nicole Brossard
94Ìýbooks64ÌýfollowersBorn in Montreal (Quebec), poet, novelist and essayist Nicole Brossard published her first book in 1965. In 1965 she cofounded the influential literary magazine La Barre du Jour and in 1976 she codirected the film Some American Femnists. She has published eight novels including Picture Theory, Mauve Desert, Baroque at Dawn, an essay "The Aerial Letter" and many books of poetry including Daydream Mechanics, Lovhers, Typhon dru, Installations, Musee de l'os et de l'eau. She has won the Governor General award twice for her poetry (1974, 1984) and Le Grand Prix de Poesie de la Foundation les Forges in 1989 and 1999. Le Prix Athanase-David, which is for a lifetime of literary acheivement, was attributed to her in 1991. That same year she received the The Harbourfront Festival Prize. In 1994, she was made a member of L'Academie des Lettres du Quebec. Her work has been widely translated and anthologized. Mauve Desert and Baroque at Dawn have been translated into Spanish. In 1998 she published a bilingual edition of an autofiction essay titled She would be the first sentence of my new novel/Elle serait la premiere phrase de mon prochain roman(1998). In 1989, a book of her poetry in translation, Installations, was released, translated by Erin Moure and Robert Majzels. Nicole Brossard lives in Montreal.
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May 20, 2017Nicole Brossard entered the ranks of the , a young member though she be, by the gracious hand of Ali. Québécoise, female, lesbian, feminist, metafictionist, experimentalist, postmodernist, formalist; however you parse it her demographic does not lead her to best-selling status. Mauve Desert is her most-read book here on goodreads.
“Formalist� was the word which caught my eye. Here’s the novel :: we have three sections to the novel Mauve Desert by Nicole Brossard ; the first is a novel called Mauve Desert by Laure Angstelle about a 15 year old, Melanie, driving through the desert interspersed with chapters about a man who was present at the Los Alamos atomic tests ;; the second section finds the translator, Maude Laures, overwhelmed with this novel, having been reading it for two years and finally deciding to translate it--this second section, the largest of the three, consists of her notes toward a translation-- recreating and reimagining the places & things, the characters, the scenes, and the dimensions of the novel by Angstelle ;;; the final section is the novel, Mauve, the Horizon by Laure Angstelle translated by Maude Laures. Thus we have the novel Mauve Desert three times, with Laures the translator standing in as the figure of a reader entering a novel, the work required to translate the novel from page to a mind enthralled in the reading experience.
I’m not one to speak often about an author’s prose. I don’t really know how to go about it. It seems a little like speaking of a poet’s poesy or music’s musicness; it either achieves what it sets for itself or it doesn’t; it either aspires or it expires. Nevertheless, there was something which I found cloying and a bit brittle in the sentences in this novel by Brossard. What is it exactly? I have guesses like ‘a feminine version of the muscular prose of Hemingway, as I’ve heard tell� or something similar to the mind-dimming essayism in Musil’s unpublished notes to his meisterstuck which causes the eyes to glass over or there is something extremely quotable about each and every sentence but which when finally quoted and out of context simply falls into a dust of non-grasping. So here’s a not-quite random example from the Melanie section of Angstelle’s book ::
“Formalist� was the word which caught my eye. Here’s the novel :: we have three sections to the novel Mauve Desert by Nicole Brossard ; the first is a novel called Mauve Desert by Laure Angstelle about a 15 year old, Melanie, driving through the desert interspersed with chapters about a man who was present at the Los Alamos atomic tests ;; the second section finds the translator, Maude Laures, overwhelmed with this novel, having been reading it for two years and finally deciding to translate it--this second section, the largest of the three, consists of her notes toward a translation-- recreating and reimagining the places & things, the characters, the scenes, and the dimensions of the novel by Angstelle ;;; the final section is the novel, Mauve, the Horizon by Laure Angstelle translated by Maude Laures. Thus we have the novel Mauve Desert three times, with Laures the translator standing in as the figure of a reader entering a novel, the work required to translate the novel from page to a mind enthralled in the reading experience.
I’m not one to speak often about an author’s prose. I don’t really know how to go about it. It seems a little like speaking of a poet’s poesy or music’s musicness; it either achieves what it sets for itself or it doesn’t; it either aspires or it expires. Nevertheless, there was something which I found cloying and a bit brittle in the sentences in this novel by Brossard. What is it exactly? I have guesses like ‘a feminine version of the muscular prose of Hemingway, as I’ve heard tell� or something similar to the mind-dimming essayism in Musil’s unpublished notes to his meisterstuck which causes the eyes to glass over or there is something extremely quotable about each and every sentence but which when finally quoted and out of context simply falls into a dust of non-grasping. So here’s a not-quite random example from the Melanie section of Angstelle’s book ::
I was fifteen and I’m talking about fear, for fear, one thinks about it only after the fact. Precise fear is beautiful. Perhaps it is possible after all to fantasize fear like a blind spot producing a craving for eternity, like a hollow imaginary moment leaving in the pit of the stomach a powerful sensation, a renewed effect of ardor.Now, I don’t really know what that means. It sort of falls apart and slides off the page; when I look at it my eyes start to glaze over encountering phrases like “a blind spot producing a craving for eternity.� Some folks really dig this kind of prose and I’m not about to say something about it being bad prose. I only want to suggest that whatever you make of the prose, you can’t hold Brossard responsible for it. It is, first, the words of a 15 year old who has a penchant for driving fast in the desert. Second, the words are found in a novel by someone else, namely Laure Angstelle. The remaining two sections of the novel are the responsibility, if I’ve accounted correctly for the changes of voice between first-second-third, of the translator Maude Laures. Nothing in Mauve Desert by Nicole Brossard is the responsibility of Nicole Brossard. These are other consciousnesses dwelling upon the page. It is this framing device--classically formalist--which appeals to me. The prose I can take or leave; I mean I’ll take it all, every sentence stacked high and altogether, bound into a whole, such binding and assembling being the writer’s (Brossard’s) task.
January 28, 2015
A notable property of words: loosened from the moorings of their ordinary usage and placed in unexpected, perhaps confusing, maybe even entirely ungrammatical juxtaposition, they gain much more in meaning than is lost. Forced to think outside the automated comprehension of ordinary word-use patterns, the reader must discover each word as new, considering its shape and form and potential shades of meaning. Slivers of interpretation otherwise buried beneath the weight of past use are suddenly uncovered, found to be all the more potent. Breaking language frees it. Carving a new space around every word gives it space to breath and grow in unexpected ways.
Brossard's words are like this. Apparently denying ordinary prose/poetry distinctions, Brossard forges a powerful language that flutters impressionistically, while delicately expressing great depths. Any given phrase will be initially beautiful, then cryptic, later rediscovered in full meaning. To make the most of this, there's a certain demand of re-reading. How to ensure that every reader will actually commit such time to this? An ingenious solution: the book contains the novella of Mauve Desert, twice, before and after translation by an obsessed reader whose notes compose the central third part. The structure forces the story to be read, then mulled over, then re-read in a new configuration, sometimes illuminating the earlier version, sometimes seeming to spin away in new directions instead. Of course, these discrepancies also encourage a certain flipping back and forth for comparison: another reading of the first version, affording its defamiliarized dialect another opportunity to be absorbed. Of course, the "translation" is a meaningful construct in its own right: a chance to look at the variability and subjectivity of words, meaning, understandings private and public. I say "translation" because here it is English to English. In the Quebecois Brossard's original, it would presumably have been French to French. (Or is Quebecois an altogether bi-lingual culture? Could she have written it in English to French or some such herself? I have no idea.) In any event, this has been translated into English from some form of French original, with extreme deftness, by Susanne de Lotbiniere-Harwood (seriously, translating a book about translation is a truly heroic act). For maximum effect, read the original and translation side-by-side for a full four-fold echoplex of variations.
And, finally, like the best experiments (I will be recommending this to you, Troy), this is a fine and punchy story in its own right, a teen pushing through through the motel-studded veneer of the american landscape and into the unmarred enormity of its desertlands, juxtaposed against the legacy of Los Alamos. "Lying under the Meteor's headlights was the body of a humanity that did not know Arizona. Humanity was fragile because it did not suspect Arizona's existence." Actually, let me just transcribe that whole section, it is wonderful:
Some other points that continue to circulate in my brain that I don't seem to have included in the original review:
-Maurice Blanchot gets quoted, which makes lots of sense in the lineage of using abstract narrative to create interesting and flexible theory-space.
-since the original novella mostly occupies that kind of abstract theory-space, the in-story translator, in order to better grapple with the text, writes extensive notes on concrete physical details that inform but mostly to not actually enter her own version.
-As in Celine and Julie Go Boating, there's an attempt here to rescue a character doomed by narrative /conceptual determinism. Here, through the process of translation. Translator vs. author with a life in the balance. Which actually means that there's still dramatic tension in the novella the second time around, even though we know what happened the first time.
-I've barely touched on the actual theory here, but whenever I give this the time and attention to start to penetrate it, there's quite a lot of interest. In every sentence, practically. The bit about the concrete calming fears of the desert (teeth and venom and exposure) vs. the diffuse ambiguous televised fears of civilization is going to stick with me, for instance.
Brossard's words are like this. Apparently denying ordinary prose/poetry distinctions, Brossard forges a powerful language that flutters impressionistically, while delicately expressing great depths. Any given phrase will be initially beautiful, then cryptic, later rediscovered in full meaning. To make the most of this, there's a certain demand of re-reading. How to ensure that every reader will actually commit such time to this? An ingenious solution: the book contains the novella of Mauve Desert, twice, before and after translation by an obsessed reader whose notes compose the central third part. The structure forces the story to be read, then mulled over, then re-read in a new configuration, sometimes illuminating the earlier version, sometimes seeming to spin away in new directions instead. Of course, these discrepancies also encourage a certain flipping back and forth for comparison: another reading of the first version, affording its defamiliarized dialect another opportunity to be absorbed. Of course, the "translation" is a meaningful construct in its own right: a chance to look at the variability and subjectivity of words, meaning, understandings private and public. I say "translation" because here it is English to English. In the Quebecois Brossard's original, it would presumably have been French to French. (Or is Quebecois an altogether bi-lingual culture? Could she have written it in English to French or some such herself? I have no idea.) In any event, this has been translated into English from some form of French original, with extreme deftness, by Susanne de Lotbiniere-Harwood (seriously, translating a book about translation is a truly heroic act). For maximum effect, read the original and translation side-by-side for a full four-fold echoplex of variations.
And, finally, like the best experiments (I will be recommending this to you, Troy), this is a fine and punchy story in its own right, a teen pushing through through the motel-studded veneer of the american landscape and into the unmarred enormity of its desertlands, juxtaposed against the legacy of Los Alamos. "Lying under the Meteor's headlights was the body of a humanity that did not know Arizona. Humanity was fragile because it did not suspect Arizona's existence." Actually, let me just transcribe that whole section, it is wonderful:
At night there was the desert, the shining eyes of antelope jack rabbits, senita flowers that bloom only in the night. Lying under the Meteor's headlights was the body of a humanity that did not know Arizona. Humanity was fragile because it did not suspect Arizona's existence. So fragile, I was fifteen and hungered for everything to be as in my body's fragility, that impatient tolerance making the body necessary. I was an expert driver, wild-eyed in mid-night, capable of going forward in the dark. I knew all that like a despair capable of setting me free of everything. Eternity was a shadow cast in music, a fever of the brain making it topple over into the tracings of highways. Humanity was fragile, a gigantic hope suspended over cities. Everything was fragile, I knew it, I had always known it. At fifteen I pretended I had forgotten mediocrity. Like me mother, I pretended that nothing was dirtied.
Shadows on the road devour hope. There are no shadows at night, at noon, there is only certitude traversing reality. But reality is a little trap, little shadow grave welcoming desire. Reality is a little passion fire that pretexts. I was fifteen and with ever ounce of my strength I was leaning into my thoughts to make them slant reality toward the light.
Some other points that continue to circulate in my brain that I don't seem to have included in the original review:
-Maurice Blanchot gets quoted, which makes lots of sense in the lineage of using abstract narrative to create interesting and flexible theory-space.
-since the original novella mostly occupies that kind of abstract theory-space, the in-story translator, in order to better grapple with the text, writes extensive notes on concrete physical details that inform but mostly to not actually enter her own version.
-As in Celine and Julie Go Boating, there's an attempt here to rescue a character doomed by narrative /conceptual determinism. Here, through the process of translation. Translator vs. author with a life in the balance. Which actually means that there's still dramatic tension in the novella the second time around, even though we know what happened the first time.
-I've barely touched on the actual theory here, but whenever I give this the time and attention to start to penetrate it, there's quite a lot of interest. In every sentence, practically. The bit about the concrete calming fears of the desert (teeth and venom and exposure) vs. the diffuse ambiguous televised fears of civilization is going to stick with me, for instance.
April 8, 2021
Mauve Desert is divided into three parts—a short story (which, for the purposes of the book, poses as a novel), the translation of that story into, presumably, another language (in reality, English to English, as the original was presumably French to French), and a longer middle section between the two in which the themes and motifs are individually examined in the light of the translator's obsession with the novel. The entire thing reads like a puzzle box carved from a dazzling jewel, shown first intact, then taken apart and shown piece by piece, then put back together in a slightly different way and shown intact again.
This is so close to a five-star book. The only thing that moves me to withhold a star is the slight tedium of the middle section. This tedium very well might be a necessary aspect of the whole. It's impossible to say exactly how it altered my reading of the third section, the "translation" of the first. The two versions of the translated text have some notable differences, not only in terms of prose but in subtle shades of meaning. The whole comprises a complex knot of the influence, translation, impression, and memory.
This is so close to a five-star book. The only thing that moves me to withhold a star is the slight tedium of the middle section. This tedium very well might be a necessary aspect of the whole. It's impossible to say exactly how it altered my reading of the third section, the "translation" of the first. The two versions of the translated text have some notable differences, not only in terms of prose but in subtle shades of meaning. The whole comprises a complex knot of the influence, translation, impression, and memory.
July 13, 2019
3.5/5
Unfailingly find the fault line, the tiny place where meaning calls for some daring moves. Such was the price of beauty, like a longed-for light.There was a time in my life when I would have aped loving this, but that time has passed, and these days I value the holistic of instinct coupled to contemplation over the too often abused benefit of the doubt. Still, there are some glorious passages contained within this, and all those Joycean/PoMoean/etc sycophants would find some form of home here if they got off their cishet tower long enough to look around and breathe. I also must mention an aesthetic appeal in the form of the desert, as well as the shier relief of a queer landscape, so the fact that I didn't love this may have something to do with a burgeoning resistance to white narratives sprawled on settler states, such resulting in a persistent whispering of Whom did this land come from? and What lies beneath the vapid dreams of Americana in this far flung moon landing known as Arizona, Al Shon, Aleh-zon, Ali-Shonak, scholars debating over the exact origins (perhaps Pima, perhaps indigenous unknown), but it certain came from no white boy. A personal pet peeve that I doubt factors into the evaluations of most others, so if you're looking into a less postcolonial delving into the experimental formula petite mort of a novel, you're likely to find a bevy of it elsewhere.
Despite my overall reception averaging out to the lackluster, this was a blessed finding amongst other fortuitous finds during my usual library sale sojourns. I can't imagine who was privileged enough to acquire a pristine copy of translated experimental queer women's lit and then of all things donate it, but I have that unknown to thank for being able to acquire this reasonable quickly (five years is a reasonable divide in my experience between initial interest and actual copy). In any case, the luck of the find doesn't bedazzle my reader's gaze as much as it used to, so now I have to sit and think about why this novel within a novel sandwiched between two translations of the same text of a midnight sun didn't call my name as much as others very similar to it have. True, there are some passages to die for here and there, but it was more miss than hit most of the time, even with the benefit of being pretty much forced to reread the initial text and thus extract myself a tad out of the patina of vagueness still hanging onto my irises. I get what's going on and I appreciate the queer, but honestly, most of the digressive revelations were a tad too tame (writing! books! existence stripped of all sociopolitical contextualization!) for me to find it necessary. Very pretty, then, even stirring in places, but too flighty in certain respects and too blinkered in others to fit my tastes. It certainly hasn't killed my appetite for queer translated lit by women: that whole string of words is just too unbearably sexy to not seek out and indulge in further.
Reality is what we recapture by an incalculable return of imaged things, like a familiar sense very distinctly set out in our lives. But to all of this there must be, we think, another sense, another version since we dream of it as we do of a musical accompaniment, a centered voice capable of securing for us a passage, a little opening. A voice which could, at equal distance from origins and death, activate the hypotheses, adapt the adornment, adjust the folds, the ornament, the anecdote ensuing from it like a work, regulate the alternating movement of fiction and truth.
But I could exist without comparison.I'm rather disappointed in my reception of this, but it's nice to have grown out of the peer pressured cultivation of praise I usually resorted to in the case of texts such as this. As it commonly is these days, I'm hoping that whoever acquires this appreciates the luck of the find as much as I did, if not more. Experimental lit has grown and changed over the years, and works such as reassures me that it's not dead yet. This work wasn't for me, but I hope to find others that fall into this ultra specific crossing of categories, as I am specific human being in my existence and my pleasures, aesthetic or otherwise, and it's about time that I saw more of the stuff with which I am made in the modern market. Ideally, at any rate, it won't take another five years to find the next contender.
The time had come for taking on the book body to body. A time that would give way to astonishment regarding things only very seldom seen, sited in the background of our thoughts. From one tongue to the other there would be meaning, fair distribution, contour and self-encounter, that moving substance which, it is said, enters into the composition of languages and makes them tasteful or hateful. Maude Laures knew that now was the time to slip anonymous and whole between the pages.
Full desert, full horizon.
August 28, 2024
Surreal story within a story, translated and retold. Even with all of the desert imagery and descriptions, Brossard's prose reminded me of water - like a whirlpool swirling. We see familiar sign posts and totems throughout the book (driving the car through the desert, the motel, the girls in the swimming pool, the Oppenheimer-esque character) but things keep swirling and move on.
There was a larger feminist utopia vibe happening (I think?), and I suspect the Oppenheimer character and his bomb were some sort of patriarchal foil to that, but even this analysis doesn't "hold water" (keeping with my whirlpool metaphor) for long.
I was both confused and mesmerized by this book, intrigued enough to stick with it.
3/5*
There was a larger feminist utopia vibe happening (I think?), and I suspect the Oppenheimer character and his bomb were some sort of patriarchal foil to that, but even this analysis doesn't "hold water" (keeping with my whirlpool metaphor) for long.
I was both confused and mesmerized by this book, intrigued enough to stick with it.
3/5*
February 15, 2023
I have to admit that this book was almost beyond the ability of an old man like me to grasp but here's what I think I read. It is broken into three parts. The first is fairly straightforward about a fifteen year old girl who drives her mothers Meteor through the desert to get away from her mother and mothers lover, Lorna. The second part was fairly abstract but was about Maudes who reads the Mauve Desert and becomes obsessed with it and tries to reinterpret it and the third part is Maudes reinterpretation of the book. Nicole Brossard's prose is very poetic and the book is worth the read simply for that reason but her storytelling is very abstract and it felt like I was trying to put together a puzzle to get any meaning from it. The funny part about this is that while I was reading the book I was thinking that won't read another of Brossard's books because of my difficulty in understanding it but as I was finishing the book and the pieces were coming together I decided that maybe I would like to try another of her books after all.
February 25, 2021
I actively disliked this book until I reached the dialogue section, where something clicked for me. I still didn't love it, but I can absolutely appreciate it for what it is: an extended account about the act of translation. I can also appreciate it as art, as writing which is beautiful for the sake of being beautiful - I know that there is meaning behind the beautiful words, but I confess that I didn't spend the necessary effort to dig into it. I found it very difficult to connect with the characters (both the actual characters of the story and the fictional author/translator duo) until I just gave in to the prose and stopped trying to be emotionally connected. I may read this again to grapple further with the lesbian feminist aspects of this (especially the hints of political lesbianism and lesbian utopia), but I doubt it will ever be a favorite of mine.
October 13, 2023
This is why I thrift. Sometimes I find ugly old books that sound really cool and they end up BEING really cool. This is a book, a story about a girl loving that book and studying it/translating it, and then that story again through her eyes. It’s such a unique experience and I’ve never read anything quite like it. What really got me was the writing. So beautiful and well put together.
January 2, 2018
"I wanted my body feverish, to lose nothing of its fluency, of its exuberance. I wanted it both in focus and out of the frame, overlayed on the hyperreality of blue, compelled in its every cell to acquire a taste along the reality of roads for all the ephemeral shapes crossing my gaze. I wanted no part of the myth. Only what's body, sweat, thirst."
January 2, 2009
stick with this one. it starts slow, and its style initially struck me as a bit dated (as a way of calling the mechanics of language into question). but as it progresses, form and content begin to merge, and the experience really deepens. the nice thing about this book is the sense of how language passes through people. initially, i thought it lacked a clear sense of character differentiation, but by the end this became a strength. its odd structure (story/analysis/retread of story) has a way of dispersing thoughts and ideas - not necessarily to detach them from their authors so much as to characterize the desire that weaves them together.
my one complaint is in regards to its murder-mystery status. most of the language at play feel intuitive and organic, but the death at the center of the story feels a bit too allegorical. obligatory, even. and murder seems like a default subject for a book about desire, honestly. i wanted less plot and more poetry.
my one complaint is in regards to its murder-mystery status. most of the language at play feel intuitive and organic, but the death at the center of the story feels a bit too allegorical. obligatory, even. and murder seems like a default subject for a book about desire, honestly. i wanted less plot and more poetry.
May 1, 2020
What an astounding book! I stopped regularly just to try to digest her sentences, but often it was like roller skating at an ice rink. The book kept drawing me forward, with no time or regard for my imperfect understanding, such is its momentum.
An utterly delicious book that I feel an immediate need to re-read, if only to be knocked off my feet again.
An utterly delicious book that I feel an immediate need to re-read, if only to be knocked off my feet again.
May 30, 2008
i was facinated by this book in university. i love the idea of the exact same story being told twice where the only difference is word choice. a real testament to the power of words and interpretation. i'm ready to read this one again. (once my neighbor gives it back!)
May 27, 2022
Mauve Desert, is an experimental book of fiction, which bridges together three narratives. I found this book and this style of writing to be just okay. It was a mere literary game with a weak story to begin with. I finished this book because I actually started it last year.
January 31, 2023
"In her sleep Maude Laures sides with perception, though bound by certain sensitive chords to expression which she defines as a substantial proposition capable of tipping the scales. She knows it is in approximation that words to begin with. Then amidst the images, she clearly sees that it is precisely perceived that the relation establishes itself, assimilates the promoted word or the afterimage.
December is but an aspect of risk. A month scattered across the Mauve Desert."
I am not doing well with French Canadian authors. First and now Mauve Desert. I suppose both are distinctive, which is good, but neither makes for interesting reading.
Nicole Brossard creates an intriguing formal structure for Mauve Desert. We are presented with a trio of ‘books�: the original novelette by a teenage author, a reader’s obsessive quest to research and comprehend the novelette and its author, and the reader’s eventual ‘translation� of the original novelette.
It’s an appealing concept, marred irretrievably by a style of writing reminiscent of an undergraduate experimental fiction magazine from the 1960s. Let’s desconstruct words, sentences, grammar, meaning � and see what happens. It’ll be exciting for the author, though possibly not for the reader.
And so it was. Mauve Desert looked challenging, but just became a chore. Oh well. Metafiction is not all fun.
December is but an aspect of risk. A month scattered across the Mauve Desert."
I am not doing well with French Canadian authors. First and now Mauve Desert. I suppose both are distinctive, which is good, but neither makes for interesting reading.
Nicole Brossard creates an intriguing formal structure for Mauve Desert. We are presented with a trio of ‘books�: the original novelette by a teenage author, a reader’s obsessive quest to research and comprehend the novelette and its author, and the reader’s eventual ‘translation� of the original novelette.
It’s an appealing concept, marred irretrievably by a style of writing reminiscent of an undergraduate experimental fiction magazine from the 1960s. Let’s desconstruct words, sentences, grammar, meaning � and see what happens. It’ll be exciting for the author, though possibly not for the reader.
And so it was. Mauve Desert looked challenging, but just became a chore. Oh well. Metafiction is not all fun.
December 26, 2024
3,5/5
Ce roman se divise en trois parties. La première est un roman américain fictif, intitulé Le désert mauve et écrit par Laure Angstelle.
Dans la deuxième partie, Mauve Laures, une professeure de littérature à Montréal, découvre le roman d'Angestelle. Ce dernier l'obsède tellement qu'elle décide de le traduire en français. Toute la seconde partie du roman de Brossard est donc consacré à ses réflexions, ses analyses, des dialogues ou des scènes fictives en lien avec le roman d'Angestelle.
La troisième partie s'intitule Mauve, le désert et il s'agit de la traduction du roman d'Angestelle réalisée par Mauve Laures. Évidemment, comme Brossard écrit en français, il s'agit d'une traduction français > français, ce qui est particulièrement intéressant à lire.
J'ai vraiment beaucoup aimé la plume de Nicole Brossard et les thèmes abordés par son roman. En tant que traductrice, j'étais très intriguée par ce thème de la traduction, et j'ai été assez bluffée par la manière dont Brossard illustre le procédé de traduction sans changer de langue pour autant. On lit deux fois la même histoire, organisée de la même façon, écrite de la même façon et dans le même style, et pourtant ce n'est pas *tout à fait* le même texte, c'est une traduction du français au français.
J'ai quand même un peu l'impression que je suis passée à côté de certaines choses. Je crois que c'est le genre de livre qu'il faut vraiment lire plusieurs fois pour l'apprécier réellement, raison pour laquelle je ne mets pas plus que 3,5/5. À voir si je changera d'avis quand je le relirai.
Ce roman se divise en trois parties. La première est un roman américain fictif, intitulé Le désert mauve et écrit par Laure Angstelle.
Dans la deuxième partie, Mauve Laures, une professeure de littérature à Montréal, découvre le roman d'Angestelle. Ce dernier l'obsède tellement qu'elle décide de le traduire en français. Toute la seconde partie du roman de Brossard est donc consacré à ses réflexions, ses analyses, des dialogues ou des scènes fictives en lien avec le roman d'Angestelle.
La troisième partie s'intitule Mauve, le désert et il s'agit de la traduction du roman d'Angestelle réalisée par Mauve Laures. Évidemment, comme Brossard écrit en français, il s'agit d'une traduction français > français, ce qui est particulièrement intéressant à lire.
J'ai vraiment beaucoup aimé la plume de Nicole Brossard et les thèmes abordés par son roman. En tant que traductrice, j'étais très intriguée par ce thème de la traduction, et j'ai été assez bluffée par la manière dont Brossard illustre le procédé de traduction sans changer de langue pour autant. On lit deux fois la même histoire, organisée de la même façon, écrite de la même façon et dans le même style, et pourtant ce n'est pas *tout à fait* le même texte, c'est une traduction du français au français.
J'ai quand même un peu l'impression que je suis passée à côté de certaines choses. Je crois que c'est le genre de livre qu'il faut vraiment lire plusieurs fois pour l'apprécier réellement, raison pour laquelle je ne mets pas plus que 3,5/5. À voir si je changera d'avis quand je le relirai.
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December 19, 2014This is a novel of three parts: a (deliberately?) disjointed version of a novel, a translator reflecting on how to translate the text, and the translator's very different version of the novel. That translator's version is very polished and lacks the raw energy of the first part. The theme behind this unusual structure is the deconstruction of language that was au courant when this novel was written. Overall the novel can be seen as a fictional implementation of the mantra of continental hermeutical philosophy that there is no such thing as translation because a translation is always a new and independent text. A fascinating read.
The story that is told twice is of a teenager who escapes a difficult home situation by taking her mother's car on long drives into the Arizona desert (as well as crossing the state border into New Mexico). That home is a motel run by her mother and with the domestic situation dominated (for the teenager) by the long-term relationship between her mother and another woman. This queer motif is handled quite differently in the translator's version, but I won't say how.
The story that is told twice is of a teenager who escapes a difficult home situation by taking her mother's car on long drives into the Arizona desert (as well as crossing the state border into New Mexico). That home is a motel run by her mother and with the domestic situation dominated (for the teenager) by the long-term relationship between her mother and another woman. This queer motif is handled quite differently in the translator's version, but I won't say how.
June 28, 2020
One of the many books I bought for university but didn't get around to. Of course this is a university course book though. Pretty much demands multiple close readings and tutorial discussions. This book was designed for a second year undergrad compare and contrast exam essay.
The funny thing about it is this is an English translation of a French book, which is about an obscure American novella being translated to French. Again, I'm sure there's plenty to dig into here for a robust tutorial discussion, and I'll grant that without that extra layer of translation the book probably makes more sense. You wouldn't be stuck reading almost the exact same clumsy prose twice, for example.
Ah, but the slight differences in the clumsy prose is where the meaning of the book peeks through, you say. Probably, but honestly that's way more work than I'm willing to put into this.
Interesting structure, but beyond that I was more annoyed than engaged.
The funny thing about it is this is an English translation of a French book, which is about an obscure American novella being translated to French. Again, I'm sure there's plenty to dig into here for a robust tutorial discussion, and I'll grant that without that extra layer of translation the book probably makes more sense. You wouldn't be stuck reading almost the exact same clumsy prose twice, for example.
Ah, but the slight differences in the clumsy prose is where the meaning of the book peeks through, you say. Probably, but honestly that's way more work than I'm willing to put into this.
Interesting structure, but beyond that I was more annoyed than engaged.
January 8, 2016
J'ai adoré la lecture du Désert mauve. Constitué d'un récit, du récit de sa traduction, puis de sa traduction, le roman soulève des questions particulièrement intéressantes dans le cadre d'une littérature nord-américaine et d'une littérature francophone/anglophone. Une lecture riche, des personnages cryptiques, dont les facettes se révèlent au fur et à mesure de la réécriture du récit.
J'ai trouvé particulièrement intéressant le travail sur la réception par le lecteur des différentes parties du texte; elle est modifiée au fil des parties du Désert, disséquée par le travail de la traductrice, recréée comme un livre nouveau. Ce fut une lecture très stimulante.
J'ai trouvé particulièrement intéressant le travail sur la réception par le lecteur des différentes parties du texte; elle est modifiée au fil des parties du Désert, disséquée par le travail de la traductrice, recréée comme un livre nouveau. Ce fut une lecture très stimulante.
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January 3, 2017Il y a quelque chose dans ce livre qui m’habite encore, des mois après en avoir terminé la lecture. Les grands espaces de «Ìýl’AmériqueÌý», la fureur et le désespoir de vivre, le désir quand il est plus grand que le reste et ce projet, que je ne comprends pas, de traduction imaginaire. Et peut-être que l’intérêt de ce livre est pour moi dans tout ce que je n’ai pas compris, qui était esquissé, laissé ouvert. Un livre à relire, plus tard.
February 3, 2016
This novel is more of a formal, intellectual exercise than a story. While I appreciated the structure, the prose was pretentious, as if every single sentence was pronouncing a profound universal truth.
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April 25, 2012I have read this three times.
I love to get lost in her vocabulary and then I find myself admiring her structure.
A favorite.
I love to get lost in her vocabulary and then I find myself admiring her structure.
A favorite.
February 1, 2018
This month's book club book.
To be perfectly honest, this book has a very high barrier to entry. My book club isn't a stickler about finishing books, so I'm not sure what inspired me to keep going when I felt a lot of hate in my heart for this story. A couple of my friends & I actually took to texting each other our frustrations, particularly in the first third of the book. We all felt a lot of anger and confusion.
What might have been helpful to know is that this book basically has three parts. Once you get past that first part, it gets easier to read. And when you hit the third part, everything finally begins to make sense. I actually felt relieved when I finally figured out what was going on. Like, "Ohhh, there actually IS a point to it."
Once I got that point, I actually began to admire it & think it was clever. But getting there really dimmed my enjoyment of it.
As for book club, I unfortunately got sick & had to miss the meeting, so I have no idea what the rest of the group thought of it. :(
To be perfectly honest, this book has a very high barrier to entry. My book club isn't a stickler about finishing books, so I'm not sure what inspired me to keep going when I felt a lot of hate in my heart for this story. A couple of my friends & I actually took to texting each other our frustrations, particularly in the first third of the book. We all felt a lot of anger and confusion.
What might have been helpful to know is that this book basically has three parts. Once you get past that first part, it gets easier to read. And when you hit the third part, everything finally begins to make sense. I actually felt relieved when I finally figured out what was going on. Like, "Ohhh, there actually IS a point to it."
Once I got that point, I actually began to admire it & think it was clever. But getting there really dimmed my enjoyment of it.
As for book club, I unfortunately got sick & had to miss the meeting, so I have no idea what the rest of the group thought of it. :(
January 20, 2025
A very, very strange book. Strangely written, strangely organized, and strangely observed. It takes some time to get used/past the weird writing style, but the premise of the book is fascinating and indeed the two different translations of the book-within-the-book that bookend Brossard's book are fascinating to think about together. I may have to read this one again and more slowly, really drinking in what the different versions mean, the different lives of the characters, their roles. A beautiful and odd little book that will have me thinking about translations, for sure. I'm glad to have read this.
October 22, 2017
"The time had come for taking on the book body to body. A time that would give way to astonishment regarding things only very seldom seen, sited in the background of our thoughts. From one tongue to the other there would be meaning, fair distribution, contour and self-encounter, that moving substance which, it is said, enters into the composition of languages and makes them tasteful or hateful. Maude Laures knew that now was the time to slip anonymous and whole between the pages. Full desert, full horizon. In the lower belly, there where the tongue wants, a fine slow fear was beginning to well up, to distribute tasks. It was now spring. The light was dazzling and one could once again claim that words would, in moving from the innocent book to the translated book, play out their part, sweeping Maude Laures away in the flow of constraints, exceptions and principles. Now it would be necessary, in the un-said, to play a close game."
November 20, 2022
An impressionistic cycle of women vying for love and freedom. Emotions bleed into and create the landscape. Emotions create the bodies of others. Understanding isn't necessary to communication, understanding isn't immediate, is immersive instead of transformative. The Mauve Desert is a female water-shadow world for pooling thoughts and extended tension and resistance to language's riddles. A young girl's avoidant efforts to create a new reality and live only in the present, physical realm is antagonized by her mother's gaze and, at the same time, its absence.
May 21, 2023
Not the most straight-forward reading experience. The reader will quickly become aware that Brossard is very much a poet and this novel feels like an assortment of extended prose poems on situations, people and places. The novel also becomes self-referential quite quickly and the book becomes that much more of an experience than a story. While not bad, it does require a certain type of reader and/or a certain type of mindset to enjoy.
June 16, 2022
Surrealist prose is fine, but the story does nothing for me. The experimental form and insistence of critics that this is a seminal feminist text, make the whole thing feel lacking. It was a slog to read this, not because the prose didn't flow wonderfully, but I never enjoyed reading it, wanted to pick it up, or even cared about the half story that never really was a story.
February 21, 2023
Mitigé. En entrant dans la lecture sans connaître les "faussetés" du récit, la surprise en est que plus grande! J'ai aussi trouvé intéressant le chevauchement entre poésie et roman, mais devient déboussolant à certains moments. J'ai plus eu l'impression de lire un exercice d'écriture qu'un récit, ce qui ne le rend pas plus mauvais pour autant.
July 15, 2024
2.5, not quite worth the read, the premise is intriguing, the structure so fascinatingly meta, but the execution made it obvious that true clarity of the form and the narrative only really belonged to the author and no one else, very poetic though, I really liked the writing
February 9, 2025
This book was quite redundant, but I guess that was the point? The lack of plot and character development made it difficult to follow. The prose is beautiful, but I can't see myself recommending this to anyone.
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