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Jeffrey Keeten's Reviews > Out of the Dark
Out of the Dark
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***THIS AUTHOR IS THE WINNER OF THE 2014 NOBEL PRIZE FOR LITERATURE.***
”I don’t remember if I ever thought about the future in those days. I imagine I lived in the present, making vague plans to run away, as I do today, and hoping to see them soon, him and Jacqueline, in the Café Dante.�
When our nameless narrator meets Jacqueline and Van Bever they are playing pinball in the Café Dante. ”But Jacqueline is the one playing. Her arms and shoulders scarcely move as the machine rattles and flashes.� Our narrator has spent the day walking around from bookstore to bookstore trying to sell his art books to keep himself afloat for at least a little while longer. They are all drifters who have trapped themselves in the present with a forgotten past and an uncertain future. Van Bever gambles and does plays well enough to pay for the hotel and food, but not well enough for them to escape to Majorca where they have a tenuous invitation from a writer to come visit.
When men look at Jacqueline they see much more than a pretty face. They see vulnerability. They see that complicity can be achieved because she has what they desire and they have the money that she yearns for. Our narrator falls in love with her... as many other men will do. He knows absolutely nothing about her. We are attracted to the mysterious in people because we can write our own story about them. The tall, dark, and handsome is the guy who has learned to be quiet so no one will know how uncomfortable he feels. The pretty wallflower with disdain rumpled lips is hoping no one will discover how insecure she feels. We can make these mysterious people who we want them to be. They try to give us nothing to dissuade us from our conceived vision of them.
He tries a few times to get Jacqueline to reveal something, anything about her past, but she rebuffs him with one word answers given with the proper tone to discourage further inquiries. ”And I didn’t blame her: As I went along I too had forgotten nearly everything about my life, and each time whole stretches of it had fallen to dust I’d felt a pleasant sensation of lightness.�
What are memories, after all, except what we make them to be. They are mummified corpses that are many times unrecognizable to the owner of them except maybe for a sprig of hair, the tattoo on the ankle, or the mole orbiting a nipple.
They leave Paris to flee away from Van Bever.
After arriving in London the narrator realizes very quickly how much he misses Paris and that really they didn’t have to run away any further than to another district of the city. For the moment he is intrigued by Jacqueline more than he loves Paris, but of course in only a few months she disappears without a note, without a word, abandoning the version of herself she was with him.
Fifteen years later he sees her again.
”But surely she hadn’t forgotten those days�. Unless her present life had erased them, in the same way that the blinding beam from a spotlight throws everything outside its path into the deepest shadows.�
This is a short book as I suspect are all of Patrick Modiano’s books. The translator in the forward to this edition talks about how difficult it is to translate Modiano because his writing is sparse; and yet, weighted with so much nuance. There are words in French that have no English equivalent.
I recently read another book by him called Missing Person in which the narrator has forgotten his past. There is a similar theme in this novel. Though the characters have not forgotten their past it ceases to exist with every change in geography or with the attainment of a new lover. We never learn anything about the past histories of the characters of this novel. They slough off their lives like molting snakes leaving behind the vestiges of the old skin to fully embrace the new life.
A youthful Patrick Modiano...many, many moons ago.
According to professional reviewers Modiano continues to write about lost futures, forgotten pasts, and missing time in the majority of his novels. He certainly has me hooked as I will continue to pick up his books as they become available in English. Translators will continue to struggle to fully capture his meanings without changing his concise, but insightful prose.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:
”I don’t remember if I ever thought about the future in those days. I imagine I lived in the present, making vague plans to run away, as I do today, and hoping to see them soon, him and Jacqueline, in the Café Dante.�
When our nameless narrator meets Jacqueline and Van Bever they are playing pinball in the Café Dante. ”But Jacqueline is the one playing. Her arms and shoulders scarcely move as the machine rattles and flashes.� Our narrator has spent the day walking around from bookstore to bookstore trying to sell his art books to keep himself afloat for at least a little while longer. They are all drifters who have trapped themselves in the present with a forgotten past and an uncertain future. Van Bever gambles and does plays well enough to pay for the hotel and food, but not well enough for them to escape to Majorca where they have a tenuous invitation from a writer to come visit.
When men look at Jacqueline they see much more than a pretty face. They see vulnerability. They see that complicity can be achieved because she has what they desire and they have the money that she yearns for. Our narrator falls in love with her... as many other men will do. He knows absolutely nothing about her. We are attracted to the mysterious in people because we can write our own story about them. The tall, dark, and handsome is the guy who has learned to be quiet so no one will know how uncomfortable he feels. The pretty wallflower with disdain rumpled lips is hoping no one will discover how insecure she feels. We can make these mysterious people who we want them to be. They try to give us nothing to dissuade us from our conceived vision of them.
He tries a few times to get Jacqueline to reveal something, anything about her past, but she rebuffs him with one word answers given with the proper tone to discourage further inquiries. ”And I didn’t blame her: As I went along I too had forgotten nearly everything about my life, and each time whole stretches of it had fallen to dust I’d felt a pleasant sensation of lightness.�
What are memories, after all, except what we make them to be. They are mummified corpses that are many times unrecognizable to the owner of them except maybe for a sprig of hair, the tattoo on the ankle, or the mole orbiting a nipple.
They leave Paris to flee away from Van Bever.
After arriving in London the narrator realizes very quickly how much he misses Paris and that really they didn’t have to run away any further than to another district of the city. For the moment he is intrigued by Jacqueline more than he loves Paris, but of course in only a few months she disappears without a note, without a word, abandoning the version of herself she was with him.
Fifteen years later he sees her again.
”But surely she hadn’t forgotten those days�. Unless her present life had erased them, in the same way that the blinding beam from a spotlight throws everything outside its path into the deepest shadows.�
This is a short book as I suspect are all of Patrick Modiano’s books. The translator in the forward to this edition talks about how difficult it is to translate Modiano because his writing is sparse; and yet, weighted with so much nuance. There are words in French that have no English equivalent.
I recently read another book by him called Missing Person in which the narrator has forgotten his past. There is a similar theme in this novel. Though the characters have not forgotten their past it ceases to exist with every change in geography or with the attainment of a new lover. We never learn anything about the past histories of the characters of this novel. They slough off their lives like molting snakes leaving behind the vestiges of the old skin to fully embrace the new life.
A youthful Patrick Modiano...many, many moons ago.
According to professional reviewers Modiano continues to write about lost futures, forgotten pasts, and missing time in the majority of his novels. He certainly has me hooked as I will continue to pick up his books as they become available in English. Translators will continue to struggle to fully capture his meanings without changing his concise, but insightful prose.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:
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Out of the Dark.
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Reading Progress
January 17, 2015
–
Started Reading
January 17, 2015
– Shelved
January 17, 2015
–
Finished Reading
February 10, 2015
– Shelved as:
the-french
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Gregsamsa wrote: ""We are attracted to the mysterious in people because we can write our own story about them."Oh sooo true."
Ahhh you too have been caught in the web before! :-)
Absolutely enticing review, Jeffrey. I'll be adding, much to my chagrin. You make me do it.
Ted wrote: "Absolutely enticing review, Jeffrey. I'll be adding, much to my chagrin. You make me do it."Haha the power of the pen or erhhh the keyboard. Thank you Ted. I've really enjoyed my first two forays into the world of Modiano.
You've become an habitué of the Café Modiano, Jeffrey. I see you sitting in the corner in front of a pastis, notebook out, pen poised, ready to record the conversation of that glamorous couple at the bar who've just been joined by an interesting looking stranger in a blue raincoat.....
Fionnuala wrote: "You've become an habitué of the Café Modiano, Jeffrey. I see you sitting in the corner in front of a pastis, notebook out, pen poised, ready to record the conversation of that glamorous couple at t..."As I was reading this I kept thinking of Simenon. I'm not sure why I didn't remember that while I was writing the review. Anyway I will be queuing up a Simenon to coalesce my thinking.
I lurk very well. :-) One gift I seem to have is that people like to tell me things. I'm a good listener. People who like to mindlessly chatter do tire me out simply because I can't tune them out. I really do listen. It comes up ever so often that I remember something someone told me and they shockingly say "how do you know that". Because they told me ten years ago (recent example). It is all in the little gray cells...somewhere. I'm a sponge.
What stories you could write about the mysteries in people, Jeffrey!
Fionnuala wrote: "What stories you could write about the mysteries in people, Jeffrey!"Really organizing and writing a book is just a review on a grander scale. :-)
"What are memories, after all, except what we make them to be. They are mummified corpses that are many times unrecognizable to the owner of them except maybe for a sprig of hair, the tattoo on the ankle, or the mole orbiting a nipple." Brilliant depiction of Lady Memory that triggered some elusive memories, if redundance is permitted, of my own experience reading Banville and his permanent struggle to disentangle the aforesaid Lady from imagination and past from fiction. Another winner of a review Mr. Keeten, keep them coming!
The business of a man in love with a mysterious woman who is an excellent pinball player sounds like a slice out of Foucault's Pendulum!
Christy Jones wrote: "Wow that is great!"Thanks Christy!
Dolors wrote: ""What are memories, after all, except what we make them to be. They are mummified corpses that are many times unrecognizable to the owner of them except maybe for a sprig of hair, the tattoo on the..."Thanks Dolors! Memories are so unreliable. Sometimes they are predominantly true and sometimes they are predominantly untrue, but the truth and the untruth are equally real to the owner of them.
Jan-Maat wrote: "The business of a man in love with a mysterious woman who is an excellent pinball player sounds like a slice out of Foucault's Pendulum!"It does! Wow, great catch Jan-Maat!
Wow, fantastic review! I've only read half of his Suspended Sentences so far but I definitely see how he earned the Nobel, and even more so with your insight here. Was this one as wrapped in melancholy as Suspended is? I've enjoyed Modiano but man does he make me sad haha. Great work!
s.penkevich wrote: "Wow, fantastic review! I've only read half of his Suspended Sentences so far but I definitely see how he earned the Nobel, and even more so with your insight here. Was this one as wrapped in melanc..."Thanks S.Penk! I don't feel like I'm in the movie Dark City when I read Modiano, but I'm definitely in a suburb attached. Certainly melancholy is liberally sprinkled throughout, but given the noir feel of his writing a happy ended would ring as jarringly as a bell with a crack. Though his protagonists may not get exactly what they want they aren't destroyed either. At least not in the two I've read. Hey, more like real life. :-)
As always, I am late to this party, even though you and I have chatted about this review. You have the knack of tapping into the essence of the words of any author you encounter. There is never any question of that. I enjoy being late to your reviews because I enjoy the flow of comments generated by your reviews and your responses to them. I, too, have been bitten by the Modiano bug as a result of Suspended Sentences: Three Novellas. However, I've not explored as far as you. But I will continue to do so. Nothing is as fascinating as being a fly on the wall in a cafe, a restaurant, a bar. Conversations flow. Always, the parties believe only they are cognizant of the content of them. They are always wrong. Each of us is innately curious, natural born eavesdroppers, seeking validation, or delightful titillation. I have heard a thousand stories or more, at least the beginnings of them. Some I have completed in my mind. Others I have left with an ambiguous ending for as Modiano delightfully teases us, there are questions without answers.
Ah, and you, Mr. K. What you reveal of yourself here. *chuckle* I will be mindful of the questions you ask me. The information I provide. For since you have admitted you are a sponge, I am conscious that I may well end up a character in a Keetenesque tale.
The Queen, as you know my wife, as often chided me, when she would observe one of my eyebrows arched, ear cocked, cognizant that I was once again listening to the conversation of a couple at a nearby table. "Stop that, Mack." "Stop what, Dear?" Said with a smile.
From one sponge to another. *grin* By the way. There was a real Jacqueline.
Another superb review, Sir.
I never noticed how much time I spent eavesdropping on strangers until I was in a country where I couldn't understand the language.
Mike wrote: "As always, I am late to this party, even though you and I have chatted about this review. You have the knack of tapping into the essence of the words of any author you encounter. There is never a..."The next Modiano for me is Honeymoon I just ordered a copy this morning. I do need to read the trilogy of novellas you read as well. I see that two more of his books are being released or rereleased in March so I have those in my wish list queue. I don't buy many paperbacks; and yet, I can't buy his fast enough. :-)
I am slowly collecting data on Sir Michael Sullivan. I've been encouraging you to write a book, nonfiction or fiction or a combination of both as most books are. I might just call my first novel Sullivan which will then force you to write a book in response to my caricature of you. I want to apologize in advance for the rather nefarious bordello scene.
I can remember one particular time of forced eavesdropping that happened to me. I was enjoying a very fine meal and right next to me was a young couple on their first date. As the evening progressed the woman just kept talking about every man she'd ever dated and listed off all the "terrible things" they had done to her. The poor man who was bearing the brunt of this just kept sinking further and further in his seat saying less and less. It was horrible, ruined my meal. I kept psychically sending him messages RUN, RUN, RUN.
Now with cell phone chatter everywhere is a cacophony of noise. Mindless communication that makes me believe that we actually communicate with each other less meaningfully now despite the crutch of further means with which to accomplish it. One sided conversations are rather boring to overhear. :-)
Miriam wrote: "I never noticed how much time I spent eavesdropping on strangers until I was in a country where I couldn't understand the language."Every time I leave the country and re-enter the US it is overwhelming to be hearing and understanding everyone. I know exactly what you are talking about. My ears are hearing and trying to process everything. I can relate to Tesla's super hearing issues and how debilitating it could be.
Jeffrey wrote: "Now with cell phone chatter everywhere is a cacophony of noise. Mindless communication that makes me believe that we actually communicate with each other less meaningfully now despite the crutch of further means with which to accomplish it. One sided conversations are rather boring to overhear. :-)"I was recently having dinner with a friend and the young woman at the next table was telling her friend about a man she'd just met online and how they'd texted all night and how amazing it was.
Miriam wrote: "Jeffrey wrote: "Now with cell phone chatter everywhere is a cacophony of noise. Mindless communication that makes me believe that we actually communicate with each other less meaningfully now despi..."I'm sure she knows next to nothing about him, but is already half in love with a...phantom. *sigh*
Also, I just find this incomprehensible because texting all night holds no appeal for me. I'll stay up late for interesting conversation or sex with someone I couldn't just as well have sex with at a more convenient time, otherwise my book and I are going to bed.
Miriam wrote: "Also, I just find this incomprehensible because texting all night holds no appeal for me. I'll stay up late for interesting conversation or sex with someone I couldn't just as well have sex with at..."I have to have a certain amount of time to read every evening. If that is interrupted or god forbid completely annihilated due to a social engagement or work I've been known to be a bit twitchy the next day. I never resent sexual interruptions though I do prefer to have even that activity miss the prime reading times. :-)
Another beautiful and insightful review. What are memories, after all, except what we make them to be. They are mummified corpses that are many times unrecognizable to the owner of them except maybe for a sprig of hair, the tattoo on the ankle, or the mole orbiting a nipple.
Though the characters have not forgotten their past it ceases to exist with every change in geography or with the attainment of a new lover. We never learn anything about the past histories of the characters of this novel. They slough off their lives like molting snakes leaving behind the vestiges of the old skin to fully embrace the new life.
Oh sooo true.