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A review by isabella0805
Bonjour tristesse by Françoise Sagan
4.0
9Bonjour tristesse is a book about the coming of age- the psychological and emotional change and thus turmoil a 17 year old girl endures. For the entire, already short novel to be spanned across a single summer only furthers the fleeting tone of the story, as the protagonist seems caught between the end of a chapter and beginning of the next, and all the intermediary stages as she oscillates in between them.
This in itself encaptures the continuous flow and change undergone during one's childhood. It's shown through how different we feel from one summer to the next, as we, on the first day of the holidays walk into that very same house or chalet or villa which we had spent all our past summers in, those very same walls and paintings hung up collecting dust- Yet nothing feels the same. The person you were last year viewed and experienced what you are now experiencing from an entirely different perspective and life- Sagan so cleverly explores the change in the self through its changing of the exterior- of the way we perceive and even experience things.
Despite her believing herself to lack the capacities for introspection, the protagonist still inadvertently captures the most telling aspects of her self and its development, through the way in which she describes and judges the life around them. As these change drastically from page to page, we see the malleability and flexibility of the youthful mind, yet also its lack of distinct identity, as their childhood and teenage years are a constant journey of self discovery, creation and understanding.
Following this thread, we see how the protagonist's opinions, feelings and judgements constantly fluctuate during the novel, as she goes from believing Anne to be the destroyer of her and her father's laisser-faire, almost lethargic approach to life, to the mere glue keeping them both in touch with reality.
What makes this novel I suppose a tragic one is on one hand yes, the constant distress the protagonist finds herself in, as she simmers in guilt and frustration over her father's relationships and her own relationship with his lovers. Yet what seems all the more tragic is the unquenched desire she holds within her and which appears as subtle subliminal strokes of paint over the prose, and tone of the novel- one which is never truly satiated by her sexual encounters with Cyril. Unlike her father, her desires seem to be difficultly satisfied, and even more difficultly identitified-. It's the unsatisfied desires and urges we have all felt at some point growing up, wishing for more, for change, for something deeper and more meaningful, all the whilst spending our mornings lying restlessly in bed, or our evenings sitting on the doorstep and staring into the evening sunset, searching, endlessly, for something more.
The ending of the novel is, despite the literal car crash and death- almost underwhelming. It feels like the car fell down, toppling and rolling over the rocks in slow motion, nearly motionless- as a new, nearly identical state of equilibrium is reached. The protagonist doesn't seem to ever truly find what she was looking for, and maybe this seemingly unanswerable desire is part of childhood, part of the ever changing and developing aspect of growing up, constantly looking for something which grows even faster than us, as our bodies desire toys and bubble gum one day and then that person's warm, gentle touch the next- Our minds desire to be full yet empty nearly simultaneously, to think and philosophise yet also not to think at all.
I read it in the original French and I can say for any English readers out there- there truly is something intrinsically tragic, inevitable and passionate about the original prose, something which captures the entire essence of the novel without even needing to put your thoughts into words. And maybe that's the message of this novel- how the emotions and sentiments, as passionate, frenzied or sobered experienced during your teenage years all collect to form an inexplicably nostalgic and beautiful feeling which revive temporarily when we read books such as these.
This in itself encaptures the continuous flow and change undergone during one's childhood. It's shown through how different we feel from one summer to the next, as we, on the first day of the holidays walk into that very same house or chalet or villa which we had spent all our past summers in, those very same walls and paintings hung up collecting dust- Yet nothing feels the same. The person you were last year viewed and experienced what you are now experiencing from an entirely different perspective and life- Sagan so cleverly explores the change in the self through its changing of the exterior- of the way we perceive and even experience things.
Despite her believing herself to lack the capacities for introspection, the protagonist still inadvertently captures the most telling aspects of her self and its development, through the way in which she describes and judges the life around them. As these change drastically from page to page, we see the malleability and flexibility of the youthful mind, yet also its lack of distinct identity, as their childhood and teenage years are a constant journey of self discovery, creation and understanding.
Following this thread, we see how the protagonist's opinions, feelings and judgements constantly fluctuate during the novel, as she goes from believing Anne to be the destroyer of her and her father's laisser-faire, almost lethargic approach to life, to the mere glue keeping them both in touch with reality.
What makes this novel I suppose a tragic one is on one hand yes, the constant distress the protagonist finds herself in, as she simmers in guilt and frustration over her father's relationships and her own relationship with his lovers. Yet what seems all the more tragic is the unquenched desire she holds within her and which appears as subtle subliminal strokes of paint over the prose, and tone of the novel- one which is never truly satiated by her sexual encounters with Cyril. Unlike her father, her desires seem to be difficultly satisfied, and even more difficultly identitified-. It's the unsatisfied desires and urges we have all felt at some point growing up, wishing for more, for change, for something deeper and more meaningful, all the whilst spending our mornings lying restlessly in bed, or our evenings sitting on the doorstep and staring into the evening sunset, searching, endlessly, for something more.
The ending of the novel is, despite the literal car crash and death- almost underwhelming. It feels like the car fell down, toppling and rolling over the rocks in slow motion, nearly motionless- as a new, nearly identical state of equilibrium is reached. The protagonist doesn't seem to ever truly find what she was looking for, and maybe this seemingly unanswerable desire is part of childhood, part of the ever changing and developing aspect of growing up, constantly looking for something which grows even faster than us, as our bodies desire toys and bubble gum one day and then that person's warm, gentle touch the next- Our minds desire to be full yet empty nearly simultaneously, to think and philosophise yet also not to think at all.
I read it in the original French and I can say for any English readers out there- there truly is something intrinsically tragic, inevitable and passionate about the original prose, something which captures the entire essence of the novel without even needing to put your thoughts into words. And maybe that's the message of this novel- how the emotions and sentiments, as passionate, frenzied or sobered experienced during your teenage years all collect to form an inexplicably nostalgic and beautiful feeling which revive temporarily when we read books such as these.