ISBN 978 07206 1217
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The Lady and the Little Fox FurViolette LeducWith a new forewordby Deborah Levy |
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Translated from the French by Derek Coltman Recent reviews: 'To enter the world of Violette Leduc's "lady" is to step into a place where each sensation is digested morsel by morsel, where clothes have opinions and pieces of furniture have individual personalities - but in which large themes of loneliness, hunger and hope are distilled and counted out like the coffee beans with which the heroine measures out her poverty. Leduc, a friend of Jean Genet and admired by De Beauvoir and Camus, recalls Beckett and perhaps Gogol in her exploration of the bitter comedy of the marginalised. Here, an old woman, ashamed to be "breathing the oxygen meant for people who had spent their day working", walks the streets of Paris to stave off gnawing hunger. Each step is an ordeal of repressed desire - for food and for recognition of her existence. When she picks a fox fur out of a bin, the creature appears to offer the chance of money. Her attempt to sell it leads first to humiliation but then to salvation. What could be an utterly dispiriting, larded-with-pathos portrayal of old age is fashioned through Leduc's expressionist eye into a forceful affirmation of the human spirit'. – Guardian 02/12/06
The French author Violette Leduc’s memoir ‘La Batarde’ earned her the praise of Albert Camus and Simone de Beauvoir when published in 1964. The following year she followed it up with this short novel that became a bestseller in France at the time. It captures a twilight world of dereliction and suffering as an impoverished old woman walks the streets of Paris. An old fox fur, her only companion, it acts as a talisman against loneliness and desolation. At times she seems to become part of thelandscape around her and the streets take on a sinister aspect of malevolent intensity. Time is measured by the counting of coffee beans and the observation of daily routines around her and it acts as a reminder of mortality: “Time was a necklace: each bead a gleam on her grave”. Reflecting on her long-lost youth she realises that “the pavement was as old as she was” and the street becomes “all the minutes, the seconds of her existence.” The tone is melancholy and dream-like. Hunger leads to hallucinations and the objects around her become invested with an almost supernatural significance. In tune with the turning of the seasons, the months take on an almost human form for her, as February becomes “a sullen captive in the afternoon mist.” Echoes of Proust re-occur throughout. Sense impressions trigger submerged memories: cars give off “a scent of mimosa: the mimosa of a convalescence at Menton forty years before.” Paris becomes transfigured in much the same way the city’s Surrealists invested magic in the mundane. Finally, in desperation, the old lady tries to sell the fox fur but to no avail. It only serves to push her further down the path to disintegration and madness. It’s a sensual reading of the city that’s poetic and moving and a study in isolation of someone who succeeds partly in transcending the harsh reality of city life: a necessary glimpse of life lived at the margins, below the ever-present “roar of the overhead Metro.” Paul Fitzpatrick, Aesthetica Magazine
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