Sunday, June 25, 2006

From Between Life and Death
Nathalie Sarraute

“He shakes his head, puckers his lids, his lips… ‘No, positively no, that won’t do.’ He stretches out his arm, bends it again… ‘I tear out the page.’ He clenches his fist, then his arm drops, his hand relaxes… ‘I throw it away. I take another sheet. I write. On the typewriter. Always. I never write by hand. I reread…’ His head moves from side to side. His lips are pouting… ‘No, no and again no. I tear it out. I crumple it. I throw it away. And so, three, four, ten times I start over…’ He puckers his lips, frowns, stretches his arm, bends it again, lets it drop, clenches his fist.”


Blogger Jamba Dunn said...

This spring my wife and I spent a month in southern France. One of our stops was Arles (the town where Van Gogh lopped off his ear). It was late afternoon when we arrived and we humored ourselves by staying at the Molière Hotel. On an evening stroll of the city, we happened across a Van Gogh tribute museum. It was one of those rare moments in France where personal desire and hours of operation align. On the third floor toward the end of our visit I came across a framed sheet of notebook paper hidden behind one of the larger exhibits. The sheet was filled with scribbled notes on Van Gogh in French by Nathalie Sarraute. A lonely slip of paper, divorced from its author. I had almost forgotten. Thank you.

10:29 AM  
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