Category Archives: de Vigan Delphine

Based on a True Story: Delphine de Vigan

The title of Delphine de Vigan’s latest book, Based on a True Story is a bit of a teaser. Is this book fiction or not? The book’s inside flap states that “this psychological thriller blurs the line between fact and fiction, reality and artifice,” and you can’t help but wonder what is ‘true’ and what is imagined when you read the book. After all, the author writes “autobiographical fiction,” and the main character is Delphine, an author who’s just written a book about her mother (Delphine de Vigan’s book about her mother is reviewed here), and if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that there are elements of the book that are true with imagination taking flight at some point. But frankly, I’m not interested in how much is real and how much is fiction; after all, I’m sure many writers use personal experiences, in one form or another, for inspiration.

Based on aTrue Story

The book begins with Delphine (the character) describing how she became friends with a woman she identifies only as L. They meet at a party, and “profoundly, slowly, surely, insidiously” L enters Delphine’s life and, over a two-year-period, gradually takes it over. When the two women meet, Delphine is at a low point in her life, and the publication of a book about her mother has had unexpected, mostly negative results. So here’s Delphine, a successful writer who meets L, a ghostwriter of various biographies and memoirs. To Delphine, L appears to be everything she will never be, immaculate:

How much time does it take to be a woman like that? I wondered as I looked at L., as I had observed dozens of women before, on the metro, in cinema queues and at restaurant tables. Coiffed, made up and neatly pressed. Without a crease. How much time to reach that state of perfection every morning and how much time for touch-ups before going out in the evening? What kind of life do you have to lead to have time to tame your hair by blow-drying, to change your jewellery every day, to coordinate and vary your outfits, to leave nothing to chance?

Within a short time, L. is in contact with Delphine on a daily basis. Meanwhile Delphine is receiving anonymous hate mail, and having difficulties writing. While L positions herself as Delphine’s friend and staunch supporter, in reality, she’s subtly undermining Delphine’s confidence and influencing her behaviour with negative and positive reinforcement. The  gradual decline of Delphine’s confidence is in direct proportion to L’s control over Delphine’s life. Yes, a friend in need is a friend indeed, unless she has your destruction at heart–in which case you’d better beware.

The problem is that Delphine doesn’t catch on until so many things have occurred and she has had several serious warnings that L is a psycho. L is slick, but her mask occasionally slips, and there’s really no reason why Delphine doesn’t see this. For example, at one point, L is snarkily raving on about her theories of Delphine’s writing:

I sometimes wonder if you shouldn’t be suspicious of the comfort you live in, your little life that’s ultimately quite comfortable, with your children, your man, writing, all carefully gauged.

Of course, L has partially achieved this control by gradually isolating Delphine and slowly eradicating her confidence, but it’s hard not to wonder why Delphine, who is a successful writer accepts the writing advice, constantly, of a woman who make her living as a ghostwriter? Or why Delphine abdicates her personal responsibilities repeatedly? Why doesn’t Delphine punch back?

At the heart of the matter is the idea that L tapped into Delphine’s deepest insecurities, but this wasn’t entirely achieved–especially when Delphine is given a warning that cannot be ignored, but goes back for more. … Again, perhaps that says more about Delphine’s needs than L’s occasionally sloppy methodology, but if that is true, the book’s thesis isn’t quite convincing.

While I eagerly turned each page of Based on a True Story, I wished that Delphine would wake up and smell the psycho, and I felt no small amount of frustration that it took so long. However, this an interesting read and a cautionary one. Writers are, after all, on the celebrity spectrum, but they are accessible to the public, fans and, yes, even haters.

And here’s Gert’s review

Review copy

Translated by George Miller

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Nothing Holds Back the Night by Delphine de Vigan

Thanks to Emma, I was introduced to French author Delphine de Vigan’s novel  Underground Time, but Nothing Holds Back the Night is completely different.  This is a non-fiction book about the author’s mother, Lucile, who committed suicide at the age of 61; she died alone and was in her apartment for 5 days before her daughter found her. The book was written by Delphine de Vigan partly as a way of understanding her mother, a woman who was a bright, beautiful child model, whose life somehow took a wrong turn as she made a series of bad choices in men, plunged into madness and was institutionalized.

 

Nothing Holds back the nightThrough the process of writing this book, the author basically discovers it’s not so much a question of what went wrong, but more an issue of uncovering the incidents that shaped Lucile, nicknamed “Blue”  by one of her brothers “because of the sad expression on her face.” On the surface of Lucile’s family life, it would appear as though she was part of an incredibly rich, boisterous family with happy parents and nine children (one is adopted), and at one point in the book we discover that Lucile’s family was the subject of a television documentary filmed in 1968 and aired in 1969. Delphine de Vigan watched the film which “shows a happy united family in which priority is given to the children’s autonomy and the development of their personalities.” But reading about the film through the author’s eyes, we can glimpse that there is something terribly wrong with this seemingly perfect picture of family life. Scrape away the surface, and there’s something quite different underneath… .

While the book is about the life of the author’s mother, Lucile, it’s also a quest to understand this complex, very private woman. Part of the quest involves the author’s struggle to write the book and her doubts about where to start, what to include, what to leave out. She’s also very aware that as she peels back the layers of Lucile’s childhood and the “myth” at the heart of the family, she risks hurting people even as she wrestles with various versions of events. Delphine de Vigan describes her journey–the interviews she conducted with relatives, the family photos she pored through, and the tapes she listened to.

But the further I go, the deeper my conviction that it was something I had to do, not as an act of rehabilitation, nor to honour, prove, re-establish, reveal or repair something, solely to get closer. Both for myself and for my children–who, despite my efforts. feel the weight of distant fears and regrets–I wanted to go back to the source of things.

And I wanted some trace of this quest, however futile, to remain.

When the book begins, there’s a definite, curious emotional distance between the author and her mother, and this is one of the elements of the story that interested me so much. The book is obviously not only the author’s attempts to understand her mother but it’s also part of the grieving process and a legacy–an explanation for the author’s own children.

The book is a  little awkward at first as it describes Lucile’s childhood in the moments when the author places thoughts in Lucile’s head that quite obviously could not belong in the head of a small child–it’s the author’s words as we read Lucile thinking about a “nameless protean being,” for example. But as Lucile grows older and increasingly more withdrawn and remote, her daughters enter the picture, and then we read about Delphine’s childhood and her views of her mother. The author appears to become much more comfortable with her subject as the book builds, and she’s also very frank about the difficulties she faced during the composition of this book. As the years tick by in Lucile and the author’s lives, we slowly, as the tragedy of Lucile’s life is revealed,  begin to understand the emotional distancing between the author and her mother. ‘Dysfunctional families’ is a term that’s vastly overused these days. Most of us seem to have crawled out of the debris of some domestic disaster or another, but Lucile’s family is the epitome of the term for while a façade of normalcy and function is maintained, underneath there’s rot.

The author’s journey to understand her mother addresses the past, and that includes complex questions regarding memory and various versions of events. Delphine de Vigan’s journey to the heart of the past includes the idea that family pathology is so easily skirted and avoided in silence. The author also shows how versions of events can collide, tainted by fragmented memory, absence or even simple misinterpretation of events, but in spite the novel’s subject matter and its examination of the very damaged Lucile, there are triumphs here. Even though the darkness in Lucile’s life never completely left but seemed to lurk in the corners of her mind, she beat incredible odds, and later in life, battling her demons, she managed to overcome mental trauma and find a level of peace and happiness.

Lucile made friends everywhere she went in the last fifteen or twenty years of her life … She exerted an odd and eccentric form of attraction around her, mixed with a great spirit of seriousness. This brought her strange encounters and lasting friendships.

Nothing Holds Back the Night is at once an incredibly private and painful book, and one gradually feels, turning these pages, that its completion is also a triumph for Delphine de Vigan.

Thanks to Emma for pointing me towards this book.

Translated by George Miller. Review copy.

 

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Underground Time by Delphine de Vigan

I came across the novel Underground Time by Delphine de Vigan thanks to Emma. The novel seemed to have a considerable impact on her, so when the book became available in English late last year, I was lucky enough to get a review copy. I really like modern French fiction, but most of it, of course, doesn’t make it to translation.

Underground Time has to be the ultimate novel for its portrayal of the toxic work environment, and I suspect that the story will strike a chord for those readers who’ve ever felt trapped in their jobs. I’m not talking about a job in which someone is underappreciated, underpaid or bored to tears. No, I’m talking about psychological warfare waged between an employee and a boss, and a boss who plays dirty but still sticks to the rules. Employees always have the option to move on if a job becomes too stressful, but in this case, Mathilde, a single mother, a widow with three children, doesn’t have the luxury of a second income. She needs her job, and the question becomes, as the novel continues, just how much she will take before she goes postal.

The novel begins on the morning of May 20 when Mathilde wakes up to the day a clairvoyant told her would be significant as a “man would save her at this turning point in her life.” So what does Mathilde need to be saved from? What is going on in her life that is so terrible? The answers to these questions gradually roll out as the novel continues, and it’s a matter of Mathilde’s workplace environment becoming gradually and indescribably untenable.

Mathilde has spent ages looking for where it all started–the beginning, the very beginning, the first clue, the first rift. She’d take things in reverse order, tracking backwards, trying to understand how it had happened, how it began. Each time she would come to the same point, the same date: that presentation one Monday morning in September. 

Mathilde is the “deputy director of marketing in the main health and nutrition division of an international food company for more than eight years.” It was a good eight years until it started to go sour following a meeting between Mathilde, her boss Jacques and a “well-known institute.” The meeting doesn’t go well, and Mathilde ventures an opinion which contradicts Jacques. Up to this point, Mathilde who was picked by Jacques from an approved pool of job candidates, felt grateful for his confidence in her, and she “was used to agreeing with him.” Jacques has a reputation for being notoriously difficult and temperamental, but this has never been an issue between them before. 

The problems between Jacques and Mathilde begin following the meeting. It’s all very subtle at first, but make no mistake, this is pyschological warfare. Jacques begins by feigning surprise when she leaves at 6:30 and then come personal comments disguised as ‘concern.’ Suddenly her handwriting is “illegible” and she looks like “crap.” At first Mathilde is the only one to feel the sting of these remarks, but then she’s cut out of the loop of communication, and things become increasingly worse….

That was the day she realised that Jacques’s plan to destroy her was not confined to her own department, that he had begun discrediting her further afield and that it was completely within his power to do so.

Of course, Mathilde tries various approaches but each one seems to bring reprisals in this “absurd, invisible struggle.”

As Mathilde’s story unfolds, a parallel narrative forms of Thibault, a Parisian doctor who once dreamed on being a surgeon until an accident claimed several fingers. Chapters alternate between Mathilde’s story of  trying to survive the stress of total alienation in the workplace and Thibault as he breaks off an emotionally unsatisfying relationship with a woman. Both Thibault and Mathilde are revealed as lonely people who long for the communication which seems to be denied them:

His life is nothing like those of the characters in that French soap opera which was such a big hit in the 1980s. The doctors in that were brave and alert–they dashed through the night, parked on the pavement and ran up the stairs four at a time. There’s nothing heroic about him. He’s got his hands in the shit, and the shit sticks to them. His life does without sirens and flashing lights.His life is made up of sixty per cent nasal inflammation and forty per cent loneliness, That’s all his life is; a ringside view of the full-scale of the disaster.

I have a problem with passive characters, so I was annoyed in spots with both Thibault and Mathilde. I wanted them to do something, and at one point in the novel, I silently urged Mathilde to take drastic action. The chapters that tell Mathilde’s story have a stronger resonace than those which describe Thibault, well for this reader at least. Mathilde’s story is told with the stinging pain of experience while I wasn’t entirely convinced about Thibault’s decision to dump a woman with whom he has great sex but who is disappointing when it comes to affection. But that small issue aside, Thibault’s story shows a barren life with depressing encounters as he visits patient after patient in their homes–people locked into lives of disappointment, disease and loneliness.

  Underground Time reminds me of the premise of the film Crime d’Amour–a film that started out very strongly in its depiction of the powerlessness of an employee when faced with her boss’s desire to annihilate her career and destroy her mentally. Crime d’Amour took the easy way out, however, by turning into a thriller. I would rather it had stayed focused on the psychological warfare between a boss and her underling. Underground Time does just that, and the author creates incredible tension between main character Mathilde and her boss even as she paints the picture of this difficult relationship complete with Jacques’s quirky, tantrum-driven behaviour which on one level seems eccentric until Mathilde becomes the target of his viciousness.

For Emma’s review go here

Underground Time translated into English by George Miller

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