This text practically gives up on telling a story and in many regards ignores the numerous taboos that have been respected by literature in the past. In the monologue of an author who becomes a successful writer of second-rate literature regardless of her initial ambitions, we move from one poignant plot to another: from the break-up of her marriage and her love-hate relations with her own children, who are unable to leave her even when they have grown up, to her reflections on her own work.
Here the real borders on the imaginary and only slowly do we follow the threads that lead through the rich confusion of images to find out what is cause and what is effect, what is fresh lived reality and what is alcoholic excess. The subjects dealt with here by the author are rarely avoided in life by anyone. But then rarely will anyone handle them with such remorseless honesty, with such clear disregard for convention and such stunning linguistic skills.
Selected published translations (1)