What do you think?
Rate this book
Des hommes
Ils ont été appelés en Algérie au moment des « événements », en 1960. Deux ans plus tard, Bernard, Rabut, Février et d'autres sont rentrés en France. Ils se sont tus, ils ont vécu leurs vies. Mais parfois il suffit de presque rien, d'une journée d'anniversaire en hiver, d'un cadeau qui tient dans la poche, pour que, quarante ans après, le passé fasse irruption dans la vie de ceux qui ont cru pouvoir le nier.
283 pages, Paperback
Published September 1, 2012
35 people are currently reading
571 people want to read
About the author
Laurent Mauvignier
30 books137 followersLaurent Mauvignier was born in Tours (France) in 1967. He graduated from the Beaux-Art (plastic arts) in 1991.
He has published several novels with the Editions de Minuit and his books have been translated in several countries, among them In the Crowd by Faber and Faber (2008). His novels try to map out reality while confronting what cannot be voiced and the limits of what can be said.
His words attempt to articulate absence and sorrow, love and lack; their endeavour is to hold back what sifts through the fingers and through the years.
Source: http://www.laurent-mauvignier.net/en/...
He has published several novels with the Editions de Minuit and his books have been translated in several countries, among them In the Crowd by Faber and Faber (2008). His novels try to map out reality while confronting what cannot be voiced and the limits of what can be said.
His words attempt to articulate absence and sorrow, love and lack; their endeavour is to hold back what sifts through the fingers and through the years.
Source: http://www.laurent-mauvignier.net/en/...
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 58 reviews
September 19, 2020
UOMINI COME NOI
Mauvignier suddivide il suo romanzo in quattro lunghi capitoli che corrispondono alle parti di un giorno: pomeriggio, sera, notte e la mattina seguente.
Si inizia con una festa di compleanno: sessanta anni e la pensione che comincia, lungo prologo per immergerci nella notte, che rappresenta il passato, il buio dell’anima, l’oscurità di fatti che non riguardano soltanto un singolo individuo, ma coinvolgono tutta una nazione, la Francia intera, paese che vuole dimenticare, preferisce non sapere, fingere che non sia successo.
In queste prime pagine Mauvignier riesce a dilatare il tempo, a rallentarlo fino a quasi a fermarlo, come fece Zenone con la freccia.
La freccia di Zenone appare in movimento ma, in realtà, è immobile - in ogni istante occupa solo uno spazio pari a quello della sua lunghezza - e poiché il tempo in cui si muove è fatto di singoli istanti, la freccia è immobile (dalla somma di istanti immobili non può scaturire movimento).
René Magritte: La freccia di Zenone (anche chiamato Le passeggiate di Euclide), 1953, Minneapolis Institute of Art.
La notte, che è il passato, ci conduce in Algeria, durante gli anni famigerati. Dove i giovani soldati francesi, contadini senza diploma, si trovano ad assistere, a partecipare, a compiere azioni non diverse da quelle che i nazisti misero in pratica durante l’Occupazione. I torti e la violenza subita dieci, quindici anni prima, si ripetono. Gli algerini vogliono essere liberi e indipendenti, come lo volevano i francesi occupati.
Chi da giovane era in Algeria, ha assistito e partecipato, si porta dentro colpa e vergogna, che non riesce a esprimere, che non può espellere. Tace, nasconde, ma non riesce a dimenticare. In quella terra oltre il mare, calda azzurra e luminosa, è successo qualcosa che si porteranno dietro per sempre.
Quei giovani sono adesso adulti, uomini fatti, sessantenni, e partecipano alla festa, all’incidente che mette in movimento il meccanismo della memoria e quindi, del racconto, aprendo verso il nodo di crudeltà che è all’origine di tutto.
Mauvignier non si limita a dividere in sezioni, la sua scrittura riesce con abilità a seguire il ritmo dell’emozione: prima interrotta, trattenuta, reticente, dilatata – poi secca e asciutta, come il deserto algerino, come la luce di quella terra, come la coscienza di chi attraversa il tempo.
E la voce narrante passa da uno all’altro personaggio, accumunata dalla difficoltà di sciogliere la matassa emotiva.
La piccola storia di pochi individui si dilata e diventa quella di tutta la Francia, i fantasmi di pochi uomini si trasformano nei fantasmi collettivi “degli uomini”.
Un romanzo e una vicenda duri, che parlano di colpe, parlano “degli uomini”.
Gli uomini di quelle pagine, e tutti gli uomini.
Perché, fare quello che hanno fatto, non credo si possa dire, si possa immaginare di dirlo, è talmente lontano da tutto, fare una cosa del genere, eppure l’hanno fatto, degli uomini, degli uomini l’hanno fatto, senza pietà, senza niente di umano, degli uomini hanno ucciso a colpi…
…forse non si sa cos’è una storia finché non si sono sollevate quelle che sono sotto e che sono le uniche che contano, come i fantasmi, i nostri fantasmi che si accumulano…
…vorrei sapere se un uomo può cominciare a vivere quando sa che è troppo tardi.
Mauvignier suddivide il suo romanzo in quattro lunghi capitoli che corrispondono alle parti di un giorno: pomeriggio, sera, notte e la mattina seguente.
Si inizia con una festa di compleanno: sessanta anni e la pensione che comincia, lungo prologo per immergerci nella notte, che rappresenta il passato, il buio dell’anima, l’oscurità di fatti che non riguardano soltanto un singolo individuo, ma coinvolgono tutta una nazione, la Francia intera, paese che vuole dimenticare, preferisce non sapere, fingere che non sia successo.
In queste prime pagine Mauvignier riesce a dilatare il tempo, a rallentarlo fino a quasi a fermarlo, come fece Zenone con la freccia.
La freccia di Zenone appare in movimento ma, in realtà, è immobile - in ogni istante occupa solo uno spazio pari a quello della sua lunghezza - e poiché il tempo in cui si muove è fatto di singoli istanti, la freccia è immobile (dalla somma di istanti immobili non può scaturire movimento).
René Magritte: La freccia di Zenone (anche chiamato Le passeggiate di Euclide), 1953, Minneapolis Institute of Art.
La notte, che è il passato, ci conduce in Algeria, durante gli anni famigerati. Dove i giovani soldati francesi, contadini senza diploma, si trovano ad assistere, a partecipare, a compiere azioni non diverse da quelle che i nazisti misero in pratica durante l’Occupazione. I torti e la violenza subita dieci, quindici anni prima, si ripetono. Gli algerini vogliono essere liberi e indipendenti, come lo volevano i francesi occupati.
Chi da giovane era in Algeria, ha assistito e partecipato, si porta dentro colpa e vergogna, che non riesce a esprimere, che non può espellere. Tace, nasconde, ma non riesce a dimenticare. In quella terra oltre il mare, calda azzurra e luminosa, è successo qualcosa che si porteranno dietro per sempre.
Quei giovani sono adesso adulti, uomini fatti, sessantenni, e partecipano alla festa, all’incidente che mette in movimento il meccanismo della memoria e quindi, del racconto, aprendo verso il nodo di crudeltà che è all’origine di tutto.
Mauvignier non si limita a dividere in sezioni, la sua scrittura riesce con abilità a seguire il ritmo dell’emozione: prima interrotta, trattenuta, reticente, dilatata – poi secca e asciutta, come il deserto algerino, come la luce di quella terra, come la coscienza di chi attraversa il tempo.
E la voce narrante passa da uno all’altro personaggio, accumunata dalla difficoltà di sciogliere la matassa emotiva.
La piccola storia di pochi individui si dilata e diventa quella di tutta la Francia, i fantasmi di pochi uomini si trasformano nei fantasmi collettivi “degli uomini”.
Un romanzo e una vicenda duri, che parlano di colpe, parlano “degli uomini”.
Gli uomini di quelle pagine, e tutti gli uomini.
Perché, fare quello che hanno fatto, non credo si possa dire, si possa immaginare di dirlo, è talmente lontano da tutto, fare una cosa del genere, eppure l’hanno fatto, degli uomini, degli uomini l’hanno fatto, senza pietà, senza niente di umano, degli uomini hanno ucciso a colpi…
…forse non si sa cos’è una storia finché non si sono sollevate quelle che sono sotto e che sono le uniche che contano, come i fantasmi, i nostri fantasmi che si accumulano…
…vorrei sapere se un uomo può cominciare a vivere quando sa che è troppo tardi.
December 28, 2021
أتعرف، إنها ليست رواية استثنائية، فيها الكثير من السرد وبضع حوارات، والكثير الكثير من المشاعر والتفاصيل. إنها ليست استثنائية لكنني لسبب ما كنتُ أهربُ من فكرة الانتهاء منها. أدرك أن النهاية ليست مرضية. لكن فعلاً ماذا ننتظر من جنديٍ سابق أليس كذلك؟ أنه يريدُ أن ينتهي الأمر فعلاً وأن تكفّ الأصوات والذكريات. إنها رواية تحكي القليل جدًا عن حرب الجزائر، لكنّها بطريقةٍ ما تترك روحك هناك، تجبرني على التعمق أكثر في حرب المليون شهيد والتي لا نعرف عنها غير الاسم هذا.
لكنها تخبرك عن الحرب عن طريق ذكريات جندي فرنسي!
الكاتب مذهل في وصفه، مذهل جداً!
قراءة ممتعة
لكنها تخبرك عن الحرب عن طريق ذكريات جندي فرنسي!
الكاتب مذهل في وصفه، مذهل جداً!
قراءة ممتعة
June 22, 2019
Degli uomini. Di come l’orrore prodotto da altri uomini possa spezzarli. Di come un senso di colpa aggiuntivo li faccia squassare del tutto. Di come ne possano uscire vivi, talvolta, ma con una ferita inguaribile, aperta, sanguinante per sempre.
Grande romanzo, questo di Mauvignier, con un paio di criticità - per me: una certa macchinosità iniziale, e poi una mole esorbitante di dolore, continuo, disperato, angosciante.
Grande romanzo, questo di Mauvignier, con un paio di criticità - per me: una certa macchinosità iniziale, e poi una mole esorbitante di dolore, continuo, disperato, angosciante.
December 27, 2017
Of all the novels on the fraught topic of the struggle for Algerian independence from France, this is unusual in its focus on the trauma of young men sent out to fight a colonial war without understanding the situation into which they were thrown and unprepared for the violence they were about to witness and perpetrate. The English title of “The Wound” for this novel, to be found in the opening quotation from Genet (“As for your wound, where is it?......”) seems more apt than the original one of “Des Hommes” (“Men”) in that it suggests the long-term mental injury they suffered, but were often unable to relieve by talking about it. Perhaps they felt instinctively that those who had not shared their experiences would never understand, or they repressed memories too shameful, painful or shocking to express, or simply lacked the words to confide in others. Yet “Des Hommes” is also a meaningful title in conveying how a group of males may tend to interact, responding to an attack with aggression, also using it as a means of avoiding expressing emotion.
Starting with “afternoon”, this novel covers a twenty-four hour period split into four sections, but also makes extensive use of flashbacks and recollections to reveal the lives of two cousins from a rural French community: Bernard, nick-named “Feu-de-Bois”, a dishevelled alcoholic who sponges off his long-suffering sister Solange, and Rabut who narrates parts of the story. Both in their sixties, the cousins were called up to fight in Algeria in the early ‘60s, but have never spoken about this part of their lives which clearly haunts them both. For Rabut, Algeria has an unreal dreamlike quality, alien and exotic in its sunshine, scenery and Arab culture, shocking in the incidents of brutality.
The fragmented, stream of consciousness style can be very powerful, but also hard to follow, particularly if one is reading it in the original French as a foreigner. The opening pages are particularly obscure as we see Feu-de-Bois antagonising his whole family by a particularly crass action, before “going off the rails” in what seems like a racist attack. Rabut seems to have some empathy with his cousin, yet it becomes apparent that there is also a deep-seated hostility between the two men. The explanation for all this is gradually revealed in an impressionistic novel with a strong sense of place – one can see the fields in the snow versus the desert barracks - , minute descriptions of physical sensations, snatches of dialogue and intense action, or sharp flashes of insight in all the bleak obliqueness.
I found it necessary to read up some background history to understand the book better, and some aspects could have been developed more fully, like the invidious position of the Harkis, native Muslims who volunteered as auxiliaries in the French Army during the Algerian War. Yet perhaps Mauvignier is more interested in the feelings aroused by a colonial war in which one does not have a stake, rather than the details of the Algerian conflict in particular. This is likely to be a novel which divides opinion over its distinctive style, unusual structure and inconclusive plot. It repays rereading, is somehow absorbing without being a conventional page-turner, but certainly gives food for thought over the psychological impact of the Algerian War, particularly on individuals, ordinary French people caught up in it.
Starting with “afternoon”, this novel covers a twenty-four hour period split into four sections, but also makes extensive use of flashbacks and recollections to reveal the lives of two cousins from a rural French community: Bernard, nick-named “Feu-de-Bois”, a dishevelled alcoholic who sponges off his long-suffering sister Solange, and Rabut who narrates parts of the story. Both in their sixties, the cousins were called up to fight in Algeria in the early ‘60s, but have never spoken about this part of their lives which clearly haunts them both. For Rabut, Algeria has an unreal dreamlike quality, alien and exotic in its sunshine, scenery and Arab culture, shocking in the incidents of brutality.
The fragmented, stream of consciousness style can be very powerful, but also hard to follow, particularly if one is reading it in the original French as a foreigner. The opening pages are particularly obscure as we see Feu-de-Bois antagonising his whole family by a particularly crass action, before “going off the rails” in what seems like a racist attack. Rabut seems to have some empathy with his cousin, yet it becomes apparent that there is also a deep-seated hostility between the two men. The explanation for all this is gradually revealed in an impressionistic novel with a strong sense of place – one can see the fields in the snow versus the desert barracks - , minute descriptions of physical sensations, snatches of dialogue and intense action, or sharp flashes of insight in all the bleak obliqueness.
I found it necessary to read up some background history to understand the book better, and some aspects could have been developed more fully, like the invidious position of the Harkis, native Muslims who volunteered as auxiliaries in the French Army during the Algerian War. Yet perhaps Mauvignier is more interested in the feelings aroused by a colonial war in which one does not have a stake, rather than the details of the Algerian conflict in particular. This is likely to be a novel which divides opinion over its distinctive style, unusual structure and inconclusive plot. It repays rereading, is somehow absorbing without being a conventional page-turner, but certainly gives food for thought over the psychological impact of the Algerian War, particularly on individuals, ordinary French people caught up in it.
June 7, 2025
I read this in its 2015 English translation from French. A story of how war - living through it, being in it, surviving it - damages everyone. Set around the war for Algeria’s independence from France in the early 1960s, as recalled 40 years later.
July 27, 2012
From my review for the TLS:
"Although the story is ostensibly Bernard’s, it is narrated by Rabut – or at least partly. The day’s events make Rabut think of Algeria, where forty years earlier he and Bernard were among thousands of conscripts sent to fight the fellagas in a failed attempt to repress the independence movement; about half the book is given over to a description of their experiences there. In these memories, theoretically Rabut’s, Rabut himself appears in the third person; they are told in the ensemble pronoun on, and are omniscient, as if Rabut either cannot accept to be alone in the context, or else must objectify himself in order to bear his own thoughts.
Deepening the impression of recollections held by necessity at arm’s length, the narrative in this section is highly generalised, recounting the overall experience of routine filled with discomfort, boredom, and fear, resting only briefly on particular moments. While a sort of story gradually emerges, it can never entirely differentiate itself from the whole, implying that no single action can be removed from the various contexts – of the war, of the cousins’ life-long mutual dislike. People and occurrences that might otherwise appear unrelated are held together by a shared place beyond the event horizon. If Rabut must tell Bernard’s story, it is because they cannot be separated.
For English readers the use of what amounts to the first person plural will recall, with some resonance, The Nigger of the Narcissus, especially when the focus shifts for a time to the Algerian soldiers fighting in the French army against their countrymen, outsiders distrusted by both sides: “we” becomes exclusionary – while at the same time suggesting, even inviting, the reader’s collusion – in a way more customary points of view never could."
"Although the story is ostensibly Bernard’s, it is narrated by Rabut – or at least partly. The day’s events make Rabut think of Algeria, where forty years earlier he and Bernard were among thousands of conscripts sent to fight the fellagas in a failed attempt to repress the independence movement; about half the book is given over to a description of their experiences there. In these memories, theoretically Rabut’s, Rabut himself appears in the third person; they are told in the ensemble pronoun on, and are omniscient, as if Rabut either cannot accept to be alone in the context, or else must objectify himself in order to bear his own thoughts.
Deepening the impression of recollections held by necessity at arm’s length, the narrative in this section is highly generalised, recounting the overall experience of routine filled with discomfort, boredom, and fear, resting only briefly on particular moments. While a sort of story gradually emerges, it can never entirely differentiate itself from the whole, implying that no single action can be removed from the various contexts – of the war, of the cousins’ life-long mutual dislike. People and occurrences that might otherwise appear unrelated are held together by a shared place beyond the event horizon. If Rabut must tell Bernard’s story, it is because they cannot be separated.
For English readers the use of what amounts to the first person plural will recall, with some resonance, The Nigger of the Narcissus, especially when the focus shifts for a time to the Algerian soldiers fighting in the French army against their countrymen, outsiders distrusted by both sides: “we” becomes exclusionary – while at the same time suggesting, even inviting, the reader’s collusion – in a way more customary points of view never could."
Read
June 9, 2025Arrêté au premier tiers car ambiance trop pesante pour moi ça me déprimait trop de le lire
October 16, 2023
Ultra ému et bouleversé d’avoir retrouvé la plume iconique de Mauvignier dans ce roman.
Le sujet est lourd : la guerre d’Algérie et les traumatismes endurés par les hommes qui s’y sont battus.
Les mots et les pensées sont hachés, virevoltants, écrasants.
Pesant et poignant !
Le sujet est lourd : la guerre d’Algérie et les traumatismes endurés par les hommes qui s’y sont battus.
Les mots et les pensées sont hachés, virevoltants, écrasants.
Pesant et poignant !
December 3, 2015
The Wound/Des Hommes, is an absolutely remarkable novel from Laurent Mauvignier, his seventh [now up to eleven] in the French Resistance rooted Éditions de Minuit. What begins as an awkward, and suspect gift at a 60th birthday party in a small French village opens into a tangle of family emotions, recollections and recriminations, which open further into a chilling story of the Algerian war, in which several of the men had participated –the wound of which still affects the individuals and French society as a whole...
We are, of course, reading this in English, still with the run-on sentences, stream of consciousness, non-quoted speech of the original. David and Nicole Ball are a husband-wife, American-French, team with many notable translations to their credit, none, I suspect, as difficult as this must have been. The referents, even speakers, are sometimes so elusive it must have been a work of late-nights and triple-checking original and translated meaning. It all pays off. This is a book, and a story, we want to follow to its end. Looking at men and families in a cousin culture after a distant war the lens is sharpened to look closer to home.
- See more at: http://www.allinoneboat.org/#sthash.J...
We are, of course, reading this in English, still with the run-on sentences, stream of consciousness, non-quoted speech of the original. David and Nicole Ball are a husband-wife, American-French, team with many notable translations to their credit, none, I suspect, as difficult as this must have been. The referents, even speakers, are sometimes so elusive it must have been a work of late-nights and triple-checking original and translated meaning. It all pays off. This is a book, and a story, we want to follow to its end. Looking at men and families in a cousin culture after a distant war the lens is sharpened to look closer to home.
- See more at: http://www.allinoneboat.org/#sthash.J...
September 1, 2014
Beau roman prenant et profond. L'auteur réussit très bien à rendre cette atmosphère malsaine qui règne toujours autour de la Guerre d'Algérie. Le travail sur la langue et "l'oralité" du texte permet de dépeindre avec précision non seulement la France rurale mais aussi le milieu pied-noir (classes aisées et classes populaires). Il est très soulageant pour un descendant de pied-noir de savoir que quelqu'un a transcrit ce vocabulaire et cette langue si particulière qui est un des seuls patrimoines qui nous ont été transmis et qu'il en a fait une oeuvre littéraire (ceci n'étant pas le sujet central du livre mais révèle la bonne documentation de l'auteur sur tout son sujet). A conseiller à toutes les personnes qui sont touchées par ce sujet, quelque soit leur point de vue car tous les partis sont décrits et défendus.
Read
July 21, 2011"Je voudrais voir si l'Algérie existe et si moi aussi je n'ai pas laissé autre chose que ma jeunesse, là-bas."
August 5, 2019
C’est ma seconde rencontre avec l’auteur dont j’avais aimé Continuer.
Ce texte est plus ancien, et de l’avis de certaines, son meilleur.
Quels hommes et quel style !Commençons par le style époustouflant à la fois proche de l’oral dans l’enchaînement des idées mais si bien travaillé que l’on ne perçoit pas ce travail. Le récit coule et l’on a envie de continuer d’écouter petite musique du narrateur.
Un narrateur qui sait si bien décrire ses émotions que je les ai vécu avec lui même si je ne le voulais pas.
Et pourtant ce qu’il nous raconte glace le sang. Oh, pas tout se suite, l’auteur installe ses personnages dans la campagne française le jour desn60 ans de Solange. On devine les liens familiaux compliqués.
Puis vient Feu-de-bois par qui le scandale arrive.
C’est le bachelier qui nous raconte l’histoire depuis l’après-midi jusqu’au moment où il va se coucher, et que ses souvenirs l’assaillent.
L’Algérie, pas aussi terrible que Verdun, mais qui à détruit une génération de jeunes hommes dans leur tête, même si ils sont revenus avec tous leurs bras.
Des hommes qui ont fait comme ils ont pu entre la peur et l’amour, l’espoir et la barbarie.
Des hommes humains trop humains et que l’on n’oublie pas.
Merci, Monsieur Mauvignier, les heures passées avec vos personnages et la voix de votre narrateur me resteront longtemps en mémoire.
L’image que je retiendrai :
Celle des cachets que prend le narrateur et tous les anciens d’Algérie car ils n’ont jamais pu parler des atrocités qu’ils ont vu.
https://alexmotamots.fr/des-hommes-la...
Ce texte est plus ancien, et de l’avis de certaines, son meilleur.
Quels hommes et quel style !Commençons par le style époustouflant à la fois proche de l’oral dans l’enchaînement des idées mais si bien travaillé que l’on ne perçoit pas ce travail. Le récit coule et l’on a envie de continuer d’écouter petite musique du narrateur.
Un narrateur qui sait si bien décrire ses émotions que je les ai vécu avec lui même si je ne le voulais pas.
Et pourtant ce qu’il nous raconte glace le sang. Oh, pas tout se suite, l’auteur installe ses personnages dans la campagne française le jour desn60 ans de Solange. On devine les liens familiaux compliqués.
Puis vient Feu-de-bois par qui le scandale arrive.
C’est le bachelier qui nous raconte l’histoire depuis l’après-midi jusqu’au moment où il va se coucher, et que ses souvenirs l’assaillent.
L’Algérie, pas aussi terrible que Verdun, mais qui à détruit une génération de jeunes hommes dans leur tête, même si ils sont revenus avec tous leurs bras.
Des hommes qui ont fait comme ils ont pu entre la peur et l’amour, l’espoir et la barbarie.
Des hommes humains trop humains et que l’on n’oublie pas.
Merci, Monsieur Mauvignier, les heures passées avec vos personnages et la voix de votre narrateur me resteront longtemps en mémoire.
L’image que je retiendrai :
Celle des cachets que prend le narrateur et tous les anciens d’Algérie car ils n’ont jamais pu parler des atrocités qu’ils ont vu.
https://alexmotamots.fr/des-hommes-la...
November 24, 2025
Une première partie pénible, avec ce style agaçant et fatigant; une deuxième partie plus prenante et plus fluide. Dans l'ensemble, cette première lecture de Mauvignier m'incite à en lire davantage de cet auteur.
August 7, 2021
Un livre qui se lit en un souffle. Un long souffle, terrible, poignant et dur. Une plongée dans la guerre d'Algérie et les souvenirs qui en restent aux anciens combattants.
August 24, 2022
bouleversant
September 1, 2022
Livre époustouflant dans le sens où il m’a surprise. Je m’attendais à un livre comme Continuer que j’avais adoré. Si celui-là est aussi sur les rapports humains il l’est autour d’une question hautement sensible : la guerre d’Algérie.
Et surtout sur le silence autour. Un silence individuel qui devient étouffant et amène à la suffocation.
C’est aussi un livre écrit dans une langue parfaitement maîtrisée avec des phrases non finies et des enchaînements parfois surprenant.
Je recommande .
Et surtout sur le silence autour. Un silence individuel qui devient étouffant et amène à la suffocation.
C’est aussi un livre écrit dans une langue parfaitement maîtrisée avec des phrases non finies et des enchaînements parfois surprenant.
Je recommande .
August 21, 2021
The Wound by Laurent Mauvignier is a powerful, painful novel about the impact and trauma of war—particularly when that war is an occupation by an imperialist force claiming to be enforcing peace. At the beginning of the novel, we meet Woodsmoke, a drunk who makes a scene at his sister's birthday party. We're drawn backwards, to the days when Woodsmoke—then just Bernard—and his cousin Rabut were fighting for the French in the Algerian War of Independence in the 1960s.
Mauvignier's craft choices, from his pacing to his use of commas, build stories that dip then climax, that draw suspense, capturing perfectly tension building in a moment or pain rushing forward from a hint of a memory. The French soldiers wonder often, as they explore Oman and meet Algerian people both living their lives and choosing to fight with the French, whether they are truly fighting for peace. At the same time, their fear of the anonymous freedom fighters grows with every minute waiting in the darkness, growing for some of them into a paranoid hatred. Atrocities occur on both sides. The soldiers are left years later with scars and trauma, and their return is greeted with silence.
The novel is fiercely emotional. It gets at the twisted paths of memory. The narrative will describe violence committed by the fells, the independence fighters, for paragraphs, and then dive into swerves and flips as the brain tries to resist recalling the atrocities committed by the French, the brutal betrayals and failures. It shows the realities of a war, the neglect of its veterans, and the shame and trauma they carry with them every day. Mauvignier captures a delicate, difficult balance: Bernard is not good, the war is not good, atrocities came on all sides, and now we understand him better, understand what he is and is not at fault for, or at least that he is a torn, complicated human.
And honestly, the novel is painfully relevant this month. The occupying force admitting failure, the impact of that on its soldiers, the shameful withdrawal, the utter betrayal felt by the people they made promises to, promised to protect.
Content warnings for graphic violence, anti-Arab sentiment and violence, alcoholism, animal cruelty and death, rape threat, slut-shaming, torture, PTSD.
Mauvignier's craft choices, from his pacing to his use of commas, build stories that dip then climax, that draw suspense, capturing perfectly tension building in a moment or pain rushing forward from a hint of a memory. The French soldiers wonder often, as they explore Oman and meet Algerian people both living their lives and choosing to fight with the French, whether they are truly fighting for peace. At the same time, their fear of the anonymous freedom fighters grows with every minute waiting in the darkness, growing for some of them into a paranoid hatred. Atrocities occur on both sides. The soldiers are left years later with scars and trauma, and their return is greeted with silence.
The novel is fiercely emotional. It gets at the twisted paths of memory. The narrative will describe violence committed by the fells, the independence fighters, for paragraphs, and then dive into swerves and flips as the brain tries to resist recalling the atrocities committed by the French, the brutal betrayals and failures. It shows the realities of a war, the neglect of its veterans, and the shame and trauma they carry with them every day. Mauvignier captures a delicate, difficult balance: Bernard is not good, the war is not good, atrocities came on all sides, and now we understand him better, understand what he is and is not at fault for, or at least that he is a torn, complicated human.
And honestly, the novel is painfully relevant this month. The occupying force admitting failure, the impact of that on its soldiers, the shameful withdrawal, the utter betrayal felt by the people they made promises to, promised to protect.
Content warnings for graphic violence, anti-Arab sentiment and violence, alcoholism, animal cruelty and death, rape threat, slut-shaming, torture, PTSD.
January 1, 2016
This book feels _real_. It's hard to believe the author wasn't in the Algerian War and had the terrible memories vets do and can't talk about because nobody will really understand. "The wound" isn't a physical wound, it's the repressed memory of France's horrible war to keep its colony in Algeria, the memories in the minds of ordinary vets. (It reminds me of our Viet Nam War and its vets, suffering because they saw or did atrocious things.) There's a French family story--like, heartlands France, not picturesque village or Paris--that's intertwined beautifully with the story of the war. We only get the war itself late in the book, but the scenes are unforgettable.
This is the best novel I read in 2015. And I read a lot.
This is the best novel I read in 2015. And I read a lot.
April 5, 2020
Straziante e bellissimo
June 9, 2025
faites l’amour pas la guerre
May 1, 2024
The theme of this book is the toll of the Algerian war on a whole generation of young French men. It starts with a long virtuoso opening describing how Bernard, nicknamed Feu-de-Bois, upset his entire family by presenting his sister Solange with an expensive brooch for her sixtieth birthday, was kicked out of the party, got drunk, and went on to create a ruckus at the house of Solange's colleague Cherfaoui, one of the few Algerians in this unnamed village. From the beginning we know that Bernard has been out of work for years and lived off his siblings, which is why they see his lavish gift as a provocation. The rest of the book explains Bernard's tragic life trajectory as seen through the eyes of his cousin Rabut, who profoundly dislikes him but is also the only one who knows exactly what happened to him in Algeria, since they were sent there together. During his teens, Rabut aspired to be the first of his family to achieve higher education, which earned him the derisive nickname "the Graduate" from Bernard, who always had a jealous streak. With their whole cohort, Rabut and Bernard experienced the terror and disorientation of fighting an unwinable war against fantomatic enemies using guerrilla tactics and horrendous torture to scare the French settlers and the French army away. The silver lining for Bernard was his meeting with Mireille, the pretty daughter of a wealthy landowner. Naively, Bernard and Mireille dreamt of marrying and opening a garage in Paris after the uprising was quashed. As we know, of course, Général de Gaulle ended up coming to terms with the FLN, and the French population of Algeria left en masse. Mireille's father, like many others, never recovered financially or psychologically, and turned his back on the young couple. Bernard never had the capital to buy a garage, and worked on the assembly line of the Renault factory. Disillusioned with each other and their grinding poverty, Bernard and Mireille didn't make it, and that's why Bernard returned to his village to sponge on his siblings and old friends. Rabut fared better, but at a cost, which makes him censorious of Bernard even as he also, deep down, understands his ordeal better than anyone. Their fates were further intertwined because on a fateful afternoon when Mireille failed to show up for a date with Bernard, he took out his disappointment on Rabut and beat him up. While the 2 men were spending the night in prison, their entire platoon was killed, a massacre for which they were blamed by their surviving comrades. This novel builds emotional momentum as it progresses to an unforgettable depiction of the chaos following the Accords d'Evian and the cruel fate to which the "Harkis" (Algerians who supported the French) were abandoned by the retreating colonial power. This last bit is truly heartrending, especially when one remembers the identical images of the evacuation of Kaboul by the Americans not so long ago.
October 21, 2021
Le livre raconte deux histoires, avec un style très fort, deux histoires qui, si elles ont un lien, ne parviennent pas vraiment à le faire sentir ce qui constitue une des faiblesses du livre.
D'une part, nous avons l'histoire de l'anniversaire de Solange et l'altercation avec "Feu de bois", une fête où est invité, contre l'avis de certains, un des cousins en rupture de ban avec le reste de la famille, un homme clochardisé mais qui éprouve une grande tendresse pour la cousine dont c'est l'anniversaire, ce qui va causer un clash durant la soirée.
De l'autre, l'histoire en 1961 de soldats dans une section d'appelés en Algérie qui vont faire la sale guerre et ressentir dans leur chair la guerre dans toute ses horreurs. Parmi ces soldats, l'un est le clochard et l'autre le narrateur de la première histoire.
Il y a donc un lien mais il est assez ténu, je n'ai pas vraiment ressenti les séquelles de la guerre d'Algérie dans la misère de ses ex-soldats qui ne se sont jamais remis du traumatisme trente ans après ce qui était pourtant de toute évidence le but. Et j'en suis arrivé à me demander pourquoi Mauvignier n'avait pas écrit deux histoires plutôt qu'une seule.
Cela dit, le livre est de toute évidence un beau livre, je dirais même un grand livre. Le style de la narration est poignant, il s'agit d'un style simple avec des phrases courtes et directes imitant un peu le style paysan qui est celui des personnages et qui nous fait ressentir d'autant mieux la douleur, la misère et la dure vie qu'ont menée les personnages. La guerre d'Algérie est décrite avec une rare violence, violence mâtinée de réalisme, on décrit aussi bien les horreur qu'elle fait subir aux corps (tortures diverses, morts) mais aussi - et c'est très fort - celles qu'elle fait subir aux âmes : la peur, l'angoisse à l'idée de rejoindre le régiment à la fin d'une permission tout cela est formidablement décrit, au plus près des personnages comme rarement en littérature, pour cette sale guerre rarement évoquée en tout cas.
Impression donc positive qui m'incite à lire d'autres livres de Mauvignier même si je trouve que la structure de celui-ci laisse un peu à désirer.
D'une part, nous avons l'histoire de l'anniversaire de Solange et l'altercation avec "Feu de bois", une fête où est invité, contre l'avis de certains, un des cousins en rupture de ban avec le reste de la famille, un homme clochardisé mais qui éprouve une grande tendresse pour la cousine dont c'est l'anniversaire, ce qui va causer un clash durant la soirée.
De l'autre, l'histoire en 1961 de soldats dans une section d'appelés en Algérie qui vont faire la sale guerre et ressentir dans leur chair la guerre dans toute ses horreurs. Parmi ces soldats, l'un est le clochard et l'autre le narrateur de la première histoire.
Il y a donc un lien mais il est assez ténu, je n'ai pas vraiment ressenti les séquelles de la guerre d'Algérie dans la misère de ses ex-soldats qui ne se sont jamais remis du traumatisme trente ans après ce qui était pourtant de toute évidence le but. Et j'en suis arrivé à me demander pourquoi Mauvignier n'avait pas écrit deux histoires plutôt qu'une seule.
Cela dit, le livre est de toute évidence un beau livre, je dirais même un grand livre. Le style de la narration est poignant, il s'agit d'un style simple avec des phrases courtes et directes imitant un peu le style paysan qui est celui des personnages et qui nous fait ressentir d'autant mieux la douleur, la misère et la dure vie qu'ont menée les personnages. La guerre d'Algérie est décrite avec une rare violence, violence mâtinée de réalisme, on décrit aussi bien les horreur qu'elle fait subir aux corps (tortures diverses, morts) mais aussi - et c'est très fort - celles qu'elle fait subir aux âmes : la peur, l'angoisse à l'idée de rejoindre le régiment à la fin d'une permission tout cela est formidablement décrit, au plus près des personnages comme rarement en littérature, pour cette sale guerre rarement évoquée en tout cas.
Impression donc positive qui m'incite à lire d'autres livres de Mauvignier même si je trouve que la structure de celui-ci laisse un peu à désirer.
November 2, 2020
Mauvignier a entrepris une aventure risquée mais audacieuse. Il s'est glissé sur une piste périlleuse : comment relativiser ce qu'on a appris à ne jamais relativiser ? Comment nuancer ce qui est de l'ordre de l'Absolu. On parle de l'Occupation. Pour longtemps, la vision manichéene a été un refuge de facilité : personne ne veut risquer sa sérénité d'esprit ni revoir les choses autrement. Mauvignier a fait tourner l'angle de vue sans pour autant justifier l'injustifiable. Il s'agit d'un équilibre à établir ( pas si évident!) . Ce que je salue est le suivant : l'écrivain a su donner un fond d'Humanité aux soldats français occupant l'Algérie sans tomber dans la banalisation du vécu des algériens ni tomber dans le négationnisme. Et puis ce silence quand la guerre est finie , ce mutisme des soldats revenus en France : l'impossibilité du verbe et du dire et l'incapacité de raconter, car ce qui s'est passé est indicible. Il est question d'un passé ineffable comme toutes les grandes émotions d'ailleurs. Certaines choses se vivent uniquement mais ne se racontent jamais. Ce roman parle de l'impuissance à s'exprimer sur des faits qui dépassent l'Homme et sa conscience et qui se situent hors de l'Humanité.
Sans oublier le trauma de la guerre qu'on ne peut guérir malgré tous les efforts fournis pour se redresser et se ressaisir. Le traumatisme persiste à vie , il faut simplement vivre avec.
Sans oublier le trauma de la guerre qu'on ne peut guérir malgré tous les efforts fournis pour se redresser et se ressaisir. Le traumatisme persiste à vie , il faut simplement vivre avec.
July 14, 2022
C'est le deuxième roman que je lis de cet auteur et c'est à nouveau un très belle lecture.
Son style proche du parler, ses longues phrase qu'on finit à bout de souffle, les mots proche des coups et si forts.
Ils sont rares les romans qui évoquent à cœur ouvert la guerre d'Algérie, les monstruosités des deux camps, les traces que ça laisse sur les âmes, mais surtout le silence, le refus d'en parler, l'interdiction de le faire.
Ça commence avec feu-de-bois, le clochard ivre qui vient offrir un cadeau à sa cousine, son seul lien.
C'est la dispute avec Chefraoui et le passé craché. C'est l'agression de la famille de "l'arabe" par Bertrand, feu-de-bois, rongé par la haine.
Et c'est une nuit de souvenirs qui remonte à la surface, Rabut le cousin présent et ancien soldat, Bertrand et février. C'est la guerre, la peur, la chaleur, le sable, l'ennemi invisible, les morts qui ne le sont pas.
Des mots balancés entre deux cris. L'odeur du sang et du brûlé. Des sourires d'enfants et des gorges ouvertes.
C'est l'une de ces guerres dont on refuse de parler au même titre que l'Indochine ou le Vietnam et la même souffrance de ses soldats qui ont vu l'horreur et qui en ont été les artisans et qui n'ont le droit qu'à l'indifférence.
Ce sont des cauchemars qui vous hantent et personne pour vous écouter.
Magnifique.....
Son style proche du parler, ses longues phrase qu'on finit à bout de souffle, les mots proche des coups et si forts.
Ils sont rares les romans qui évoquent à cœur ouvert la guerre d'Algérie, les monstruosités des deux camps, les traces que ça laisse sur les âmes, mais surtout le silence, le refus d'en parler, l'interdiction de le faire.
Ça commence avec feu-de-bois, le clochard ivre qui vient offrir un cadeau à sa cousine, son seul lien.
C'est la dispute avec Chefraoui et le passé craché. C'est l'agression de la famille de "l'arabe" par Bertrand, feu-de-bois, rongé par la haine.
Et c'est une nuit de souvenirs qui remonte à la surface, Rabut le cousin présent et ancien soldat, Bertrand et février. C'est la guerre, la peur, la chaleur, le sable, l'ennemi invisible, les morts qui ne le sont pas.
Des mots balancés entre deux cris. L'odeur du sang et du brûlé. Des sourires d'enfants et des gorges ouvertes.
C'est l'une de ces guerres dont on refuse de parler au même titre que l'Indochine ou le Vietnam et la même souffrance de ses soldats qui ont vu l'horreur et qui en ont été les artisans et qui n'ont le droit qu'à l'indifférence.
Ce sont des cauchemars qui vous hantent et personne pour vous écouter.
Magnifique.....
October 7, 2017
"Forse non si sa cos'è una storia finché non si sono sollevate quelle che sono sotto e che sono le uniche che contano, come i fantasmi, i nostri fantasmi che si accumulano e formano le pietre di una strana casa in cui ci rinchiudiamo da soli, ognuno la propria casa, e quali finestre, quante finestre? E in quel momento ho pensato che per tutto il tempo della propria vita bisognerebbe muoversi il meno possibile per non crearsi un passato, come facciamo tutti i giorni; e questo passato che crea pietre, e le pietre, muri." (p. 199)
February 18, 2021
Roman poignant et terrible qui évoque cette guerre qui ne se termine jamais et persiste à hanter les esprit de ceux qui l'ont vécu, la difficulté à se reconstruire après avoir vécu l'indicible. Comment ces hommes peuvent-ils retrouver un équilibre... Un récit tout en finesse structuré par une narration unique en son genre et très bien maîtrisée, sans parler de la tension narrative qui est à couper le souffle. Des personnages détestables par leur banalité : une prouesse réaliste ^^
November 25, 2024
Un peu difficile d’entrer dans l’histoire, mais une fois qu’on est dedans c’est très prenant et marquant. La lecture demande quand même un peu de concentration, vu les phrases tarabiscotées et les changements de narrateur, mais franchement c’est un livre à lire si on veut mieux comprendre les impacts de la guerre et surtout de la guerre en Algérie.
September 12, 2025
Comme on parle beaucoup de Mauvigner, j'en ai lu un. J'en connaissais en fait l'histoire, car j'avais vu le film tiré du roman il y a quelques années. Histoires de guerre d'Algérie et d'hommes taiseux, bof. Un vrai travail de la langue. Ça fait penser à du Céline, mais sans sa sublime colère et son extraordinaire humour. Du coup, l'écriture prend un aspect artificiel, limite vain.
October 23, 2020
La guerre après la guerre. Ce qu'elle détruit irrémédiablement chez ceux qui la font. Le temps qui passe mais n'arrange rien. C'est très beau, triste sans en rajouter, magnifiquement écrit. Une merveille.
June 17, 2021
La sortie du film adapté de ce roman m'a donné envie de le lire mais j'ai assez vite abandonné ma lecture.
Je n'ai pas aimé le style, trop de répétitions. Et puis des circonstances dans ma vie personnelle m'ont donné envie d'une lecture légère, ce n'était sans doute pas le bon moment.
Dommage !
Je n'ai pas aimé le style, trop de répétitions. Et puis des circonstances dans ma vie personnelle m'ont donné envie d'une lecture légère, ce n'était sans doute pas le bon moment.
Dommage !
Displaying 1 - 30 of 58 reviews