My Favourite is a deep and outrageous story of the life and relationships of Jeanne, a long-term sufferer of abuse. Jeanne’s father is the source of all evil, and this is Jeanne’s story of recovery and self-discovery; a life lived in the shadow of a monster who shaped the person that she becomes. It is a heart-breaking novel that leaves you feeling gut-punched, a shocking read that lends itself to being utterly devoured.
I was surprised to have enjoyed this book so much that I consumed it within three days – this is speedy reading for me, and not something I initially would have picked up off the shelf. The topic of abuse was painful, one that I cannot strictly say I enjoyed so much as I was fascinated by it; it made it squirm-in-my-seat uncomfortable. I almost felt bad for wanting to sink my teeth into something so horrific. Jollien-Fardel spared no details when describing the brutal ways that Jeanne’s father beat, tormented and destroyed his wife and children, shining a fluorescent light on the complexities of what trauma can do to a person. Void of the expected ‘victim’ approach, Jeanne is a bold character, conflicted, yet utterly reasonable in her behaviour.
The writer creates beautifully written prose to bear the scars of Jeanne’s childhood, not rushing the story, nor lingering on an event any longer than is necessary. The scenes play out in short, sharp bursts, for instance: ‘His face was deformed, eyes bulging and demented. And he was smiling. It was awful […] That night I witnessed that bestial force. On a man. A father. Mine.’ She gets straight to the point and swiftly moves on to the next stage of Jeanne’s life, showing how much trauma can follow and shape a person. Everything Jeanne feels is based on instinct: ‘hypervigilance had taken over my entire existence. Day in, day out,’ living and breathing fear even in perceivably small notions such as ‘the way he put on or took off his shoes.’ To be trapped in a body that is utterly controlled by another human being, let alone one’s father, causes Jeanne to feel her body ‘does not exist.’ To feel that she was ‘born dead,’ makes it completely logical that even into her twenties, she has had no space for any desire or romantic relationship, this concept also destroyed by the displays of violence towards her mother and sister.
Jeanne drifts through various relationships, exploring them on a physical level and struggling to obtain more than deep desire for people, thus strengthening her character as painstakingly human. She learns trust through same-sex relationships, questioning whether she is so untrusting of men that she chose to partner with women; I found this made the book even more grounding as it was not just a repetitive tale of someone who relies on falling in love with a man in order to survive. That being said, through various relationships with women and men, her heart is so lost and set on the physical, we know these relationships are a form of escape, ‘the vacuity of it all diverted my attention from my torments and provided a welcome distraction.’ Your own heart breaks for her when she discovers attraction, it being the first time her heart ‘beat out of something other than fear,’ a level of pity arising for a character that otherwise makes it near impossible for people to break down her walls.
The horror of childhood trauma is beautifully contrasted with the natural beauty of a Swiss backdrop, where Jeanne relies on nature to soothe her, allowing her to reflect and accept what has happened to her. The juxtaposition of Jeanne’s upbringing versus her adult dependency on Lake Geneva to physically and metaphorically keep her afloat is a calm to the perfect storm. It allows us as readers a chance to briefly slow down and breathe between the eruptions of violence from both Jeanne’s father and later, her adult self. She is raised in a home where the village gossips and close family friends turn a blind-eye to the horrors that happen to her family behind closed doors, this leading to a breakdown in trust with the village doctor, the only friend she thought she could trust at the tender age of eight.
Yet, there feels a sense of resolution not only when the cowardly doctor returns in later life but within the awe and beauty of the nature that cradles her adult self. The lake symbolises her ability to escape and heal, suggesting that just as within nature, all things do: ‘November in Lausanne absolves all the others that came before it, […] in the bracing water, the weight of my body lifted.’
That life is ‘a merry-go-round of grief and love’ is a notion that follows Jeanne through adulthood ‘torn apart by opposing feelings.’ Even through escape, she is constantly drawn back to her homeland, battling herself within her relationships and left constantly challenging her true identity, circling the question: is she anything like the brute that raised her? After suffering through immense losses, Jeanne remains ‘waltzing along on an emotional roller-coaster mapped out according to my surges of desire and the agony of bereavement,’ these two senses tugging internally at her core. Through the turmoil she faces when confronting her identity, she is torn between being someone who is broken by loss or driven to self-destruction with feelings of desire, these contradictory feelings that partner side-by-side to fuel one another.
If I’m being honest, I was slightly irked by the illicit affair that takes place between Jeanne and Paul, a married man who works in her office, as at first it felt cliché. However, it must be said that the physical ‘choreography of instincts’ that take place between two human bodies is handled beautifully, in a way that makes a reader yearn with sadness for this woman to feel comforted. The way that the heat grows immensely fast between them, ending with a simple human recognition that ‘it happens on a Friday in August.’ This spoke volumes to me, that the day was significant determines that with each experience, she is reborn. She is becoming more human by acting in self-destructive and malicious ways, and I felt both joy and pain for Jeanne.
By the end of the book, I felt very ready for a sense of closure, which is seemingly where it feels the writer is taking us. It becomes predictable; the inevitable return home to an ailing old man, the closure from a cowardly childhood friend, a chance at redemption. Brilliantly, the writer is careful not to let down the credible story she has laid out for us over the last 150 pages; just when you think that there is hope around the corner, light at the end of the tunnel, she subtly alludes to an even darker demise for our troubled Jeanne. With a gentle acceptance, Jeanne’s story comes to a dignifying end by returning to her roots in a way that made my heart want to burst. So plain and so human that a quiet ‘oh’, was the only way I could respond. I was hurt by such a story. Hurt in a way that felt important to engage with so that stories like these do not go untold.