Witty banter, lust, ennui, and an undercurrent of violence underlie a seemingly paradisiacal summer on the eve of World War II, in this landmark translation of the first and only novel by Éric Rohmer, the French New Wave’s most prolific and beloved filmmaker.
Fifteen years before completing his first feature film—and ten before beginning a transformative editorial stint at Cahiers du cinéma that would usher the journal, and French cinema, into a new era—the man who would become known worldwide as Éric Rohmer published a single novel. Released by Éditions Gallimard alongside the early works of Claude Simon and Marguérite Duras, Élisabeth was part of the first flowering of what would come to be known as the nouveau roman—and was also the “matrix,” as Rohmer himself later put it, of the images, ideas, and formal concerns of his first sequence of films, Six Moral Tales.
Set in the sunstruck countryside east of Paris during the summer of 1939, a year ahead of the German invasion, where the upper-middle-class Roby family and its eponymous matriarch are spending a listless summer, Élisabeth is a war-novel awaiting a war. While the teenage Roby children and their friends swim, flirt, and lie to one another among the baking fields and icy meanders of the Marne, the novel becomes the scene of an anticipatory haunting. The simmering paranoia, calculated blankness, and potential violence of the coming Occupation are already present—as it were, in mufti. With a cool, kaleidoscopic eye, Rohmer lays out his protagonists and their precarious peace—their restlessness, their desperate boredom, their petty romantic agonies—with the unsettling chilliness and the sinister exactitude of details on a tactical map.
Éric Rohmer (born Jean-Marie Maurice Scherer) was a French film director and screenwriter. He is regarded as a key figure in the post-war New Wave cinema and is a former editor of influential French film journal Cahiers du cinéma. He was also the brother of philosopher and pedagogist René Schérer.
Scherer fashioned his pseudonym from the names of two famous artists: actor and director Erich von Stroheim and writer Sax Rohmer, author of the Fu Manchu series.
Rohmer was the last of the French New Wave directors to become established. He worked as the editor of the Cahiers du cinéma periodical from 1957 to 1963, while most of his Cahiers colleagues, among them Jean-Luc Godard and François Truffaut, were making their names in international cinema.
Única novela de Rohmer, escrita en la década de 1940 y publicada bajo un pseudónimo mientras trabajaba como profe. Me ha gustado mucho leerla porque Rohmer me encanta como director, creo que de no ser así es difícil que guste tanto.
En su escritura se reconocen muchísimos elementos de su cine y apreciarlos me ha entretenido un montón. Empezando por lo más evidente, los tiempos que los personajes dedican a transportarse son inmensos, e igual que en sus películas, muy detallados; recorremos fachadas, calles y carreteras que vuelven a actuar como una crónica de los escenarios de la época, con descripciones precisas que para mí no funcionan tan bien como en pantalla. Sin embargo, los espacios —aunque no hay tantos— que dedica a las descripciones me han parecido muy bonitos; son descripciones tan sensibles que he visto las escenas con la suavidad y delicadeza con que él las filmaría. Los diálogos, por supuesto, son también tan fuertes como en sus pelis, pero se me han hecho más pesados porque en las partes más insustanciales no hay escenarios bonitos que apreciar. Otros elementos comunes son también los colores (blanco, azul), las flores, los libros (aunque la cultura no emerge de manera tan explícita) y las rodillas, que hacen de símbolo erótico en varias escenas ("La rodilla de Claire formaba un pequeño triángulo oscuro y brillante que sobrepasaba la línea nítida del vestido"). Es curiosa esta frase, "La rodilla de Claire" se estrena 25 años después. Supongo que habrá muchos más elementos presentes en sus películas que he pasado por alto.
Por último, la traducción es horrorosa; el mismo personaje se llama por su nombre en castellano o francés indistintamente y se necesitan aclaraciones de traducción para varios pasajes que no se entienden sin éstas.
Rohmer is an aesthete through and through. Very French, very languid. The book is vaguely foreboding but neither leans into that mood fully or keeps a firm perspective on what is causing it (being on the cusp of WWII.) I wanted to love it but tolerated it instead.