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La danse juive
La Danse juive est le terrifiant monologue d’une jeune femme obèse, accompagnatrice dans un conservatoire où évoluent des danseuses et chanteuses filiformes. Il est terrible ce monologue d’une fille qui, un jour, a surpris dans le regard de son père quelque chose qui ressemble à du mépris. Pourtant, cet homme impitoyable a été gros lui aussi mais, ayant réussi à triompher de son obésité, il va de succès en succès, de femme en femme, après avoir largué sa légitime épouse en se donnant la bonne conscience de l’entretenir dans sa maison de banlieue.
Lise Tremblay dépeint en clinicienne l’univers de la jeune femme et celui de sa mère abandonnée. Son écriture sèche et froide dit tout le désespoir, la violence contenue qui finira par éclater sans possibilité de retour. Formidable écrivaine, Lise Tremblay a reçu le prix de la Ville de Montréal pour son recueil de nouvelles La Héronnière. --Monique Roy
Lise Tremblay dépeint en clinicienne l’univers de la jeune femme et celui de sa mère abandonnée. Son écriture sèche et froide dit tout le désespoir, la violence contenue qui finira par éclater sans possibilité de retour. Formidable écrivaine, Lise Tremblay a reçu le prix de la Ville de Montréal pour son recueil de nouvelles La Héronnière. --Monique Roy
142 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 1999
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
January 24, 2024
Première lecture. Peut-être que mon avis changera quand j’aurai à le relire à la mi-session. Qui sait.
Lecture rapide mais assez déprimante. Le thème de l’hiver est assez intéressant à analyser, mais le récit en lui-même n’est pas ma tasse de thé. Je vais probablement trouver plus de choses à dire à ma deuxième relecture. Pour l’instant, la seule chose qui m’a vraiment divertie dans ce livre, c’est la réaction de mon amie quand elle me l’a prêté 😂
Lecture rapide mais assez déprimante. Le thème de l’hiver est assez intéressant à analyser, mais le récit en lui-même n’est pas ma tasse de thé. Je vais probablement trouver plus de choses à dire à ma deuxième relecture. Pour l’instant, la seule chose qui m’a vraiment divertie dans ce livre, c’est la réaction de mon amie quand elle me l’a prêté 😂
June 21, 2018
This review was originally published at Grab the Lapels.
Mile End is solidly a novella, coming in at 142 pages. It was published in 2002. The title refers to an area of Montreal called Mile End, which is known as “a hip, laid-back area with an artsy vibe and multicultural roots. Old-school bagel shops, Greek eateries and Italian cafes mix with stylish restaurants and buzzing brunch spots. Indie shops selling records, books and vintage clothes are found throughout the area. . .” You may not realize as much, though, because our narrator, an unnamed fat woman, who mainly frequents the same Chinese restaurant/cafe. She is not “hip,” nor is she apt to follow retro trends. Basically, the novella is about a fat woman who dispassionately plays piano, has an uncaring lover, and tries to position herself carefully within her family.
Lise Tremblay’s novella arguably falls into postmodernism, specifically minimalism. That feeling of “lack” in the story is prominent in Tremblay’s writing. Often, her narrator makes proclamations without clarification. She points out, like all fat women, she hasn’t eaten since breakfast, drops food on her clothes, is a clown, likes winter, has sparse/limp hair, and sweats over nothing. Now, because I am specifically reading fat women to find positive representation, I’m conflicted by what Tremblay has written. While she does capture the experiences of many fat people, there isn’t much positive about the narrator. I haven’t decided how I feel about that. Sometimes the narrator is cruel to herself, at one point claiming she is a whale, but for the most part she is matter-of-fact about her body, which I personally found comforting. It’s not often I see someone like me on the page.
Additionally, the character notes how her body fills spaces, which is another way Tremblay shows a fat person on page without polarizing her (monster/hero). The narrator stretches her legs to give her body the space it demands, she can’t buckle the seat belt in a car, she doesn’t fit in regular bath tubs, she turns red and breathy when putting on her snow boots, etc. While many readers may see these examples and feel negatively, I also felt like Tremblay was capturing the experience of living in a fat body.
Fat is a family issue. It is passed through generations and can even be what visually holds a clan together. The narrator’s father is famous. Upon seeing him on the cover of a magazine, the narrator notes, “My father is gaining weight again, a lot; soon he’ll be back like his brothers, like me, nice and round and pink. The thought must frighten him to death.” When she hit puberty, the narrator started to grow round like her father’s family, and fat is a sign of “moral laxness” to him.
Notice the difference between calling herself a “whale” and “nice and round and pink.” Her self-abuse likely comes from society, but also her father’s opinions. Throughout, the narrator mentions how she doesn’t want to change. Her job is to play piano at a ballet studio where she notices the newest ballerinas often are taken away in ambulances after passing out because they haven’t been eating, which, she asserts, will certainly lead to losing a kidney. The narrator never envies the dancers their thinness, and when her lover, a fat man, tries to diet, she claims, “I’m not interested in being saved.” I loved this — her words imply thin people are saved in a religious sense, while fat people are evil. That’s not for her.
The father’s family — all fat — is represented by the “little white house” in which he grew up. There’s also what the narrator “carries” in her fat: her father as a boy, stories she cannot tell, the world’s inertia, passion, her father’s family, and her soul. The fat storage and house are a minimalist way that forces readers to fill in the gaps of what the narrator’s body means in relationship to her family, herself, place, and society. It’s not explained for readers, and some people may find that frustrating.
Lastly, there are some translation issues, which stand out because the sentences don’t entirely make sense. Here is an example that makes it look like Gail Scott used Google translate: “I beckon to the Chinese guy, and am served another long expression in a brown china cup, very heavy.” Sometimes a word is missing: “His sisters and mother are dressed their fancy holiday clothes.” The prepositions become a problem: “She’s been lulled asleep by the saccharine music of the shopping centers where she spends too much time in.” To be fair, the whole book doesn’t read this way, but when Scott gets her translations wrong, they’re obvious.
Overall, I would recommend this book. Although minimalist, it’s also realistic, complicated, and makes you think more about existing in fat bodies. A good companion book would be Roxane Gay’s memoir Hunger.
Mile End is solidly a novella, coming in at 142 pages. It was published in 2002. The title refers to an area of Montreal called Mile End, which is known as “a hip, laid-back area with an artsy vibe and multicultural roots. Old-school bagel shops, Greek eateries and Italian cafes mix with stylish restaurants and buzzing brunch spots. Indie shops selling records, books and vintage clothes are found throughout the area. . .” You may not realize as much, though, because our narrator, an unnamed fat woman, who mainly frequents the same Chinese restaurant/cafe. She is not “hip,” nor is she apt to follow retro trends. Basically, the novella is about a fat woman who dispassionately plays piano, has an uncaring lover, and tries to position herself carefully within her family.
Lise Tremblay’s novella arguably falls into postmodernism, specifically minimalism. That feeling of “lack” in the story is prominent in Tremblay’s writing. Often, her narrator makes proclamations without clarification. She points out, like all fat women, she hasn’t eaten since breakfast, drops food on her clothes, is a clown, likes winter, has sparse/limp hair, and sweats over nothing. Now, because I am specifically reading fat women to find positive representation, I’m conflicted by what Tremblay has written. While she does capture the experiences of many fat people, there isn’t much positive about the narrator. I haven’t decided how I feel about that. Sometimes the narrator is cruel to herself, at one point claiming she is a whale, but for the most part she is matter-of-fact about her body, which I personally found comforting. It’s not often I see someone like me on the page.
Additionally, the character notes how her body fills spaces, which is another way Tremblay shows a fat person on page without polarizing her (monster/hero). The narrator stretches her legs to give her body the space it demands, she can’t buckle the seat belt in a car, she doesn’t fit in regular bath tubs, she turns red and breathy when putting on her snow boots, etc. While many readers may see these examples and feel negatively, I also felt like Tremblay was capturing the experience of living in a fat body.
Fat is a family issue. It is passed through generations and can even be what visually holds a clan together. The narrator’s father is famous. Upon seeing him on the cover of a magazine, the narrator notes, “My father is gaining weight again, a lot; soon he’ll be back like his brothers, like me, nice and round and pink. The thought must frighten him to death.” When she hit puberty, the narrator started to grow round like her father’s family, and fat is a sign of “moral laxness” to him.
Notice the difference between calling herself a “whale” and “nice and round and pink.” Her self-abuse likely comes from society, but also her father’s opinions. Throughout, the narrator mentions how she doesn’t want to change. Her job is to play piano at a ballet studio where she notices the newest ballerinas often are taken away in ambulances after passing out because they haven’t been eating, which, she asserts, will certainly lead to losing a kidney. The narrator never envies the dancers their thinness, and when her lover, a fat man, tries to diet, she claims, “I’m not interested in being saved.” I loved this — her words imply thin people are saved in a religious sense, while fat people are evil. That’s not for her.
The father’s family — all fat — is represented by the “little white house” in which he grew up. There’s also what the narrator “carries” in her fat: her father as a boy, stories she cannot tell, the world’s inertia, passion, her father’s family, and her soul. The fat storage and house are a minimalist way that forces readers to fill in the gaps of what the narrator’s body means in relationship to her family, herself, place, and society. It’s not explained for readers, and some people may find that frustrating.
Lastly, there are some translation issues, which stand out because the sentences don’t entirely make sense. Here is an example that makes it look like Gail Scott used Google translate: “I beckon to the Chinese guy, and am served another long expression in a brown china cup, very heavy.” Sometimes a word is missing: “His sisters and mother are dressed their fancy holiday clothes.” The prepositions become a problem: “She’s been lulled asleep by the saccharine music of the shopping centers where she spends too much time in.” To be fair, the whole book doesn’t read this way, but when Scott gets her translations wrong, they’re obvious.
Overall, I would recommend this book. Although minimalist, it’s also realistic, complicated, and makes you think more about existing in fat bodies. A good companion book would be Roxane Gay’s memoir Hunger.
May 14, 2024
Je pensais que je réussirais jamais à le finir tellement j'ai trouvé ça plate.
Je me questionne réellement sur la pertinence de tous ces commentaires grossophobes. Parce que oui, pour moi, ce livre est bourrée d'une lourde grossophobie. Aborder le poids et le corps est une chose. Se servir de la graisse pour créer un sentiment d'oppression et d'étouffement est une chose. Mais en rester là, en est une autre que je n'endosse pas. Aborder le poids d'un individu , ce n'est pas un moteur narratif pertinent et respectueux si on s'en sert seulement pour créer du dégoût et renforcer les clichés. Se morfondre pour se morfondre et rester dans sa marde pendant 140 pages c'est long.
La fin m'a surprise, mais arrive malgré tout comme un cheveu sur la soupe, le personnage concerné ne rentre jamais réellement en contact avec la narratrice alors oui c'est étrange comme fin.
Bref, une lecture qui ne me marquera pas plus que ça, même si je voyais le potentiel au débit du récit. Tourner en rond pour tourner en rond ça me fait zone out pis perdre mon temps.
Je me questionne réellement sur la pertinence de tous ces commentaires grossophobes. Parce que oui, pour moi, ce livre est bourrée d'une lourde grossophobie. Aborder le poids et le corps est une chose. Se servir de la graisse pour créer un sentiment d'oppression et d'étouffement est une chose. Mais en rester là, en est une autre que je n'endosse pas. Aborder le poids d'un individu , ce n'est pas un moteur narratif pertinent et respectueux si on s'en sert seulement pour créer du dégoût et renforcer les clichés. Se morfondre pour se morfondre et rester dans sa marde pendant 140 pages c'est long.
La fin m'a surprise, mais arrive malgré tout comme un cheveu sur la soupe, le personnage concerné ne rentre jamais réellement en contact avec la narratrice alors oui c'est étrange comme fin.
Bref, une lecture qui ne me marquera pas plus que ça, même si je voyais le potentiel au débit du récit. Tourner en rond pour tourner en rond ça me fait zone out pis perdre mon temps.
June 3, 2019
« Elle a traîné son enfant obèse chez des médecins de sa banlieue cossue qui affirmaient ne pouvoir rien faire tant que l’enfant n’aurait pas atteint la fin de sa croissance. Ses sœurs parlaient d’hérédité. C’était l’hérédité. Tous les habitants de la petite maison blanche avaient cette tare. “ Hérédité ”, c’est un des mots des sœurs de ma mère, un mot qui calme, qui vient de Dieu, qui apporte la paix, et qui m’a enfermée dans cette graisse à tout jamais. » p. 111.
March 4, 2021
Je n’ai pas aimé ce livre qui m’a été recommandé. Lise Tremblay est native de Chicoutimi. Un récit très lourd. Cette fille obèse dont la graisse renferme toutes ses frustrations n’a pas attiré ma sympathie. Je cherche encore le lien avec le titre.
January 12, 2024
magnifique magnifique magnifique
it’s giving L’étranger de Camus, mais situé dans le Mile End et avec un personnage féminin qui slay🎀
très courte lecture, ça se dévore en une seule journée. My biggest recommandation pour son efficacité et sa manière de te tordre les tripes👑
it’s giving L’étranger de Camus, mais situé dans le Mile End et avec un personnage féminin qui slay🎀
très courte lecture, ça se dévore en une seule journée. My biggest recommandation pour son efficacité et sa manière de te tordre les tripes👑
October 26, 2017
A really depressing read. And that ending, somewhat out of left field only made it worse. The book did a really good job of transporting you into the protagonists mindset, but it was a hard read.
March 24, 2021
Une histoire lourde de sens où la véritable obésité est causé par les mots non prononcés, un froid silence qui pèse sur la conscience, un sentiment d’imposture.
February 11, 2024
Une lecture crue et directe, mais définitivement marquante.
February 6, 2024
« Je n’arrivais pas à voir le lien entre la petite ville du Nord, cette grosse maison désertée et l’obèse couchée dans ce lit. Un chaînon manquait. »
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September 10, 2016Woah, did not see that ending coming. I adored the main character for most of the middle of the book anyway.
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews