What do you think?
Rate this book
La vie tranquille
Francine Veyrenattes nous raconte - ou se remémore - comment son frère Nicolas se bat à mort avec son oncle Jérôme ; quelle garde discrète et sûre la famille monte autour de l'agonisant ; comment la liberté que Nicolas s'est ainsi conquise le conduit à l'amour, puis à la mort. Dans le même temps, Francine est aussi conduite à l'amour, et les parents à la folie.
L'impassibilité de la narratrice rend un son vite étrange. Que l'indifférence soit à ce point nécessaire, qu'elle suive si évidemment le fond des choses la rend furieuse, inconsolable.
Indifférente, elle est en fait le seul moteur du drame. Elle seule l'a voulu, suscité. Elle l'ignore elle-même. Elle en prend une conscience de plus en plus nette à mesure qu'elle raconte. Cette découverte devient même le sujet véritable du livre - qui est l'épuration progressive d'une âme - et son principal attrait.
On se promet : 'On l'aura la vie tranquille.' Du sein d'une grande fatigue, on veut bien enfin se laisser aimer, et aimer. Et faire des enfants. Cette vie est sincère. Ces enfants seront posthumes. On veut bien du bonheur. C'est qu'on est simple enfin. C'est qu'on est morte enfin. C'est qu'on peut enfin vivre 'pareille à tous, la plus à plaindre, pareille à tous'.
L'impassibilité de la narratrice rend un son vite étrange. Que l'indifférence soit à ce point nécessaire, qu'elle suive si évidemment le fond des choses la rend furieuse, inconsolable.
Indifférente, elle est en fait le seul moteur du drame. Elle seule l'a voulu, suscité. Elle l'ignore elle-même. Elle en prend une conscience de plus en plus nette à mesure qu'elle raconte. Cette découverte devient même le sujet véritable du livre - qui est l'épuration progressive d'une âme - et son principal attrait.
On se promet : 'On l'aura la vie tranquille.' Du sein d'une grande fatigue, on veut bien enfin se laisser aimer, et aimer. Et faire des enfants. Cette vie est sincère. Ces enfants seront posthumes. On veut bien du bonheur. C'est qu'on est simple enfin. C'est qu'on est morte enfin. C'est qu'on peut enfin vivre 'pareille à tous, la plus à plaindre, pareille à tous'.
224 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1947
150 people are currently reading
5619 people want to read
About the author
Marguerite Duras
396 books3,284 followersMarguerite Germaine Marie Donnadieu , known as Marguerite Duras, was a French novelist, playwright, screenwriter, essayist, and experimental filmmaker. Her script for the film Hiroshima mon amour (1959) earned her a nomination for Best Original Screenplay at the Academy Awards.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 272 reviews
March 29, 2025
That's Marguerite Duras' second novel, La Vie tranquille. In an astonishing book, Marguerite, famous for her stories on Indochina, appears here as a regionalist writer highlighting the region of her father's origin (Périgord). A closed door in the countryside, one cannot help but think of the Dominici affair in 1952. Violence, expression of a family psychosis. La Vie tranquille is a novel filled with Death, which awaits the farm inhabitants and touches the "manipulated." Following his passions, the main character attends Death. This novel is full of possibilities and is accomplished through lacemaker Marguerite Duras's work, a stunning book that combines family drama and police investigation.
October 28, 2023
Before me, there was nothing in my place. Now there is me in place of nothing.
The Easy Life is about the self-struggles, inner thoughts and contemplations of the 25 year old dispassionate and jaded Francine Veyrenattes, who lives on a farm with her mother, father and younger brother.
Once upon a time there was a family who lived apart from the world in a place I know well. They lived in a big house that barely contained them. They were poor. They worked. So poor that they were forced to never leave one another and to eat at the same table every day of the year. There the ones who worked the most and those who didn’t do much lived side by side. The old who didn’t think before speaking. The young who didn’t speak so freely. And in the end, they had come to believe that some of them hated each other.
The book is divided into three parts, in which three deaths occur that overwhelm our narrator and lead her further towards grief and mental break-down.
Each day I could die but never do I die. Each day I think I know more than yesterday, just enough to die. I forget that yesterday it was the same story. Never do I die.
And yet I know now: how moments announce themselves, approach, arrive, and envelop us for an instant in their whirlwind, how they collapse as soon as we abandon them for another impending moment. Cathedrals of wind.
Will she by and by find a meaning in life and her existence?
Will she finally learn to be happy?
The Easy Life is about the self-struggles, inner thoughts and contemplations of the 25 year old dispassionate and jaded Francine Veyrenattes, who lives on a farm with her mother, father and younger brother.
Once upon a time there was a family who lived apart from the world in a place I know well. They lived in a big house that barely contained them. They were poor. They worked. So poor that they were forced to never leave one another and to eat at the same table every day of the year. There the ones who worked the most and those who didn’t do much lived side by side. The old who didn’t think before speaking. The young who didn’t speak so freely. And in the end, they had come to believe that some of them hated each other.
The book is divided into three parts, in which three deaths occur that overwhelm our narrator and lead her further towards grief and mental break-down.
Each day I could die but never do I die. Each day I think I know more than yesterday, just enough to die. I forget that yesterday it was the same story. Never do I die.
And yet I know now: how moments announce themselves, approach, arrive, and envelop us for an instant in their whirlwind, how they collapse as soon as we abandon them for another impending moment. Cathedrals of wind.
Will she by and by find a meaning in life and her existence?
Will she finally learn to be happy?
December 5, 2022
Marguerite Duras’s second novel was published in the mid-1940s when she was in her early twenties. Set in an isolated region of rural France, it’s narrated by Françoise whose betrayal of a secret leads to a brutal murder which she and her family are complicit in concealing, the catalyst for a chain of events that will lead to further tragedy. It’s a visceral, intense, feverish piece, yet compressed and sketchily drawn - sometimes threatening to lapse into melodrama. But it’s also lyrical, with some marvellous descriptive passages, a fascinating attempt to faithfully portray a woman in crisis who’s grappling with inner turmoil. During its development Duras was herself dealing with immense trauma: France was occupied; her first child was stillborn; her younger brother had died; and her husband was imprisoned in a concentration camp. These elements of Duras’s existence make it hard not to view aspects of Françoise’s gruelling experience as an expression of Duras’s own despair – the sections I found most convincing and effective were the ones representing Francoise’s frantic attempts not to fall apart. For readers used to Duras’s later work her style here may seem unfamiliar, her early work was far more concrete and conventional than her later offerings. This reads very much like the fiction of an author still striving to find their voice, although hints of Duras’s later more assured, elliptical prose do surface. The novel comes with an interesting foreword by Kate Zambreno; and it’s translated by Olivia Baes and Emma Ramadan, both Duras fans, their collaboration stemmed from time together studying translation.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Bloomsbury for an ARC
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Bloomsbury for an ARC
August 25, 2021
La verdad es que no me importó mucho la trama porque la forma de escribir de Duras es todo. Que me narre lo que quiera. De todas formas está buena la historia, no digo que no. Muy introspectiva, oscura y opresiva. La presencia de la muerte es casi constante, la propia y la ajena.
Por momentos tenía que dejar de leer porque no podía con tanto. Es abrumadora pero en un buen sentido.
Por momentos tenía que dejar de leer porque no podía con tanto. Es abrumadora pero en un buen sentido.
December 8, 2022
Sigh.
This is one of those books where I know I'm supposed to admire the writing, and the writer's reputation, and be wowed by the whole experience, but for me . . . there was no there there.
A twenty-five year old woman is stuck on a farm with her family. She has incited her brother to do a horrible thing which leads to another horrible thing. In part two, she escapes to the seaside for a relaxing bout of introspection and ennui. There she spends page after page thinking about what she's done. And, then . . . the ending, which knowing these characters seemed rather implausible.
I feel annoyed and dissatisfied, but mostly glad that it's over.
This is one of those books where I know I'm supposed to admire the writing, and the writer's reputation, and be wowed by the whole experience, but for me . . . there was no there there.
A twenty-five year old woman is stuck on a farm with her family. She has incited her brother to do a horrible thing which leads to another horrible thing. In part two, she escapes to the seaside for a relaxing bout of introspection and ennui. There she spends page after page thinking about what she's done. And, then . . . the ending, which knowing these characters seemed rather implausible.
I feel annoyed and dissatisfied, but mostly glad that it's over.
July 6, 2022
I overwhelmed myself with tragedy, it broke out everywhere, from all sides. And I’m to blame. At least you might think that, but I, I know that it doesn’t matter to me. There’s nothing to do about boredom, I’m bored, but one day I won’t be bored anymore. Soon. I’ll know that it’s not even worth the trouble. We’ll have the easy life.
Released for the first time in English (in a translation by Emma Ramadan), with an introduction by American novelist Kate Zambreno, Marguerite Duras’ ironically titled The Easy Life fits in nicely with my notion of the midcentury French philosophical novel (à la Camus or de Beauvoir), where there is less plot (action) than interior monologue (reaction), but despite the out-of-timeness of this narrative, I think that Duras captured something true and enduring about the restrictions imposed (even self-imposed) on the female life and mind. As Zambreno recounts in the Intro, written in 1943 — at a time when Duras’ husband was a prisoner at Buchenwald for his participation with the French Resistance (as Duras likewise had participated) and having suffered some personal tragedies that are echoed in the plot — Duras would later report that this novel poured out of her, “as if in one breath”. Told from the POV of a twenty-five-year-old French farmgirl (the same age Duras had been when she wrote this, set in the rural locale of her own late father’s childhood), this is the story of an existential crisis and how a person might overcome both chaos and ennui to find a way — or even a reason — to live. A bit old-fashioned and cerebral, The Easy Life is less about story than philosophy but I identified with the humanity of this and am pleased to have read Duras for the first time. (Note: I read an ARC through NetGalley and passages quoted may not be in their final form.)
I didn’t say anything else to Maman. But Jérôme had to disappear from Les Bugues. So that Nicolas could begin to live. It had to stop someday. That day had come.
As The Easy Life opens, the narrator, Francine, explains that her younger brother, Nicolas, has just had a violent run-in with their uncle, Jérôme. Francine soon shares that the family’s fortunes were negatively affected by Jérôme’s actions over the years — he had frittered away the family money, making it so Nicolas couldn’t have an education and Francine could not marry; the family had even been forced out of a middle class life in Belgium because of Jérôme (and his more recent actions had been even less honourable) — so although the uncle seems an unrepentant drain on the family, it’s nonetheless surprising when no one really reacts as Jérôme screams in agony for days from what will become his deathbed. Francine herself is a passive and emotionless character — working on the family farm and serving others in the house because it is expected of her — and all of the characters more or less drift across each others’ paths, counting off the days of toil until their own deaths. When tragedy truly strikes the household, Francine experiences an existential crisis and she is offered a solo trip to the seaside to get her head in order. Part Two of the novel concerns her time away and mostly consists of Francine’s inner monologue that runs like:
My life: a fruit I must have eaten some of without tasting it, without realizing it, distractedly. I am not responsible for this age or for this image. You recognize it. It must be mine. I’m all right with that. I can’t do anything differently. I am that girl, there, once and for all and forever. I started to be her twenty-five years ago. I can’t even hold myself in my arms. I am bound to this waist I cannot encircle. My mouth, and the sound of my laugh, never will I know them. Yet I wish I could embrace the girl that I am and love her.
Or:
I feel the proud weariness of being born, of having come to the end of this birth. Before me, there was nothing in my place. Now there is me in place of nothing. It’s a difficult inheritance. Hence the feeling that I am an air thief. Now you know it and you welcome being in the world. I steal my place from the air, but I am happy. Here. Here I am. I sprawl. It’s beautiful out. I am flour in the sun.
Even as Francine leaves the seaside after two weeks (Part Three), she is passive and detached from those around her, but when she returns to Les Bugues, she starts to see a way forward. Hers seemed a familiar (if extreme) coming of age story: I remember being twenty-five and wondering who I was or who I could be; wondering how to find meaning in the narrow space between boredom and chaos. And as Zambreno assures us in the Intro, this — Duras’ second novel — sets the foundations for everything that would eventually be known as “Durassian”; it’s considered an “important” novel, and it reads like one.
August 21, 2022
89th book of 2022.
3.5. The Easy Life (La Vie tranquille) was first published in 1944, Duras' second novel, and this is the first English translation, to be published on the 6th December this year, 2022. I've only ever read her famous novel, The Lover and though I liked the prose, didn't find it overly affecting. I preferred this one; even as her second novel, at times, her prose here is stunning ('On the sea, everywhere at once, flowers burst, I think I hear them growing on their stems a thousand metres below.'). It tracks a young woman's early family experiences that later lead her to unravel. It reminded me of numerous writers and novels, Woolf, Hotel du Lac, Lispector. Unlike a lot of contemporary novels that hide and drip-feed trauma through the narrative, the first half of the novel presents the narrator's difficult childhood home and the events that shook it, and the final half of the book presents her older, away from her family home, and wrestling with her memories and self. Above all Duras captures loneliness, disillusionment and sadness painfully well. 'I'd like to be the most alone. I am the most abandoned.' Thanks to Bloomsbury for the advance review copy.
3.5. The Easy Life (La Vie tranquille) was first published in 1944, Duras' second novel, and this is the first English translation, to be published on the 6th December this year, 2022. I've only ever read her famous novel, The Lover and though I liked the prose, didn't find it overly affecting. I preferred this one; even as her second novel, at times, her prose here is stunning ('On the sea, everywhere at once, flowers burst, I think I hear them growing on their stems a thousand metres below.'). It tracks a young woman's early family experiences that later lead her to unravel. It reminded me of numerous writers and novels, Woolf, Hotel du Lac, Lispector. Unlike a lot of contemporary novels that hide and drip-feed trauma through the narrative, the first half of the novel presents the narrator's difficult childhood home and the events that shook it, and the final half of the book presents her older, away from her family home, and wrestling with her memories and self. Above all Duras captures loneliness, disillusionment and sadness painfully well. 'I'd like to be the most alone. I am the most abandoned.' Thanks to Bloomsbury for the advance review copy.
July 19, 2022
This is unlike Duras' Indo-China books that I've read, set as it is in rural, backwater France - but as the book develops, it's possible to discern some of the themes that come to fruition in the later books, especially the messy eroticisms of family life.
As we'd expect, this is a very introspective book that is focalised via a young woman - though not the knowing girl-women of some of the later books. There's a strong emphasis on death, including suffering, and a sense of a claustrophobic family, looking inward and hiding its secrets.
The two later sections are more familiar territory with an alienated narrator coming to terms with who she is and what she could be.
This is early Duras and probably not the best place to start (that's her The Lover, in my view) - but for anyone fascinated, as I am, by this very Gallic thinker and writer, this offers an early glimpse (her second novel, I think) of Duras' unique vision.
Thanks to Bloomsbury for an ARC via NetGalley
As we'd expect, this is a very introspective book that is focalised via a young woman - though not the knowing girl-women of some of the later books. There's a strong emphasis on death, including suffering, and a sense of a claustrophobic family, looking inward and hiding its secrets.
The two later sections are more familiar territory with an alienated narrator coming to terms with who she is and what she could be.
This is early Duras and probably not the best place to start (that's her The Lover, in my view) - but for anyone fascinated, as I am, by this very Gallic thinker and writer, this offers an early glimpse (her second novel, I think) of Duras' unique vision.
Thanks to Bloomsbury for an ARC via NetGalley
October 5, 2024
3.5⭐️
the easy life is about a 25 year old woman named francine. the first part deals with 2 family tragedies that were honestly quite shocking to read. duras is quite detailed and those events really explain the sense of unravelling that francine is fighting in the second part. she travels to the coast in order to recover, feeling incredibly unsure of what direction her life is supposed to take. duras plays around with language a lot in this second section, particularly with point of view and the way francine is referred to. francine feels as though she hasn’t done anything to shape her life, but we see the way events in her past have affected her. she has a crisis as she doesn’t recognize herself and thinks of all the possible paths her life could’ve taken. the third part is her return home and her decision about where her life is supposed to go.
i thought the translator’s note at the end was very insightful in explaining the language choices that duras made in the original french. this was my first book of hers and while it wasn’t my favorite, i do plan on reading more from her!
the easy life is about a 25 year old woman named francine. the first part deals with 2 family tragedies that were honestly quite shocking to read. duras is quite detailed and those events really explain the sense of unravelling that francine is fighting in the second part. she travels to the coast in order to recover, feeling incredibly unsure of what direction her life is supposed to take. duras plays around with language a lot in this second section, particularly with point of view and the way francine is referred to. francine feels as though she hasn’t done anything to shape her life, but we see the way events in her past have affected her. she has a crisis as she doesn’t recognize herself and thinks of all the possible paths her life could’ve taken. the third part is her return home and her decision about where her life is supposed to go.
i thought the translator’s note at the end was very insightful in explaining the language choices that duras made in the original french. this was my first book of hers and while it wasn’t my favorite, i do plan on reading more from her!
January 9, 2023
This was my first Marguerite Duras and it was a very mixed experience. The first part is engaging, unsettling and atmospheric: a remote farm in the French countryside, a strange and isolated family and a murder of which the 26 year old daughter Francou recounts the lead-up and the fall-out.
After about 100 pages the first part ends quite abruptly with another shocking event, and then the second part of the book is completely different. Francou leaves the farm on a soul-searching trip to the seaside. Being away from her family for the first time in her life and breaking her eternal routine, she experiences what it is like to be alone, what she looks like in the eyes of strangers, who she really is. For some reason I did not find this meditative part convincing – it felt like the author tried too hard to convey these emotions of a person being placed in an entirely different context.
So, not an entirely satisfying reading experience and maybe this was not the best place to start with Duras, but I plan on reading L´Amant or some of the Indochina stories still - hopefully they change my mind.
Many thanks to the publisher for an ARC via Netgalley.
After about 100 pages the first part ends quite abruptly with another shocking event, and then the second part of the book is completely different. Francou leaves the farm on a soul-searching trip to the seaside. Being away from her family for the first time in her life and breaking her eternal routine, she experiences what it is like to be alone, what she looks like in the eyes of strangers, who she really is. For some reason I did not find this meditative part convincing – it felt like the author tried too hard to convey these emotions of a person being placed in an entirely different context.
So, not an entirely satisfying reading experience and maybe this was not the best place to start with Duras, but I plan on reading L´Amant or some of the Indochina stories still - hopefully they change my mind.
Many thanks to the publisher for an ARC via Netgalley.
September 29, 2011
I read it the first time when I was a teenager and I found it wonderful. It was for me a source of passions, feelings, emotions. I had a lot of quotes of it written in my diary.
Then I read it again when I was 30 and I found in it the same bulk of feelings even if very different due to the fact that I was no more a young and thoughtless girl. I think this is one of the most introspective book I've ever read.
Then I read it again when I was 30 and I found in it the same bulk of feelings even if very different due to the fact that I was no more a young and thoughtless girl. I think this is one of the most introspective book I've ever read.
May 27, 2023
Family saga at its best, a masterpiece ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
May 6, 2020
«Queda el aburrimiento. Nada puede sorprender más que el aburrimiento. Uno cree, cada vez, haber alcanzado el fondo. Pero no es verdad. En el fondo del aburrimiento, hay una fuente de aburrimiento siempre nuevo. Uno puede vivir de aburrimiento».
November 14, 2018
"Hace veinticinco años que existo. Fui muy chiquita, luego crecí y alcancé el talle que tengo ahora y para siempre. Hubiera podido morir de alguna de las miles de maneras de las que se muere, pero logré recorrer veinticinco años de vida. Aún estoy viva, aún no estoy muerta. Respiro. De mis narices emana un aliento verdadero, húmedo y tibio. Sin quererlo, logré no morir de nada. Esto avanza con obstinación, esto que parece detenido en este momento; mi vida. Escucho los latidos de mi corazón y las palmas de mis manos sienten la una y la otra que me pertenecen: a mi, a la que soporta mi descubrimiento en este momento. En este mismo momento me veo rodar entre ejércitos de cosas -hombres, mujeres, animales, trigos, meses...-.
Mi vida: un fruto del cual habré comido un trozo sin probarlo, sin advertirlo, distraídamente. No soy responsable de esta edad ni de esta imagen. Uno la reconoce. Será la mía. La quiero. Otra cosa no puedo hacer. Soy esta, una vez por todas y por siempre. Empecé a serlo hace veinticinco años. Ni siquiera puedo estrecharme entre mis brazos. Estoy atada a este talle que no puede ceñir. Siempre ignoré mi boca y el sonido de mi risa. Quisiera, sin embargo, poder besar a la que soy y amarla.
Me parezco a las otras mujeres. Soy una mujer de aspecto bastante anodino, lo sé. Mi edad es mediana. Puede decirse que todavía soy joven. En cuanto a mi pasado, solo los otros podrían decirme si es interesante. No sé. Está hecho de días y de cosas acerca de las cuales no logro creer que me ocurrieron verdaderamente. Es mi pasado, es mi historia. No llego a interesarme en ella porque es mía. Me parece que mañana mi pasado empezará verdaderamente a contenerme. Desde mañana por la noche, el tiempo no contará. Por el momento, todo pasado que no sea el mío me pertenece más que el mío. Por ejemplo: el de Tiène o el de Nicolas. Es porque no me previnieron que yo viviría. De haber sabido que un día tendría una historia, la hubiera elegido, hubiera vivido con más cuidado a fin de hacerla bella y verdadera, como para gustarme. Ahora, es demasiado tarde. Esa historia comenzó, me lleva adonde quiere, no sé dónde y no tengo nada que ver. A pesar de mis tentativas por alejarla, me sigue, todo ocupa un rango, todo se descompone en memoria y ya nada puede inventarse.
Podría ser mil veces diferente de lo que soy y, a la vez, ser yo sola esas mil diferencias. Empero, solo soy la que se mira en este momento; y más allá, nada. Y acaso dispongo todavía de una treintena de años para vivir, de treintas de octubre, de treintas de agosto, para hacer el pasaje de este momento hasta el fin de mi vida. Estoy para siempre atrapada en la trampa de esta historia, de este rostro, de este cuerpo, de esta cabeza".
Mi vida: un fruto del cual habré comido un trozo sin probarlo, sin advertirlo, distraídamente. No soy responsable de esta edad ni de esta imagen. Uno la reconoce. Será la mía. La quiero. Otra cosa no puedo hacer. Soy esta, una vez por todas y por siempre. Empecé a serlo hace veinticinco años. Ni siquiera puedo estrecharme entre mis brazos. Estoy atada a este talle que no puede ceñir. Siempre ignoré mi boca y el sonido de mi risa. Quisiera, sin embargo, poder besar a la que soy y amarla.
Me parezco a las otras mujeres. Soy una mujer de aspecto bastante anodino, lo sé. Mi edad es mediana. Puede decirse que todavía soy joven. En cuanto a mi pasado, solo los otros podrían decirme si es interesante. No sé. Está hecho de días y de cosas acerca de las cuales no logro creer que me ocurrieron verdaderamente. Es mi pasado, es mi historia. No llego a interesarme en ella porque es mía. Me parece que mañana mi pasado empezará verdaderamente a contenerme. Desde mañana por la noche, el tiempo no contará. Por el momento, todo pasado que no sea el mío me pertenece más que el mío. Por ejemplo: el de Tiène o el de Nicolas. Es porque no me previnieron que yo viviría. De haber sabido que un día tendría una historia, la hubiera elegido, hubiera vivido con más cuidado a fin de hacerla bella y verdadera, como para gustarme. Ahora, es demasiado tarde. Esa historia comenzó, me lleva adonde quiere, no sé dónde y no tengo nada que ver. A pesar de mis tentativas por alejarla, me sigue, todo ocupa un rango, todo se descompone en memoria y ya nada puede inventarse.
Podría ser mil veces diferente de lo que soy y, a la vez, ser yo sola esas mil diferencias. Empero, solo soy la que se mira en este momento; y más allá, nada. Y acaso dispongo todavía de una treintena de años para vivir, de treintas de octubre, de treintas de agosto, para hacer el pasaje de este momento hasta el fin de mi vida. Estoy para siempre atrapada en la trampa de esta historia, de este rostro, de este cuerpo, de esta cabeza".
January 9, 2019
Leí la traducción de Alejandra Pizarnik. Y es como si Pizarnik hubiese sido una sibila de la palabra de Duras. Un libro dulce y triste - o resignado o solo simple- con pasajes de una sabiduría antigua y transversal al tiempo y al espacio
June 22, 2023
Due to the thinness of the plot that borders on being a mere melodrama, The Easy Life, translated into English for the first time in 2022 by Olivia Baes and Emma Ramadan, is undeniably the writing of youth (Duras was only 26 when she wrote the novel) with fleeting moments of soaring clarity ultimately burdened by a derivative and ungainly narrative. The novel's thinness is partly due to the characteristic asperity of Duras's writing, which sharpened into a piercing, unsentimental cruelty by the time she wrote her most famous work, The Lover. The Easy Life swelters under the same hazy atmosphere of unfettered violence, unflinching in its examination of desire and death with prose that is at times breathtakingly luscious, but is messy and dull more often than not. Duras unsuccessfully attempts to elucidate the tedious mundanity of rural life, a dissolving and fragmented sense of identity and the nature of violence and desire in the novel; as she strives to compress and neatly pin these ideas down, they often evade her grasp. That’s not to say Duras is unable to write in a sophisticated manner, but instead, that a subpar plot continually encumbers the novel's most intriguing aspects. The protagonists of Duras are at their best when wrestling with seismic and overpowering forces, and the interjection of the underdeveloped romance plot in moments of glimmering introspection, therefore, confined the novel's utmost potential. A confusing triangle of romance with dull dialogue and a pervasive indifference that imparts itself upon the reader is both superfluous and dysfunctional. Moreover, the plot is skeletal and overexposed and, due to the story’s cramped and awkward pacing, often feels more like a play than a novel. Exposed through the narrative pitfalls of the protagonist’s tedious romance, Duras’s rendering of desire is so uninteresting that, at some points, it made me roll my eyes.
In contrast, her illustrious later novel The Lover, written when she was 70, allows contradictions to hang in suspension without being weighed down, a razor-sharp force strung taut throughout the entire novel, abounding in tensions that cannot be mildly compartmentalised or made easily palatable. The spectral brevity of her prose produces biting sharpness in an unflinching, sweltering portrait of violence and desire, where even the shortest sentences carry the immensity of emotion in an elegant manner. However, The Easy Life lacks the stylistic elegance of later works, as is to be expected from one of Duras's earliest novels. The Lover touches on almost every idea that The Easy Life does - but with an expert lightness of touch and weariness acquired only through time and practice. The Easy Life is a worthwhile novel but only if read through the thematic framework of her other, better works. It provides valuable insight into the development and psychology of the writer and her thematic obsessions, but as a stand-alone novel, The Easy Life is banal and rudimentary.
In contrast, her illustrious later novel The Lover, written when she was 70, allows contradictions to hang in suspension without being weighed down, a razor-sharp force strung taut throughout the entire novel, abounding in tensions that cannot be mildly compartmentalised or made easily palatable. The spectral brevity of her prose produces biting sharpness in an unflinching, sweltering portrait of violence and desire, where even the shortest sentences carry the immensity of emotion in an elegant manner. However, The Easy Life lacks the stylistic elegance of later works, as is to be expected from one of Duras's earliest novels. The Lover touches on almost every idea that The Easy Life does - but with an expert lightness of touch and weariness acquired only through time and practice. The Easy Life is a worthwhile novel but only if read through the thematic framework of her other, better works. It provides valuable insight into the development and psychology of the writer and her thematic obsessions, but as a stand-alone novel, The Easy Life is banal and rudimentary.
Read
June 23, 2023Rather enjoyable distraction for when one is in a Duras mood – which is a bit more common for me than for most. That being said, it’s an early novel, and she hadn’t quite cemented her tone yet. You do see a lot of the greatness to come, particularly in the more introspective parts towards the end, but I wouldn’t say this is essential Duras. If you’re already a fan of The Lover, Moderato Cantabile, etc., it’s worth picking up, but otherwise start with those later works.
March 9, 2022
La vie tranquille, deuxième roman de Duras, m'est apparu comme un récit lent aux contours flous. La mort, la honte et le désir hantent le personnage de Francine, une femme de 25 ans vivant avec sa famille dans un secteur rural du Périgueux. On y discerne déjà la sensualité trouble et l'écriture obsessionnelle qui seront récurrentes dans l'œuvre de l'autrice. J'ai particulièrement savouré le monologue intérieur se déployant dans la deuxième partie, alors que Francine passe des vacances à la mer et vit une importante prise de conscience de son corps et d'elle-même. "Je vois que c'est par hasard que je me suis aperçue dans la glace, sans le vouloir. Je ne suis pas allée au-devant de l'image que je connaissais de moi. j'avais perdu le souvenir de mon visage. Je l'ai vu là pour la première fois. J'ai su en même temps que j'existais.''
January 24, 2023
An early Duras novel, told in three parts. Set on a farm in rural France, this is Francine Veyrenatte's story - her coming of age, her intentional fracturing of the family comprised of older mother and father, younger brother Nicolas, a ne'er do well uncle Jerome, Nicolas' wife, the former housemaid with whom Nicolas now has a son, Noel, and a handsome outsider, Tiene, a friend of Nicolas' who has come to stay for unknown reasons at the farm, working alongside the others. It is Francine's revelation of goings-on within the family that manifests in violence and death, leaves the family members strangers to one another, fractures Francine herself, and then, perhaps, a future reconfiguration may come into being. What is the easy life of the title? It is through Francine's eyes that we see all, even as the ending is left open-ended.
February 12, 2025
Un sobrino que hiere a su tío en un duelo. Las pequeñas tensiones que se dan dentro de una familia venida a menos que vive aislada. El trabajo en el campo y la rutina y los pequeños placeres y el paso de los días. El luto. Un viaje para ver el mar por primera vez. El regreso a casa. El deseo de una vida tranquila. Es poco lo que ocurre en esta novela, pero no es eso lo que más importa. Es la voz de su narradora lo que le da vida, es la forma en que está escrita. Porque hay algo extraño en la prosa de Duras que no sé bien cómo nombrar. Como si por momentos se desdibujara, se hiciera etérea. Como si se meciera con la brisa. Como si la inundara la sensualidad de los sueños. Como una leve fiebre. Como si de pronto la novela se convirtiera en poema y luego volviera a ser novela, pero sin que se note el momento de la transición. No sé qué es lo que hace Duras, pero es precioso.
Además, imaginar a Pizarnik leyendo y traduciendo este libro, tratar de reconocerla en sus errores y sus aciertos, es un gustito aparte.
Además, imaginar a Pizarnik leyendo y traduciendo este libro, tratar de reconocerla en sus errores y sus aciertos, es un gustito aparte.
August 19, 2023
I do love Marguerite Duras's novels so much. Whenever I read her I feel a connection, as if we are related in our souls.
The Easy Life was her second novel, published in France when she was 30 years old, but only published in English last year. Francine is 25 years old, still unmarried, still a virgin. After the death of one of her brothers, in which she played a role, and then the suicide of her other brother, she travels alone from the family farm to the sea. Duras's women often spend time on or by the sea.
It is the exquisite and truthful way Duras writes about women's lives that resonates with me. I was spellbound while I read.
The Easy Life was her second novel, published in France when she was 30 years old, but only published in English last year. Francine is 25 years old, still unmarried, still a virgin. After the death of one of her brothers, in which she played a role, and then the suicide of her other brother, she travels alone from the family farm to the sea. Duras's women often spend time on or by the sea.
It is the exquisite and truthful way Duras writes about women's lives that resonates with me. I was spellbound while I read.
January 20, 2023
This gripping novel starts in the days after a viscous act of violence. Two siblings, Francine, who narrates, Nicolas and their uncle Jérôme live together at a farmhouse, Les Bugues, in a rural French village. There has been a fight. Jérôme, who has been having an affair with Nicolas’s wife, Clémence, is mortally wounded, but dies slowly, over the course of two weeks, in excruciating pain. Clémence takes flight, leaving behind her small son, Noël. Francine’s parents refuse to make the sign of the cross over Jérôme’s body before his burial, and there is no funeral.
Duras pulls this off due to an emphasis on subtlety, none of the characters display any affection or emotion for each other, except for Francine, yet she must bear some of the guilt for the tragedy that unfurls.
The book works so well because of the convincing narration Duras gives to Francine. It is due to her scrutiny she to otherwise mundane detail that the fascination in the story develops. It is as if Jérôme’s death has replaced the boredom of the family’s life previously with a real sense that something of worth may lie ahead.
This was my first of Duras’s books. Though originally published in 1944, it has only just been translated into English. I look forward to reading much more from her.
Duras pulls this off due to an emphasis on subtlety, none of the characters display any affection or emotion for each other, except for Francine, yet she must bear some of the guilt for the tragedy that unfurls.
The book works so well because of the convincing narration Duras gives to Francine. It is due to her scrutiny she to otherwise mundane detail that the fascination in the story develops. It is as if Jérôme’s death has replaced the boredom of the family’s life previously with a real sense that something of worth may lie ahead.
This was my first of Duras’s books. Though originally published in 1944, it has only just been translated into English. I look forward to reading much more from her.
December 1, 2022
via my blog: https://bookstalkerblog.wordpress.com/
𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅.
This is the first time The Easy Life, Marguerite Duras’s second novel, has been released in English, originally published in 1944. The foreword, written by Kate Zambreno, introduces what Duras was going through when she wrote the story, her husband a prisoner at Buchenwald, her brother’s death, the loss of her child… it makes sense why such a heavy grief permeates the novel. Zambreno’s thoughts are a beautiful read, don’t skip it. It’s strange to think the ambivalence that a woman can feel about her own life reaches across time to other women, her worries just as relevant today. It’s not always uncertainty, though, there are waves of fear, grief, shame, hope, hunger, boredom, passion, desire and apathy. Francine Veyrenattes is twenty-five years old, while she witnesses tragedies on her family farm, seeks a lover, one asks… what part has she played in these horrible events? In the beginning we learn that Jérôme, Francine’s uncle, is broken in two after a devastatingly brutal fight with her brother, Nicolas. Francine is proud of her little brother, intoxicated by his power. It is all because of Clémence, her brother’s wife, that the rage is born. There is righteousness there, if only she can make Nicolas realize that. What is meant to be a ‘step into freedom’ leads to unforeseen events. Their lives have, for a long time, been one of chaos and boredom in Les Bugues. Francine feels that time is gnawing at them, and the thing she thought would fix everything hasn’t, instead her brother changes, and the arrival of Luce is loaded with possibilities, not all of them good. Her parents are at a remove, there “to be able to kiss them and smell their scent”. For comfort there is Francine’s growing passion for Tiène, who asks her uncomfortable questions about her intentions that led to the violence between her brother and uncle. It isn’t long before they are lying pressed together. Francine spends a lot of time caring for her nephew, Nicholas and Clémence’s son. Death visits again, in fact, the fate of men don’t bode well here.
Wrestling with immense grief, Francine leaves her family and Tiène for T., an Atlantic beach her family once wanted to vacation at. She longs to know the sea and herself, who is slipping away. There doesn’t seem to be a reprieve from the misery she left behind and though she claims nothing is happening, and everything is calm, her mind is as restless as the ocean. Pondering her own future seems ludicrous when another lies in the ground. She thinks of what it means to be a woman, and the abyss women carry “between their legs”, that so many long to fall into. It’s very French. She has a sort of awakening when she is by the sea, maybe that is the most important part of the novel. Her thoughts become almost meditative, a long conversation with that woman staring back at herself in the mirror. Throughout the novel she mentions boredom, but in the face of the destructive things that occur (she isn’t some innocent bystander in it all either) is it really boredom or just a layer over oneself to escape the mundane? Either way, her layers fall off at the beach. It’s funny she is ‘waiting for some event’ to occur in T., what more could? Death, murder, abandonment, her parents devastated… but we do wait, for what we often don’t know. Something strange occurs, and she is asked to leave the hotel, part 3 has Francine returning home to Les Bugues, ready to face her future. It is a novel of grand desires, false serenity and existential anxieties in the rural countryside of southwestern France. It isn’t an easy life at all. What fascinates me is I am currently reading a novel and the inner dialogue of the female character mirrors that of Francine’s, decades apart. A moving read.
Publication Date: December 6, 2022
Bloomsbury USA
𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚, 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅.
This is the first time The Easy Life, Marguerite Duras’s second novel, has been released in English, originally published in 1944. The foreword, written by Kate Zambreno, introduces what Duras was going through when she wrote the story, her husband a prisoner at Buchenwald, her brother’s death, the loss of her child… it makes sense why such a heavy grief permeates the novel. Zambreno’s thoughts are a beautiful read, don’t skip it. It’s strange to think the ambivalence that a woman can feel about her own life reaches across time to other women, her worries just as relevant today. It’s not always uncertainty, though, there are waves of fear, grief, shame, hope, hunger, boredom, passion, desire and apathy. Francine Veyrenattes is twenty-five years old, while she witnesses tragedies on her family farm, seeks a lover, one asks… what part has she played in these horrible events? In the beginning we learn that Jérôme, Francine’s uncle, is broken in two after a devastatingly brutal fight with her brother, Nicolas. Francine is proud of her little brother, intoxicated by his power. It is all because of Clémence, her brother’s wife, that the rage is born. There is righteousness there, if only she can make Nicolas realize that. What is meant to be a ‘step into freedom’ leads to unforeseen events. Their lives have, for a long time, been one of chaos and boredom in Les Bugues. Francine feels that time is gnawing at them, and the thing she thought would fix everything hasn’t, instead her brother changes, and the arrival of Luce is loaded with possibilities, not all of them good. Her parents are at a remove, there “to be able to kiss them and smell their scent”. For comfort there is Francine’s growing passion for Tiène, who asks her uncomfortable questions about her intentions that led to the violence between her brother and uncle. It isn’t long before they are lying pressed together. Francine spends a lot of time caring for her nephew, Nicholas and Clémence’s son. Death visits again, in fact, the fate of men don’t bode well here.
Wrestling with immense grief, Francine leaves her family and Tiène for T., an Atlantic beach her family once wanted to vacation at. She longs to know the sea and herself, who is slipping away. There doesn’t seem to be a reprieve from the misery she left behind and though she claims nothing is happening, and everything is calm, her mind is as restless as the ocean. Pondering her own future seems ludicrous when another lies in the ground. She thinks of what it means to be a woman, and the abyss women carry “between their legs”, that so many long to fall into. It’s very French. She has a sort of awakening when she is by the sea, maybe that is the most important part of the novel. Her thoughts become almost meditative, a long conversation with that woman staring back at herself in the mirror. Throughout the novel she mentions boredom, but in the face of the destructive things that occur (she isn’t some innocent bystander in it all either) is it really boredom or just a layer over oneself to escape the mundane? Either way, her layers fall off at the beach. It’s funny she is ‘waiting for some event’ to occur in T., what more could? Death, murder, abandonment, her parents devastated… but we do wait, for what we often don’t know. Something strange occurs, and she is asked to leave the hotel, part 3 has Francine returning home to Les Bugues, ready to face her future. It is a novel of grand desires, false serenity and existential anxieties in the rural countryside of southwestern France. It isn’t an easy life at all. What fascinates me is I am currently reading a novel and the inner dialogue of the female character mirrors that of Francine’s, decades apart. A moving read.
Publication Date: December 6, 2022
Bloomsbury USA
December 3, 2023
It was by accident that I glimpsed myself in the mirror without trying to. I didn't seek out the image I knew of myself. I had lost the memory of my face.I saw it there for the first time. I knew in that moment that I existed. p96
With so much grief it's hard to figure out what you want or don't want. p89
my thoughts....Even though they're chaotic, I manage. I'm used to it. Already I recognize them each time, each one with its little mouse face. There will be no more new thoughts. We'll have the easy life. p164
MD certainly does not make it easy for readers to follow the tormented path of Francou as she comes to terms with her existence. A few weeks at a holiday resort give the young woman an opportunity to evaluate the rather claustrophobic situation she was born into and the options available to her.
Thrust into the immediacy of the opening chapters, a disoriented reader might jump to misleading conclusions. All becomes, if not clear, almost comprensible.
I am astonished that I don't please others as much as I please myself. p129
I have only the existence of this body to house my own existence and to prove to myself I have only begun to exist. p109
The existence she chooses at the end of the book might not match her restless dreams, but allows her to finally come to inner peace with the confidence to claim what she identifies as hers.
The translators note at the end of the book added thoughtful details. It might be appropriate to dip into it during moments of perplexity that might occur during the reading.
If I had known that one day I would have a story...I would have lived with more care to make it beautiful and true so that I would like it. Now it's too late. The story has begun, it leads me where it likes....Even though I try to push it away, it follows me; everything fails into place, everything decomposes in memory, and nothing new can be invented. p98
4/5
5/7
With so much grief it's hard to figure out what you want or don't want. p89
my thoughts....Even though they're chaotic, I manage. I'm used to it. Already I recognize them each time, each one with its little mouse face. There will be no more new thoughts. We'll have the easy life. p164
MD certainly does not make it easy for readers to follow the tormented path of Francou as she comes to terms with her existence. A few weeks at a holiday resort give the young woman an opportunity to evaluate the rather claustrophobic situation she was born into and the options available to her.
Thrust into the immediacy of the opening chapters, a disoriented reader might jump to misleading conclusions. All becomes, if not clear, almost comprensible.
I am astonished that I don't please others as much as I please myself. p129
I have only the existence of this body to house my own existence and to prove to myself I have only begun to exist. p109
The existence she chooses at the end of the book might not match her restless dreams, but allows her to finally come to inner peace with the confidence to claim what she identifies as hers.
The translators note at the end of the book added thoughtful details. It might be appropriate to dip into it during moments of perplexity that might occur during the reading.
If I had known that one day I would have a story...I would have lived with more care to make it beautiful and true so that I would like it. Now it's too late. The story has begun, it leads me where it likes....Even though I try to push it away, it follows me; everything fails into place, everything decomposes in memory, and nothing new can be invented. p98
4/5
5/7
May 25, 2023
Yet another example of the @londonreviewofbooks broadening horizons and tastes. I was intrigued by Toril Moi's review of this book by Marguerite Duras, an influential figure in 20th century French feminism and literature. A beautiful new translation is exciting enough, even more so if it's the first time into English.
The story takes place in pastoral rural France, and centres around a single 25-year-old daughter of a farming family. Her life is featureless and static. A family punch-up and her brothers' romantic prospects make up the dramatic interest of the book's first half. Her tedium and untapped potential vibrates through the prose.
Then comes a spontaneous solo journey to a seaside village. Her first encounter with the infinite sea fractures her previous understanding of what's real, her identity, what's valuable. The prose starts to break down as she begins to dissociate, the borders of herself falling away. She returns to the farm with a new outlook on what's possible, and seizes life for herself.
I absolutely loved the translators' note, even more than the introduction. Every book that involves translation should have one. To pretend that translators can hide behind authors is a charade at best, fraudulent at worst (the @bookerprizes does a great job dispelling this myth). These two lift the lid on their creative process, their agency, decisions. Of all interpretations, surely it's the translator's that should be given special attention.
The story takes place in pastoral rural France, and centres around a single 25-year-old daughter of a farming family. Her life is featureless and static. A family punch-up and her brothers' romantic prospects make up the dramatic interest of the book's first half. Her tedium and untapped potential vibrates through the prose.
Then comes a spontaneous solo journey to a seaside village. Her first encounter with the infinite sea fractures her previous understanding of what's real, her identity, what's valuable. The prose starts to break down as she begins to dissociate, the borders of herself falling away. She returns to the farm with a new outlook on what's possible, and seizes life for herself.
I absolutely loved the translators' note, even more than the introduction. Every book that involves translation should have one. To pretend that translators can hide behind authors is a charade at best, fraudulent at worst (the @bookerprizes does a great job dispelling this myth). These two lift the lid on their creative process, their agency, decisions. Of all interpretations, surely it's the translator's that should be given special attention.
July 5, 2023
p. 143 “I would like for the summer to be as perfect in me as it is outside, I would like to forget to be always waiting. But there is no summer of the soul. We watch the summer that passes before us while we remain in our own winter. We should abandon this season of impatience. Grow old in the sun of its desires. Since it’s useless to wait when we are always waiting for something well beyond what we could hope for. To be amused, joyful, smooth, and beautiful to look at. To please like any other, always a new other. Since I would be no one. If I could open myself up and cleanse myself of bitterness, of wind, of sea.
But my skin is sealed like a sack, my head hard, brimming with brains and blood.”
p. 97 “My life: a fruit I must have eaten some of without tasting it, without realizing it, distractedly. I am not responsible for this age or for this image. You recognize it. It must be mine. I’m all right with that. I can’t do anything differently. I am that girl, there, once and for all and forever. I can’t even hold myself in my arms. I am bound to this waist I cannot encircle. My mouth, the sound of my laugh, never will I know them. Yet I wish I could embrace the girl that I am and love her.”
But my skin is sealed like a sack, my head hard, brimming with brains and blood.”
p. 97 “My life: a fruit I must have eaten some of without tasting it, without realizing it, distractedly. I am not responsible for this age or for this image. You recognize it. It must be mine. I’m all right with that. I can’t do anything differently. I am that girl, there, once and for all and forever. I can’t even hold myself in my arms. I am bound to this waist I cannot encircle. My mouth, the sound of my laugh, never will I know them. Yet I wish I could embrace the girl that I am and love her.”
February 22, 2021
En esta novela vuelven sus obsesiones , las que se destacan en su novela más conocida “El amante”: el incesto , las familias rotas, la relación con los espacios naturales. La novela está dividida en dos partes, la primera cuenta la historia de esta familia que atraviesa dos tragedia y la segunda es un viaje interior al mundo de la protagonista. Me encantó. Duras siempre hace un uso del leguaje que te deja sin aliento, esta novela es, quizás, la que más se destaca en ese aspecto. El paisaje rural, los sentimientos ocultos bajo ese paisaje, la pobreza de la vida rural, todo está hermosa y dolorosamente escrito. Es una de sus mejores novelas, sino es que es la mejor.
Bueno, y la tradición de Pizarnik es oro puro.
Bueno, y la tradición de Pizarnik es oro puro.
August 12, 2023
This actually might be my 2nd fave Duras so far, 9/10
"It’s because no one warned me that I would live. If I had known that one day I would have a story, I would have chosen it, I would have lived with more care to make it beautiful and true so that I would like it. Now it’s too late. This story has begun, it leads me where it likes, I don’t know where and I have no say in it. Even though I try to push it away, it follows me; everything falls into place, everything decomposes in memory, and nothing new can be invented."
"It’s because no one warned me that I would live. If I had known that one day I would have a story, I would have chosen it, I would have lived with more care to make it beautiful and true so that I would like it. Now it’s too late. This story has begun, it leads me where it likes, I don’t know where and I have no say in it. Even though I try to push it away, it follows me; everything falls into place, everything decomposes in memory, and nothing new can be invented."
Displaying 1 - 30 of 272 reviews