When I Was Old

by Georges Simenon, Seán Barrett (Narrator)

Publisher's Summary

For personal reasons, or for reasons I don't know myself, I began feeling old, and I began keeping notebooks. I was nearing the age of 60.

Georges Simenon's autobiographical notebooks, in which he recorded his observations, experiences, anxieties and 'all the silly ideas that pass through my head', are one of the most candid self-portraits of a writer ever put to paper.

Here, as the celebrated author ruthlessly examines his tortuous writing methods, his past, his fame, his intimate relationships and his fears of ageing, the result is an unsparing, often painfully revealing insight into a man trying both to find and to escape himself.
©1971 Georges Simenon (P)2016 Audible, Ltd

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir, Biography Memoir, Essays, Autobiography, France, Biography

Audible Audio

First published January 1, 1970

About the author

Georges Joseph Christian Simenon (1903 – 1989) was a Belgian writer. A prolific author who published nearly 500 novels and numerous short works, Simenon is best known as the creator of the fictional detective Jules Maigret.
Although he never resided in Belgium after 1922, he remained a Belgian citizen throughout his life.

Simenon was one of the most prolific writers of the twentieth century, capable of writing 60 to 80 pages per day. His oeuvre includes nearly 200 novels, over 150 novellas, several autobiographical works, numerous articles, and scores of pulp novels written under more than two dozen pseudonyms. Altogether, about 550 million copies of his works have been printed.

He is best known, however, for his 75 novels and 28 short stories featuring Commissaire Maigret. The first novel in the series, Pietr-le-Letton, appeared in 1931; the last one, Maigret et M. Charles, was published in 1972. The Maigret novels were translated into all major languages and several of them were turned into films and radio plays. Two television series (1960-63 and 1992-93) have been made in Great Britain.

During his "American" period, Simenon reached the height of his creative powers, and several novels of those years were inspired by the context in which they were written (Trois chambres à Manhattan (1946), Maigret à New York (1947), Maigret se fâche (1947)).

Simenon also wrote a large number of "psychological novels", such as La neige était sale (1948) or Le fils (1957), as well as several autobiographical works, in particular Je me souviens (1945), Pedigree (1948), Mémoires intimes (1981).

In 1966, Simenon was given the MWA's highest honor, the Grand Master Award.

In 2005 he was nominated for the title of De Grootste Belg (The Greatest Belgian). In the Flemish version he ended 77th place. In the Walloon version he ended 10th place.

Reviews

[Iain · Rating 4 out of 5]

A must for fans. A journal over the course of two years as Simenon neared 60 years of age. There are some insights into his writing technique - novels written in 10 days and revised and completed in a week, musings on art and his own legacy, and hints at his prodigious sexual appetite. Surprisingly then, the most affecting entries centre around his family, the love of his children, of being a father, and the love and companionship he shares with his wife. A diverting and interesting meandering snapshot.

[Adam McPhee · Rating 2 out of 5]

Ended up scanning most of the back half more than reading it. Some interesting anecdotes (dinner with Charlie Chaplin and Henry Miller; bought wolf cubs in Turkey and raised them in France), just enough on his insane writing process to keep me from quitting, hoping there'll be more, better stuff later, but it never arrives. Think this is exactly what it says in the intro: something for his children to remember him by. Captures his personality more than anything, and if that doesn't really draw you in, then there's not much left.

A shame, because I'm such a fan of his novels, and I'd love to know more about them and about his process.

Tried to do a thread of some interesting parts here, but gave up quickly.

[Kathleen Flynn]

Georges Simenon was an incredibly productive writer, on the Joyce Carol Oates and Anthony Trollope level, yet I've barely read his work. What passing reference in something I was reading prompted me to borrow this book, I've already forgotten, but it was the hope of gaining insights into writing and ageing that kept me going through this sometimes tedious work.

In his late 50s, the early 1960s, already a famous and wealthy man, he began keeping a journal for a while, with the notion that it might help his children understand him later -- when they were grown up and he was dead, was the subtext. Since he had at that age fathered a son not even two years earlier (he also has a son who's a young adult at the time of these journals, and another boy and a girl who seem to be around 10) this did not seem an unreasonable concern. (Though as it turned out he would live another 30 years, so I guess even the youngest son must have gotten to know him a bit).

The picture that emerges from these pages is not a likeable dude: selfish to a degree he seems altogether unaware of, unapologetically sexist. I often found myself pitying his wife, the mysterious D., mother of the three younger children. It's also obscure at times: he doesn't bother to explain many things that he refers to only elliptically, so the reader is left to guess about what actually happened, for instance at the end, when there has a been a gap in his journal and he writes a part addressed to D., whom he has not seen for 32 days straight and is apparently about to see again.

Yet there was also something that kept me reading. What kind of a person writes a novel in 10 days, for example? As someone who wrote a novel in 10 years, this held a morbid fascination for me, though this book did not give me too many insights into how one does it.

One thing that does emerge clearly is how everything in the household is arranged around Georges and his writing. When he writes a novel in 10 days, it's because he doesn't have any other obligations: D and the servants are keeping the children fed and the household going, managing the business of Simenon's literary empire. In one way this makes sense: it's his writing that is funding everyone's comfortable lifestyle. In another way... wow.

It's also evident from hints he drops about his earlier life that he was always like this, even before he was rich and famous: a fast writer, and unapologetically letting the annoying and tedious aspects of his life be taken care of by other people. This prompted certain reflections on my part that could have come straight from A Room of One's Own.

But there was also something about this book I kind of liked, stemming from Simenon's quality of refusing to take himself or his writing too seriously. He's an asshole, but not a pretentious one. His unlikable qualities seem extremely... human.

He's a writer and he writes, approaching his task more like an artisan than an artiste, even if exactly how he does it eludes him. I also enjoyed his insights about getting older, the way he's clear-eyed about it in some ways and deluded in others.

[Andrew MacDonald · Rating 2 out of 5]

I assume anyone reading a writer's diaries is not expecting a James Patterson thriller and as such knows what they're getting into, so I'll focus on how Simenon's diary matches up to the other writer diaries I've read, and whether it 'works' according to the expectations I had as a reader.

In my opinion, nothing can beat the diaries of Anais Nin. Kafka's diaries come close, and so do Plath's. Cheever's diaries are heartbreaking, and if it's the sense of working writer's life you want, I'd recommend Joyce Carol Oates' award-winning behemoth. They haven't been released yet, but I also think Patricia Highsmith's diaries will be fairly bat-shit crazy and worth a look.

When I Was Old, though, felt......................subpar, especially against the backdrop of his life, which by all accounts was very strange indeed.

I was wondering what bothered me about When I Was Old, because it WAS a regular accounting of Simenon's life and thoughts during a specific period of time in his older age. Then I read Fenton Bresler's meh biography of Simenon and came across a passage about When I Was Old that explains my ambivalence pretty succinctly:

"Partly, [Simenon] insincerely lies when he feels the truth is too revelatory or he deliberately wishes to eract a false facade behind which he can keep himself intact."

Putting aside the redundancy of 'false facade,' since facades are inherently false, so does that mean that it's a 'fake fakeness,' or authentic, since a false false is a double negative AHHH, anyway, going through WIWO, I got the impression that I wasn't getting the 'access' diaries are supposed to offer readers - the diary-genre's promise that it is a reflection of the writer's inner world, and that it wasn't specially generated for public consumption.

Knowing what I do about Simenon as a consummate business-person who saw himself to some extent as a brand, before indeed writer-brands really existed, I can't help but see this diary in the same self-serving vein as Updike's. And actually that's a good comparison, because Updike also assiduously guarded his brand as a writer, and Begley's excellent biography really exposes how carefully doctored Updike's writings about himself are.

But I digress. Point being, with the exception of a few passages related to celeb gossip re: Miller and Chaplin, and some valuable insight into Simenon's process as a writer, there's not much value in When I was Old, except for Simenon completists.

Fans of Simenon should read this breezy book alongside one of the better Simenon biographies, and probably only once you've got a few Maigret's under your belt. Those just interested in seeing how a complicated writer's brain ticks would be better served choosing one of the aforementioned biographies.

[Jacob Wren · Rating 5 out of 5]

A few short passages from When I Was Old:

*

To write for writing’s sake, which I once thought was the writer’s busines, when I was twelve years old. And perhaps it’s partly true. Only I’m not a writer. I’m a novelist. And the novelist does not know the joy of writing.

*

I wish I liked the work of my friends who write. I try to make myself. I try to pretend, for it’s rarely true. Perhaps this is why I have few writer friends. I have them only by chance. Then I like them as men, while regretting that I cannot admire them professionally.

*

What shall I write – if I continue – I don’t know at all. No abstract ideas, anyway. Otherwise, in the long run I would have to think before I write, which goes against my principles.

*

But to write a novel I need almost a month of peace without any disturbances (seven to eight days of writing, it is true, but to get in the mood and identify with my characters it takes me longer and longer. I don’t believe it is age, weakness, drying up, but that it has more to do with my becoming harder and harder to please. There was a time – twenty-five years ago! – when I used to say to myself: ‘It’s good enough for the public.’ Now, it’s no longer the public I’m preoccupied with. Perhaps I’m wrong.)

*

I have a dream which I shall probably never realize. Still, I’ve been playing with it for more than thirty years, nearly forty years, it’s come back to me over and over, particularly each time I’ve begun to see my next novel. It is to write a picaresque novel, a long story without head or tail, with stops, as in the course of a stroll, with characters who rise up and disappear without reason, secondary stories which, in turn, introduce others.

*

As almost always when I’m beginning, I promise myself an optimistic novel. I know what I mean. Not conventional optimism. A novel tasting of life. Then, when it is finished…




.

[Milovan Dekic · Rating 5 out of 5]

Brilliant piece. A portrait of a true intelectual; I guess Simenon would prefer to be called simply “a man”. These are his notebooks - or diaries - he wrote for around three years. In the end - as he admits - he felt that writing these was a nonsense. He was writing them once he started feeling that he is not comfort in his own skin.

You will see that he spent some time thinking about topics such as evolution and natural selection, despise towards jargon and towards “experts” or “professionals” and journalists. He reflects a lot on human nature and it’s grotesque future. There are few intereting pages of his time spent with Charlie Chaplin and Henry Miller.

In the end, he felt sorry for writing these. These are mostly kinda philosophical entries, and he didn’t liked that. Instead of writing about life, he liked to actually live it.

[A Ter · Rating 1 out of 5]

Couldn't quite get into this one. It was meandering, and lacking in narrative.

[D'face · Rating 3 out of 5]

A monumental memoir from Simenon prompted by the thought that he might die before his young family got to know him. He wrote this daily journal for a number of years knowing that it was being read by his wife who was struggling with depression and so there is some self censorship occurring and some effort to demonstrate how happy they all are together. A long work that covers what ever comes into his mind - sex, money, fame, awards, family life. Much of it is a record of daily life in the family, his writing schedule and doubts about his continuing ability, the visits of journalists and friends. His novels are far more entertaining. He ended up living more than 20 years beyond this period, so his children reached adulthood although his daughter took her own life as a young woman.

[Jack · Rating 4 out of 5]

The renowned author discusses his life and thoughts. He makes a survey of his youthful reading and habits, and near the end examines the repetition of social life.

[Mark Schiffer · Rating 4 out of 5]

This collection of 1960s diaries really made me fall in love with the overall voice and persona of Simenon. Pretty sad because it's mostly about the eventual failure of his marriage, which happened several years after this book was published. The result is that there's no real catharsis to that "arc" which runs through the memoir. But, like, that lack of catharsis is in itself a feeling? Pretty fun to read about Simenon's annoyances with interviewers, publishers, award committees, like everybody he met except for Henry Miller? Who among us hasn't been there amirite? I really enjoyed the audiobook and could easily imagine relistening to it.

[Tosh · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm a fan of the writer's journal. Basically, nothing really happens in a writer's life, except what's in his or hers head. Georges Simenon is no different. This journal takes place in the early 1960s -in fact, it ends in spring 1963. Simenon is in his late 50s and often his journal writing deals with aging and his life with the family. What's interesting about him is one, he's close friends with Charlie Chaplin and Henry Miller (all three lunch or have dinner together) and also a friend of Gide and Blaise Cendrars.

As a writer myself, I'm totally fascinated with a writer's writing schedule. Simenon wrote hundred of novels in his lifetime and at the time of writing "When I Was Old," he was contracted to write six novels a year. How can one possibly do something like that? Also, he had a full family life. A wife, young children, and then occasionally having sex with four women in one night. Which doesn't seem to be that much of a big deal for this busy writer. Still, he suffers from depression, has strong doubts and thoughts about his daily take of alcohol. Very much the normal Joe, except he can write six novels a year, and most, are pretty good books.

Early this year I read John Cheever's journal, which is very similar to Simenon's book. Both are into self-examing their purpose in life and their art. And real life enters the picture with respect to drinking, love, and family. And both were successful writers at the time of their common journals. I recommend this book to anyone who is writing or having trouble sitting down and getting the work done. Simenon was a very disciplined writer and had his life organized pretty well. Which makes him sound dull, but believe me, he's not a dull man whatsoever.

[Owen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Georges Simenon, as everybody knows, was a Belgian who went to live in Switzerland. Well, that's about what I knew of the fellow before reading this interesting partial autobiography. I think it says somewhere at the beginning that he had intended not to write about himself ever, but that some event involving a child of his changed his mind. Whatever the reason, this look at part of a writer's hectic life is not without interest.

Simenon lived in a mist of rumour and legend. Of course, this was largely of his own making and he does little to correct matters in the book. Although known as something of a, to put it politely, lover of women's company, he does not go into this Paris Match side of things at all. Instead, he lets us see a bit of the inner man, or what a clever writer may be selling to us as such, and, all the criticism of him after his death notwithstanding, I for one felt that I got somewhat closer to the enigma. It was almost as if he was saying (in about 1963) that he wasn't such a bad fellow after all.

There is much of interest to anyone wondering about the author of Maigret, but precious little about Maigret himself. Just some tedious details of how he could write a novel a week and live rather handsomely without even getting tendinitis. It's hard to know how you can take Georges Simenon seriously. He led a charmed life in many ways, and his famous temper (like that of Peter Sellers) and love of womankind if not mankind, made him a force to be reckoned with. In "When I Was Old," we get a glimpse of the man who held millions in thrall for so many years. It's worth the look.

[Seán Rafferty · Rating 3 out of 5]

A must-read for Simenon fans. Really interesting insights into his writing methods and life. 'I'm the one who chose this way, because I believed in it. Basically I still do. But this simplicity, this starkness, this wilful absence of originality, of brio, of obvious 'art', how can I expect people to understand it?'
Did I enjoy it? Yes, very much so. Do I trust its absolute truthfulness? No. Would I recommend it to non-Simenon fans? No. Unless you want a glimpse into a prolific writer's life. Also there are longueurs and I think that Simenon has one eye on his reputation and legacy when writing the diary. His attitude to women and relationships are 'interesting' to say the least.
As a slice of social history it is also fascinating as he refers to the various current affairs that occupied the news.
Highly recommended for Simenon fans and those interested in insights into a prolific writer's methods and life.

[Ilaria · Rating 5 out of 5]

The inventor of Maigret wrote his own autobiography, and a masterpiece came out. I have to say that the best autobiographies I have ever read are writers'. And this is one of those. A must read!

[Iris · Rating 5 out of 5]

maar dan in een nederlandse vertaling. raak niet uitgelezen in dit boek. heb het al zeker 5 keer geleend.