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My Devotion
Winner of the 2018 Fénéon Literary Prize
A captivating and profound exploration of the mysterious connections between love, submission, and creation.
Helen and Franck, both born into high-ranking diplomatic families, meet in Rome as high-school students and immediately detect in each other the wounded child hidden beneath their gilded social status. Their relationship becomes a dangerous, explosive mix of love and friendship.
Immediately after Helen's graduation, they leave their past and family behind to move in together in her apartment in Amsterdam. While Helen immerses herself in her studies and embarks on a promising academic career, Frank, after a few difficult years, makes a spectacular debut on the Dutch Art scene with his first paintings. Helen remains faithfully by his side during his rise to fame, overseeing the domestic details of his life in apparent total self-abnegation.
Are introverted Helen and flamboyant Franck who they really appear to be? Are they victims or monsters? Kerninon’s English language debut, full of masterfully orchestrated twists and turns, leaves these simple distinctions behind, and progresses into far more fascinating terrain.
A captivating and profound exploration of the mysterious connections between love, submission, and creation.
Helen and Franck, both born into high-ranking diplomatic families, meet in Rome as high-school students and immediately detect in each other the wounded child hidden beneath their gilded social status. Their relationship becomes a dangerous, explosive mix of love and friendship.
Immediately after Helen's graduation, they leave their past and family behind to move in together in her apartment in Amsterdam. While Helen immerses herself in her studies and embarks on a promising academic career, Frank, after a few difficult years, makes a spectacular debut on the Dutch Art scene with his first paintings. Helen remains faithfully by his side during his rise to fame, overseeing the domestic details of his life in apparent total self-abnegation.
Are introverted Helen and flamboyant Franck who they really appear to be? Are they victims or monsters? Kerninon’s English language debut, full of masterfully orchestrated twists and turns, leaves these simple distinctions behind, and progresses into far more fascinating terrain.
272 pages, Paperback
Published July 30, 2020
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715 people want to read
About the author
Julia Kerninon
28 books94 followersJulia Kerninon est née en 1987 à Nantes, où elle vit. Elle est docteure en lettres, spécialiste de littérature américaine. Elle s’est fait remarquer dès son premier roman, Buvard (2014), qui a reçu notamment le prix Françoise-Sagan.
Trois livres vont suivre aux Éditions du Rouergue, dans lesquels elle affirme son talent et déroule son principal thème de prédilection, la complexité du sentiment amoureux.
Trois livres vont suivre aux Éditions du Rouergue, dans lesquels elle affirme son talent et déroule son principal thème de prédilection, la complexité du sentiment amoureux.
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May 23, 2021
People swore I’d lose my memory as I got older, but they were wrong, just as when I was seventeen they swore that one day I would find out that real life was not to be found in books. That was wrong, too.
My Devotion is the translation by Alison Anderson of Julia Kerninon's 2018 novel Ma dévotion.
I previously this summer read Kerninon's excellent non-fictional love letter to reading and writing, A Respectable Occupation, in Ruth Diver's translation - my review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show... - and the novel opens with the first of many literary references.
When I was twenty- five, I wrote a slim essay devoted to Hans Christian Andersen. I was young at the time, and thought I’d offered convincing proof of the close ties between the Danish author’s life and work, but I was kidding myself. Years later, when I actually read it — in other words, read it like a book someone else might have written, which is what it had indeed become — I was stunned by what I found. Instead of the pertinent analyses I seemed to recall, I encountered page after page of an almost lyrical defense of isolation, and I heard the muted voice of the young woman I had been — an introverted girl, hiding behind her books, as terrified as she was proud, and fiercely attempting to impose order upon the world.
The novel is structured as a monologue from Helen, a writer of non-fictional books about books and a publisher, to her former close friend and sometime lover Frank Appledore, a now famous painter.
The two, both soon to turn 80 have just bumped into each other in London in the late 2010s, having not seen each other for 23 years.
When I left my house just now I had no idea I would run into you on this pavement in Primrose Hill, coming straight towards me as if by magic, holding a crumpled brown paper bag in your hand which, you would inform me after a moment, contained two little cinnamon rolls.
No doubt you would like to ask me how I am and give me your news, but I have been thinking about you for twenty- three years, every day of your absence, so this time you won’t be doing the talking, Frank. I will, and I alone.
I’m going to tell you everything, here and now, standing in the street, I’m going to tell you our entire story right from the start, because I have to hear it, too. I can’t stop looking at you — Frank, lost and then found. Let me begin.
And she proceeds to talk for over 200 pages and, she claims, six hours.
From the story that Helen tells us we soon learn that she was born in 1938, the youngest child (with two older brothers Fred and Maarten) of a Dutch mother and an English diplomat father, who turned 40 the year she was born and was, that Autumn, in Munich with Chamberlain.
Her diplomatic, but also highly troubled, upbringing accounts for her self-proclaimed tyrannical empathy:
The fact that all through my early years I was constantly on the lookout — as a child, to make sure my brothers wouldn’t kill me; as an adolescent, in hopes of eluding their shared goal of raping me —left me extremely alert to everything going on around me.
Because my father, like yours, was a diplomat, I learned very early on to detect the insinuations of adult discourse, and later, when I myself was an adult — at least as far as the rest of the world was concerned — I was never able to abandon my watchfulness. A child of embassies, I grew up in a world where the most important thing was to know the codes and respect them, to understand what someone wanted before he himself knew.
...
My ability to anticipate the expectations of others ... my hypersensitivity made me both very empathetic and utterly tyrannical: since I knew everything.
In Autumn 1950, aged 12, her father was appointed the British ambassador to Rome, resident at the Villa Wolkonsky, where Nikolai Gogol wrote Dead Souls. Frank's father also moved their at the same time as Deputy Head of Mission, Frank only a few months older than her. And when the two families first meet:
You and I suddenly found ourselves quite alone together. And that was when you said these words, shrugging one shoulder towards the double doors that led into your dining room: “Do you hate your family, too?” Oh, Frank. I remember those words as if they were the first sensible thing I’d ever heard in my entire life.
..
When you asked me that extraordinary question—Do you hate your family, too?—in an instant I felt closer to you than to anyone I had ever known. It was, perhaps, the dominant feeling I experienced at that time: a hatred of my family, equal only to my love of books.
And by 1956, aged just 18, the two move together from Italy to live in her mother's old flat in Amsterdam, where she begins her studies and career, and later, after almost a decade of drifting and searching for a calling, Frank bursts on to the art scene.
All the above is disclosed in the first 15 pages of the novel and the rest of the story takes us chronologically through their time together, and apart, starting in the Amsterdam flat. The story runs from the 1950s to the mid 1990s, and Rome, Amsterdam, Boston (where she spent some years married and apart from Frank) and Normandy, and with a strong sense of time and place ("In 1982, the year Gabriel García Márquez was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature, we celebrated our first full year in the country[side]"), so it was interesting to read in an interview with the author that her first draft had a rather abstract setting and the details were added at her publisher's suggestion.
For example, Helen learns their moving to Amsterdam in 1956 coincided with Jackson Pollock's death (in an incident which will prove later to have more resonance):
For years I did not know that these two events had occurred that same summer. But ever since I found out, at some point in my reading, I can hardly separate the two anymore. The summer of ’56, Jackson Pollock died in a road accident, and I, Helen, took you, Frank, to Amsterdam, and gave you a room in my mother’s house and, later, when you needed it, an entire studio, the room at the rear with the glass ceiling.
You never thought about it as something I had given you. You never thought about any of that in terms of property or exchange. But the way I saw it, you were indebted to me, from the moment I ceremoniously placed the spare key in your cupped hands, the summer we were eighteen. And your debt, in my opinion, has only increased with all that has happened since.
And a later moment is marked by the death of Kurt Cobain, his lyrics echoing through their house in tribute could stand for their relationship:
Come as you are
As you were
As I want you to be
As a friend, as a friend
As a known enemy.
That the story has a hidden dark element at its heart is hinted at with the occassional, casual but stark reference, such as that above to her brothers' abuse of her and, talking of her and Frank's latter years together the great decade when we lived together in Normandy, when I eased back somewhat from my literary occupations and learned a few new tangible skills—how to bake my own bread, plant beans, plan a cold-blooded murder.
This is an intense novel with a definite Thomas Bernhard feel to the writing about Helen and Frank's respective families, and Kerninon has previously acknowledged his key formative role for her: Thomas Bernhard taught me everything: how to work, to leave, to endure, to hate, to immerse myself into art, to be a mother. (from https://www.albertine.com/bookshelf/j...)
She expanded on this in an interview (http://leslecturesduhibou.blogspot.co...)
Recommended and a strong contender for the 2021 International Booker. 4.5 stars - very close to 5 (certainly the best of those I've rated 4 in 2020) - I'm disappointed this hasn't had more attention so rounding it to 5
My Devotion is the translation by Alison Anderson of Julia Kerninon's 2018 novel Ma dévotion.
I previously this summer read Kerninon's excellent non-fictional love letter to reading and writing, A Respectable Occupation, in Ruth Diver's translation - my review: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show... - and the novel opens with the first of many literary references.
When I was twenty- five, I wrote a slim essay devoted to Hans Christian Andersen. I was young at the time, and thought I’d offered convincing proof of the close ties between the Danish author’s life and work, but I was kidding myself. Years later, when I actually read it — in other words, read it like a book someone else might have written, which is what it had indeed become — I was stunned by what I found. Instead of the pertinent analyses I seemed to recall, I encountered page after page of an almost lyrical defense of isolation, and I heard the muted voice of the young woman I had been — an introverted girl, hiding behind her books, as terrified as she was proud, and fiercely attempting to impose order upon the world.
The novel is structured as a monologue from Helen, a writer of non-fictional books about books and a publisher, to her former close friend and sometime lover Frank Appledore, a now famous painter.
The two, both soon to turn 80 have just bumped into each other in London in the late 2010s, having not seen each other for 23 years.
When I left my house just now I had no idea I would run into you on this pavement in Primrose Hill, coming straight towards me as if by magic, holding a crumpled brown paper bag in your hand which, you would inform me after a moment, contained two little cinnamon rolls.
No doubt you would like to ask me how I am and give me your news, but I have been thinking about you for twenty- three years, every day of your absence, so this time you won’t be doing the talking, Frank. I will, and I alone.
I’m going to tell you everything, here and now, standing in the street, I’m going to tell you our entire story right from the start, because I have to hear it, too. I can’t stop looking at you — Frank, lost and then found. Let me begin.
And she proceeds to talk for over 200 pages and, she claims, six hours.
From the story that Helen tells us we soon learn that she was born in 1938, the youngest child (with two older brothers Fred and Maarten) of a Dutch mother and an English diplomat father, who turned 40 the year she was born and was, that Autumn, in Munich with Chamberlain.
Her diplomatic, but also highly troubled, upbringing accounts for her self-proclaimed tyrannical empathy:
The fact that all through my early years I was constantly on the lookout — as a child, to make sure my brothers wouldn’t kill me; as an adolescent, in hopes of eluding their shared goal of raping me —left me extremely alert to everything going on around me.
Because my father, like yours, was a diplomat, I learned very early on to detect the insinuations of adult discourse, and later, when I myself was an adult — at least as far as the rest of the world was concerned — I was never able to abandon my watchfulness. A child of embassies, I grew up in a world where the most important thing was to know the codes and respect them, to understand what someone wanted before he himself knew.
...
My ability to anticipate the expectations of others ... my hypersensitivity made me both very empathetic and utterly tyrannical: since I knew everything.
In Autumn 1950, aged 12, her father was appointed the British ambassador to Rome, resident at the Villa Wolkonsky, where Nikolai Gogol wrote Dead Souls. Frank's father also moved their at the same time as Deputy Head of Mission, Frank only a few months older than her. And when the two families first meet:
You and I suddenly found ourselves quite alone together. And that was when you said these words, shrugging one shoulder towards the double doors that led into your dining room: “Do you hate your family, too?” Oh, Frank. I remember those words as if they were the first sensible thing I’d ever heard in my entire life.
..
When you asked me that extraordinary question—Do you hate your family, too?—in an instant I felt closer to you than to anyone I had ever known. It was, perhaps, the dominant feeling I experienced at that time: a hatred of my family, equal only to my love of books.
And by 1956, aged just 18, the two move together from Italy to live in her mother's old flat in Amsterdam, where she begins her studies and career, and later, after almost a decade of drifting and searching for a calling, Frank bursts on to the art scene.
All the above is disclosed in the first 15 pages of the novel and the rest of the story takes us chronologically through their time together, and apart, starting in the Amsterdam flat. The story runs from the 1950s to the mid 1990s, and Rome, Amsterdam, Boston (where she spent some years married and apart from Frank) and Normandy, and with a strong sense of time and place ("In 1982, the year Gabriel García Márquez was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature, we celebrated our first full year in the country[side]"), so it was interesting to read in an interview with the author that her first draft had a rather abstract setting and the details were added at her publisher's suggestion.
For example, Helen learns their moving to Amsterdam in 1956 coincided with Jackson Pollock's death (in an incident which will prove later to have more resonance):
For years I did not know that these two events had occurred that same summer. But ever since I found out, at some point in my reading, I can hardly separate the two anymore. The summer of ’56, Jackson Pollock died in a road accident, and I, Helen, took you, Frank, to Amsterdam, and gave you a room in my mother’s house and, later, when you needed it, an entire studio, the room at the rear with the glass ceiling.
You never thought about it as something I had given you. You never thought about any of that in terms of property or exchange. But the way I saw it, you were indebted to me, from the moment I ceremoniously placed the spare key in your cupped hands, the summer we were eighteen. And your debt, in my opinion, has only increased with all that has happened since.
And a later moment is marked by the death of Kurt Cobain, his lyrics echoing through their house in tribute could stand for their relationship:
Come as you are
As you were
As I want you to be
As a friend, as a friend
As a known enemy.
That the story has a hidden dark element at its heart is hinted at with the occassional, casual but stark reference, such as that above to her brothers' abuse of her and, talking of her and Frank's latter years together the great decade when we lived together in Normandy, when I eased back somewhat from my literary occupations and learned a few new tangible skills—how to bake my own bread, plant beans, plan a cold-blooded murder.
This is an intense novel with a definite Thomas Bernhard feel to the writing about Helen and Frank's respective families, and Kerninon has previously acknowledged his key formative role for her: Thomas Bernhard taught me everything: how to work, to leave, to endure, to hate, to immerse myself into art, to be a mother. (from https://www.albertine.com/bookshelf/j...)
She expanded on this in an interview (http://leslecturesduhibou.blogspot.co...)
LLH :Quels livres lus dans votre adolescence vous ont le plus touchée et pourquoi ?
JK : Le plus important, c’était La Cave de Thomas Bernhard, le récit autobiographique de son expérience d’apprenti dans un magasin de condiments, ses phrases interminables et bouleversantes, et sa façon de répéter au début, je voulais aller dans le sens opposé. J’ai trouvé ça brillant, et c’était merveilleux d’apprendre qu’on pouvait écrire comme ça, en prenant autant d’ampleur, en construisant quelque chose avec un effet boule de neige, en répétant les mots parce qu’il faut les répéter pour les comprendre, et même en traduction on sentait la solidité de la langue allemande riche de verbes, et ça rendait tout si précis et émouvant. Et Bernhard est tellement hostile, il a tellement de raisons d’être hostile, et en même temps il est tellement fin. Pendant des années, ça me paraît incroyable, mais j’ai eu seulement ce livre-là de lui
–
Même si c’était la meilleure chose que j’avais lue, je n’ai pas pensé à en chercher d’autre. Et puis, quand j’avais vingt-cinq ans, je vivais à Rome et j’ai vu Maîtres Anciens dans la devanture d’une bouquinerie, et c’était encore mieux que La Cave. C’est une splendeur. Il y a tout dans ce livre. On peut même le lire à voix haute tellement il est parfaitement écrit. C’est un peu bizarre, parce que je lis principalement des auteurs anglais ou américains, et je fais une thèse de littérature américaine, pourtant mon auteur préféré est un Autrichien.
Recommended and a strong contender for the 2021 International Booker. 4.5 stars - very close to 5 (certainly the best of those I've rated 4 in 2020) - I'm disappointed this hasn't had more attention so rounding it to 5
February 18, 2022
An intense, claustrophobic book consisting of a monologue from a woman coming unexpectedly face to face with a man who has been at the centre of her life: best friend, sometime lover, father of the boy she loved.
In lots of ways this deconstructs the gendered concept of devotion: that model where a woman thinks she's crucial, even central to a man's life, only to find herself overlooked, taken for granted, superseded. There's an added toxicity here by making Frank a famous painter whose work relies on the invisible labour of women. In an entirely apposite move, Helen, the narrator, brings up the wives of 'great men' - Marx, Freud, Tolstoy - and asks how much of that greatness is dependent on invisible women.
The final third becomes just a little melodramatic, but still has things to say about what happens when a woman's anger, simmering through years, turns to rage and, finally, spills over.
Kerninon's prose is nicely bare and pared back, but the simplicity of the writing belies the high impact of the book.
In lots of ways this deconstructs the gendered concept of devotion: that model where a woman thinks she's crucial, even central to a man's life, only to find herself overlooked, taken for granted, superseded. There's an added toxicity here by making Frank a famous painter whose work relies on the invisible labour of women. In an entirely apposite move, Helen, the narrator, brings up the wives of 'great men' - Marx, Freud, Tolstoy - and asks how much of that greatness is dependent on invisible women.
The final third becomes just a little melodramatic, but still has things to say about what happens when a woman's anger, simmering through years, turns to rage and, finally, spills over.
Kerninon's prose is nicely bare and pared back, but the simplicity of the writing belies the high impact of the book.
November 14, 2019
“Pensavo che l’amore fosse eterno:avevo torto.
non servono più le stelle, spegnetele anche tutte
imballate la luna, smontate pure il sole
svuotatemi l’oceano e sradicate il bosco
perché ormai nulla può giovare.” (Funeral blues, W.H. Auden)
Degli ascensori nessuno parla: quando e come sono stati inventati e qual è stata la loro evoluzione, quali meraviglie, nel tempo, hanno permesso di realizzare.
Anche Helen rimane nell’ombra, mentre Frank diventa una stella di prima grandezza nel firmamento dell’arte. “Come per i grattacieli, credo sia stata tu a rendere possibile Frank. E, come per gli ascensori, temo che nessuno ne parli mai”. Questa è la metafora più calzante per definire la devozione di Helen per Frank: fin da bambini sono stati uniti dall’odio per le rispettive famiglie, per “le loro belle parole e il loro animo cattivo” e hanno creato perciò una solida alleanza allo scopo di proteggersi, fino a quando sono diventati abbastanza forti per fuggire.
Ma tra i due la più solida è Helen che ha un certo talento e soprattutto la capacità di farlo fruttare, mentre Frank appare più fragile e ondivago. Ma grazie alla costante attenzione e alla cura della sua “migliore amica” Frank riuscirà a intraprendere una luminosa carriera di pittore, pur vivendo una vita appartata e sostanzialmente egocentrata.
È Helen a raccontare tutta la storia, nella sua sostanza emotiva e psicologica (“ero al tuo servizio, e come tutte le serve avevo deciso che il mio padrone mi apparteneva”) nel suo decorso a tratti frenetico (da Roma a Amsterdam a Boston alla Normandia) e nei suoi risvolti altamente drammatici.
La storia di un amour fou e come tale ad alto grado di tossicità.
non servono più le stelle, spegnetele anche tutte
imballate la luna, smontate pure il sole
svuotatemi l’oceano e sradicate il bosco
perché ormai nulla può giovare.” (Funeral blues, W.H. Auden)
Degli ascensori nessuno parla: quando e come sono stati inventati e qual è stata la loro evoluzione, quali meraviglie, nel tempo, hanno permesso di realizzare.
Anche Helen rimane nell’ombra, mentre Frank diventa una stella di prima grandezza nel firmamento dell’arte. “Come per i grattacieli, credo sia stata tu a rendere possibile Frank. E, come per gli ascensori, temo che nessuno ne parli mai”. Questa è la metafora più calzante per definire la devozione di Helen per Frank: fin da bambini sono stati uniti dall’odio per le rispettive famiglie, per “le loro belle parole e il loro animo cattivo” e hanno creato perciò una solida alleanza allo scopo di proteggersi, fino a quando sono diventati abbastanza forti per fuggire.
Ma tra i due la più solida è Helen che ha un certo talento e soprattutto la capacità di farlo fruttare, mentre Frank appare più fragile e ondivago. Ma grazie alla costante attenzione e alla cura della sua “migliore amica” Frank riuscirà a intraprendere una luminosa carriera di pittore, pur vivendo una vita appartata e sostanzialmente egocentrata.
È Helen a raccontare tutta la storia, nella sua sostanza emotiva e psicologica (“ero al tuo servizio, e come tutte le serve avevo deciso che il mio padrone mi apparteneva”) nel suo decorso a tratti frenetico (da Roma a Amsterdam a Boston alla Normandia) e nei suoi risvolti altamente drammatici.
La storia di un amour fou e come tale ad alto grado di tossicità.
January 4, 2019
Je trouve ça étonnamment difficile de donner mes impressions sur ce roman. J'ai immédiatement plongé dedans, cette adresse directe de la narratrice à son meilleur ami de toujours, cette écriture comme un long monologue m'a fait me sentir très proche de ces deux personnages, tant et si bien qu'il était difficile de refermer ce livre. Qui plus est, la plume est très jolie et l'atmosphère que retranscrit l'autrice tout au long de ce roman est d'une grande douceur, malgré les coups durs.
Le fait est que le personnage de Franck est assez peu aimable, égoïste et immature, mais en le voyant à travers les yeux d'Helen, on ne peut s'empêcher de l'aimer un peu. La force de son amour transparaît dans chaque page, c'est touchant et très intense. C'est vrai qu'à la fin, avant l'événement terrible qui les séparera, on s'agace un peu de la passivité et de la soumission d'Helen face à l'irresponsabilité de Franck et à son manque total de considération pour autrui, et pourtant, malgré ces personnages pleins de failles, ce roman m'a totalement happée et émue. J'ai presque l'impression de ressortir d'un rêve, je ne retiens rien de vraiment tangible mais plus une douce émotion. Bref, j'ai beaucoup aimé cette lecture.
Le fait est que le personnage de Franck est assez peu aimable, égoïste et immature, mais en le voyant à travers les yeux d'Helen, on ne peut s'empêcher de l'aimer un peu. La force de son amour transparaît dans chaque page, c'est touchant et très intense. C'est vrai qu'à la fin, avant l'événement terrible qui les séparera, on s'agace un peu de la passivité et de la soumission d'Helen face à l'irresponsabilité de Franck et à son manque total de considération pour autrui, et pourtant, malgré ces personnages pleins de failles, ce roman m'a totalement happée et émue. J'ai presque l'impression de ressortir d'un rêve, je ne retiens rien de vraiment tangible mais plus une douce émotion. Bref, j'ai beaucoup aimé cette lecture.
March 28, 2023
Ouf. Je suis passée au travers parce que je ne m’en rendais pas compte immédiatement, mais ce livre regroupe un nombre impressionnant d’éléments qui ont tendance à me taper sur les nerfs. Vu le succès de ce livre, on dirait qu’au contraire ces éléments charment le lecteur moyen. Mais ne vous inquiétez pas, je vais tout de même d��fendre mon cas. Ça fait du bien des fois d’avoir une petite opinion dissidente dans la marée homogène.
Voici ces éléments :
La relation d’amitié “avec bénéfices” qui ne satisfait que le gars
La relation d’Helen et Frank se résume à Helen qui fait tout pour Frank, qui le suit partout, le supporte dans tout, l’aime et le respecte inconditionnellement, pendant que Frank fait son numéro d’artiste charismatique épris de liberté, fait n’importe quoi avec les filles, traite alternativement Helen comme un bon ami ou comme sa femme de ménage, et quand il n’a personne d’autre, il va la voir pour baiser.
N’importe qui, à lire ça, se rend compte que Helen est clairement folle amoureuse de Frank et qu’elle n’est pas très heureuse dans sa situation, mais soit Frank est trop stupide pour s’en rendre compte, soit il décide de l’ignorer et préserve le statu quo parce que ça l’arrange. J’opte pour la deuxième option. On ne reste pas aussi stupide toute sa vie.
Les relations comme ça me mettent très mal à l’aise, mais peut-être parce que les gens confondent la souffrance et l’ambiguïté avec la passion, ça pogne encore. Malheureusement.
L’idée que le premier amour est le vrai grand amour
Helen et Frank se sont rencontrés à l’adolescence, et du côté d’Helen en tout cas, à partir de là c’était fichu. Elle se marie éventuellement à quelqu’un d’autre, mais son mariage ne fait pas long feu, et tout de suite après elle revient auprès de Frank. Frank, c’est l’homme de sa vie, peu importe qu’ils ne soient jamais vraiment sortis ensemble ou que leur relation soit (très) asymétrique.
Et ça, je ne trouve pas ça romantique : je trouve ça triste. Et pas très réaliste. Parce que dans la vie, normalement, les gens passent à autre chose, et s’ils ne le font pas, on les plaint. Je ne vois pas pourquoi dans un livre ça devrait être différent.
L’homme aimé qui ne le mérite pas
La narratrice le dit dans le livre, mais sans assez de conviction : Frank est un trou de cul. Il habite dans l’appartement de Helen sans frais (ou vraiment pas cher, je ne sais plus), il ne fait jamais le ménage, ne fait jamais à manger, ne fait jamais les courses… Il ne fait tout simplement rien. Il s’attend à ce que la femme de la maison le fasse, et c’est exactement ce qu’elle fait. De temps en temps, il va la voir dans sa chambre pour faire l’amour. Le lendemain, il ramène des groupies et baise bruyamment. Il met une de ces filles enceinte et la laisse quand il l’apprend. S’amourache d’une jeune fille qui fait la moitié de son âge et la baise dans toutes les pièces de la maison, alors qu’il vit avec Helen et qu’il élève son enfant avec elle.
Ma réaction à ça n’est pas de méditer sur la cruauté de l’amour. C’est de me fâcher contre les machos qui font des conneries impunément et contre la société qui réussit à faire passer une telle relation comme une touchante histoire d’amour.
La glorification de l’art et l’image de l’artiste
Les deux personnages principaux travaillent dans le domaine de l’art. Helen est plus sérieuse, elle enseigne, elle travaille dans des revues, etc. Mais Frank, lui, c’est un vrai artiste. Il passe ses journées dans son atelier à faire son gros bébé et à faire ce qu’il veut quand il veut parce qu’il est si épris de liberté. Et pourtant, tout lui est pardonné, parce qu’il voit les choses comme personne, son esprit est un joyau, tout ce qu’il produit est précieux, etc. Pas un mot sur le fait que le travail des artistes est justement ça, un travail, et que beaucoup de gens doivent produire pour vivre (comme Helen, par exemple).
Mais Frank est au-dessus de tout ça. Lui, il est riche et célèbre. Et de toute façon, il y a une femme qui travaille pour lui.
Le rebondissement choquant et gratuit
À la fin du livre, le fils de Frank, qui vient d’apprendre que sa mère était héroïnomane et que son père l’avait laissée quand il avait appris qu’elle était enceinte de lui, se suicide. Il avait 17 ans. Rien ne nous avait préparé à ça, il avait l’air équilibré et plutôt heureux. Vraiment, la cerise sur le sundae. Une relation pathétique qui finit par un suicide tragique difficilement explicable… Hmmm, je me demande quelle émotion l’auteure voulait nous transmettre. Son procédé est tellement subtil!
Une morale douteuse
Qu’est-ce que ce livre est supposé nous apprendre? Que l’amour, c’est difficile? Que les relations humaines sont complexes? Qu’on ne choisit pas qui on aime? Que quand on est un trou de cul, notre enfant peut se suicider? Vraiment?
Les gens ont trouvé l’écriture jolie, l’histoire d’amour touchante. Pour moi, c’est un énième livre qui vient jouer dans les conceptions éculées de l’amour qui ont fait souffrir un nombre incalculable de femmes, représentées par Helen dans le roman. Il y aurait moyen de revendiquer un point de vue plus moderne et féministe, mais pour plaire à la masse, ce point de vue, s’il existe, a été camouflé par une sorte de flou artistique.
Cela va sans dire, je ne suis pas dupe.
Critique également sur prochainelecture.com
Voici ces éléments :
La relation d’amitié “avec bénéfices” qui ne satisfait que le gars
La relation d’Helen et Frank se résume à Helen qui fait tout pour Frank, qui le suit partout, le supporte dans tout, l’aime et le respecte inconditionnellement, pendant que Frank fait son numéro d’artiste charismatique épris de liberté, fait n’importe quoi avec les filles, traite alternativement Helen comme un bon ami ou comme sa femme de ménage, et quand il n’a personne d’autre, il va la voir pour baiser.
N’importe qui, à lire ça, se rend compte que Helen est clairement folle amoureuse de Frank et qu’elle n’est pas très heureuse dans sa situation, mais soit Frank est trop stupide pour s’en rendre compte, soit il décide de l’ignorer et préserve le statu quo parce que ça l’arrange. J’opte pour la deuxième option. On ne reste pas aussi stupide toute sa vie.
Les relations comme ça me mettent très mal à l’aise, mais peut-être parce que les gens confondent la souffrance et l’ambiguïté avec la passion, ça pogne encore. Malheureusement.
L’idée que le premier amour est le vrai grand amour
Helen et Frank se sont rencontrés à l’adolescence, et du côté d’Helen en tout cas, à partir de là c’était fichu. Elle se marie éventuellement à quelqu’un d’autre, mais son mariage ne fait pas long feu, et tout de suite après elle revient auprès de Frank. Frank, c’est l’homme de sa vie, peu importe qu’ils ne soient jamais vraiment sortis ensemble ou que leur relation soit (très) asymétrique.
Et ça, je ne trouve pas ça romantique : je trouve ça triste. Et pas très réaliste. Parce que dans la vie, normalement, les gens passent à autre chose, et s’ils ne le font pas, on les plaint. Je ne vois pas pourquoi dans un livre ça devrait être différent.
L’homme aimé qui ne le mérite pas
La narratrice le dit dans le livre, mais sans assez de conviction : Frank est un trou de cul. Il habite dans l’appartement de Helen sans frais (ou vraiment pas cher, je ne sais plus), il ne fait jamais le ménage, ne fait jamais à manger, ne fait jamais les courses… Il ne fait tout simplement rien. Il s’attend à ce que la femme de la maison le fasse, et c’est exactement ce qu’elle fait. De temps en temps, il va la voir dans sa chambre pour faire l’amour. Le lendemain, il ramène des groupies et baise bruyamment. Il met une de ces filles enceinte et la laisse quand il l’apprend. S’amourache d’une jeune fille qui fait la moitié de son âge et la baise dans toutes les pièces de la maison, alors qu’il vit avec Helen et qu’il élève son enfant avec elle.
Ma réaction à ça n’est pas de méditer sur la cruauté de l’amour. C’est de me fâcher contre les machos qui font des conneries impunément et contre la société qui réussit à faire passer une telle relation comme une touchante histoire d’amour.
La glorification de l’art et l’image de l’artiste
Les deux personnages principaux travaillent dans le domaine de l’art. Helen est plus sérieuse, elle enseigne, elle travaille dans des revues, etc. Mais Frank, lui, c’est un vrai artiste. Il passe ses journées dans son atelier à faire son gros bébé et à faire ce qu’il veut quand il veut parce qu’il est si épris de liberté. Et pourtant, tout lui est pardonné, parce qu’il voit les choses comme personne, son esprit est un joyau, tout ce qu’il produit est précieux, etc. Pas un mot sur le fait que le travail des artistes est justement ça, un travail, et que beaucoup de gens doivent produire pour vivre (comme Helen, par exemple).
Mais Frank est au-dessus de tout ça. Lui, il est riche et célèbre. Et de toute façon, il y a une femme qui travaille pour lui.
Le rebondissement choquant et gratuit
À la fin du livre, le fils de Frank, qui vient d’apprendre que sa mère était héroïnomane et que son père l’avait laissée quand il avait appris qu’elle était enceinte de lui, se suicide. Il avait 17 ans. Rien ne nous avait préparé à ça, il avait l’air équilibré et plutôt heureux. Vraiment, la cerise sur le sundae. Une relation pathétique qui finit par un suicide tragique difficilement explicable… Hmmm, je me demande quelle émotion l’auteure voulait nous transmettre. Son procédé est tellement subtil!
Une morale douteuse
Qu’est-ce que ce livre est supposé nous apprendre? Que l’amour, c’est difficile? Que les relations humaines sont complexes? Qu’on ne choisit pas qui on aime? Que quand on est un trou de cul, notre enfant peut se suicider? Vraiment?
Les gens ont trouvé l’écriture jolie, l’histoire d’amour touchante. Pour moi, c’est un énième livre qui vient jouer dans les conceptions éculées de l’amour qui ont fait souffrir un nombre incalculable de femmes, représentées par Helen dans le roman. Il y aurait moyen de revendiquer un point de vue plus moderne et féministe, mais pour plaire à la masse, ce point de vue, s’il existe, a été camouflé par une sorte de flou artistique.
Cela va sans dire, je ne suis pas dupe.
Critique également sur prochainelecture.com
September 19, 2020
Impressive! One of the best books I've read this year. Review coming soon.
May 29, 2020
3.5 stars, rounded up. It may seem like a long story without much of a point at first, but this book packs a punch if you stick with it.
Our narrator, Helen, runs into Frank on the street. She has not seen him in more than 20 years. But we know already from the title that their lives were previously intertwined. Helen takes us back through their lives, starting with their meeting in childhood and then moves us through their lives together and apart.
I assumed that this would be a story of a marriage, but it isn't. Though it resembles one in many ways. The lack of formal ties lets Helen believe she is willing and has power. There is a lot to dive into here with the ways women in particular can convince themselves they are willing and useful even when a man is sucking them dry with little reward or gratitude. In fact, if there is a real flaw to the novel, it's that you can never really understand why Helen is so devoted to Frank. When you assume it exists, you understand why she acts as she does. But as is so often the case in books with a strongly charismatic character (particularly one who is allegedly a genius) that never translates into something tangible for the reader.
Still, even though I was frustrated with Helen, the final act ramps up well and Kerninon's short chapters keep a real sense of momentum. It took me a few days to read it, but I was always happy to come back to it.
Our narrator, Helen, runs into Frank on the street. She has not seen him in more than 20 years. But we know already from the title that their lives were previously intertwined. Helen takes us back through their lives, starting with their meeting in childhood and then moves us through their lives together and apart.
I assumed that this would be a story of a marriage, but it isn't. Though it resembles one in many ways. The lack of formal ties lets Helen believe she is willing and has power. There is a lot to dive into here with the ways women in particular can convince themselves they are willing and useful even when a man is sucking them dry with little reward or gratitude. In fact, if there is a real flaw to the novel, it's that you can never really understand why Helen is so devoted to Frank. When you assume it exists, you understand why she acts as she does. But as is so often the case in books with a strongly charismatic character (particularly one who is allegedly a genius) that never translates into something tangible for the reader.
Still, even though I was frustrated with Helen, the final act ramps up well and Kerninon's short chapters keep a real sense of momentum. It took me a few days to read it, but I was always happy to come back to it.
September 6, 2022
Contre ma propre attente, j’ai dévoré ce livre. Bâti sur une prémisse somme toute assez simple, la puissance de l’écriture, de la narration, m’a totalement envoûté.
La finesse du développement (ou absence de développement) psychologique de Alice et Frank sont passionnants à suivre dans les détails, dans la justesse des pensées. C’est ce que j’ai toujours aimé le plus dans les romans, les pensées intimes et leur développement de personnages intéressants, et ce roman n’est au final qu’un long monologue, un fil continu de pensées sans filtre.
Et j’ai adoré, en faisant au passage un petit tour de villes que je connais, que je pouvais imaginer au fil des pages.
Difficile d’expliquer plus comment ce livre m’a touché, mais il l’a fait, sans aucun doute. Grand merci à la libraire de Passy pour la recommandation (taux de succès de 1 sur 2, pas pire :3).
La finesse du développement (ou absence de développement) psychologique de Alice et Frank sont passionnants à suivre dans les détails, dans la justesse des pensées. C’est ce que j’ai toujours aimé le plus dans les romans, les pensées intimes et leur développement de personnages intéressants, et ce roman n’est au final qu’un long monologue, un fil continu de pensées sans filtre.
Et j’ai adoré, en faisant au passage un petit tour de villes que je connais, que je pouvais imaginer au fil des pages.
Difficile d’expliquer plus comment ce livre m’a touché, mais il l’a fait, sans aucun doute. Grand merci à la libraire de Passy pour la recommandation (taux de succès de 1 sur 2, pas pire :3).
August 22, 2018
Ma chronique arrive vendredi
September 23, 2020
Via my blog: https://bookstalkerblog.wordpress.com/
𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧. 𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭. 𝐍𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤, 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭.
Helen is a “child of embassies” who knows exactly how to behave and what is expected of her with parents who are high-ranking diplomats. Hypervigilant, always knowing what others need before even they do like a loyal pet, it’s no wonder when she and Frank Appledore meet, both only twelve years old, an imbalanced affection is born. Opposites, Helen is well behaved, hard-working, respectful of all the rules where Frank is free, joyful, ‘indifferent to anything that doesn’t interest’ him. Both are bonded by the hatred they each feel towards their own family and their desperation to escape from under constraints of their privilege. But can a lifeline also be the ruin of others?
Helen is no beauty, at least not in comparison to her ravishing mother, instead she fills her mind with books and languages. She is the burden her mother bears, when the measure of a girls worth is her looks. Small and misunderstood, tormented by her abusive brothers, it is through Frank she can erase her pain, through his touch she can replace the dirty rough hands of her siblings. In their sixteenth year, betrayals between the two families affords both Helen and Frank the freedom of parental indifference, wrapped up as they are in their own shady affairs. After graduation, Helen has the brilliant idea that Frank join her and move to her Mothers vacant apartment in the heart of Amsterdam. Nothing could be more perfect for Frank whose failings have left him directionless than the chance to find himself abroad. The plan saves his own father from the public embarrassment of his son’s shortcomings, for all appearances he can claim Frank is studying in Holland. As Helen fills her days with serious work and her intellectual pursuits, he is left to “loaf about”, but not for long. As years pass, Frank discovers his passion for art that turns into eventual fame.
As they are each coming into their own, lovers come and go, and Frank relies too often on Helen for help in juggling the women. She is his constant, until she isn’t, when Annelieke enters the scene. Then they become liars and opportunists just like the parents they so despised. Secrets, painting as his excuse, divided living-Frank’s selfishness grows but Helen isn’t innocent, an enabler, devotee, supplicant. He is a man who diminishes the women that love him and Helen is all to willing to submit, to feed his need for her ‘help’.
Helen spends much of their life together in the background, greasing the machine. When she does finally make a decision to love another in half measures, as her heart is still occupied by Frank, not even moving to Boston can erase her devotion. She is lost without him, but one must survive. Now, news is through gossip and “an abundance of letters” between them, until something even bigger happens in the kingdom of Appledore. Reunited again, neither are quite who they were and what is set in motion through rejection is heartbreaking.
Helen has operated so long as the person who cleans up after his messes, but this… this is something bigger than herself, her jealousy is mounting, how far will she go to protect Frank? How is it, in the end, they may collectively have a death on their hands?
What I loved, Helen’s raw pain, mindless devotion and her constant return to be flayed. Could it have turned out any other way though? Frank is selfish and indifferent but such people can only get away with what others allow. She is content to blindly accept her version of their love, sure he must feel as deeply as her. At times, she comes off as a mother of sorts, excusing her wayward little boy. As time passes, her jealousy and resentment is a contagion, and yet she can never walk away. This, she has decided, is their life, their love…a maddening relationship that outright devours an innocent. What a novel! We are so dangerous, sometimes, with the hearts and feelings of others but more so with our own. Great read!
Published August 25, 2020
Europa Editions
𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧. 𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭. 𝐍𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤, 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭.
Helen is a “child of embassies” who knows exactly how to behave and what is expected of her with parents who are high-ranking diplomats. Hypervigilant, always knowing what others need before even they do like a loyal pet, it’s no wonder when she and Frank Appledore meet, both only twelve years old, an imbalanced affection is born. Opposites, Helen is well behaved, hard-working, respectful of all the rules where Frank is free, joyful, ‘indifferent to anything that doesn’t interest’ him. Both are bonded by the hatred they each feel towards their own family and their desperation to escape from under constraints of their privilege. But can a lifeline also be the ruin of others?
Helen is no beauty, at least not in comparison to her ravishing mother, instead she fills her mind with books and languages. She is the burden her mother bears, when the measure of a girls worth is her looks. Small and misunderstood, tormented by her abusive brothers, it is through Frank she can erase her pain, through his touch she can replace the dirty rough hands of her siblings. In their sixteenth year, betrayals between the two families affords both Helen and Frank the freedom of parental indifference, wrapped up as they are in their own shady affairs. After graduation, Helen has the brilliant idea that Frank join her and move to her Mothers vacant apartment in the heart of Amsterdam. Nothing could be more perfect for Frank whose failings have left him directionless than the chance to find himself abroad. The plan saves his own father from the public embarrassment of his son’s shortcomings, for all appearances he can claim Frank is studying in Holland. As Helen fills her days with serious work and her intellectual pursuits, he is left to “loaf about”, but not for long. As years pass, Frank discovers his passion for art that turns into eventual fame.
As they are each coming into their own, lovers come and go, and Frank relies too often on Helen for help in juggling the women. She is his constant, until she isn’t, when Annelieke enters the scene. Then they become liars and opportunists just like the parents they so despised. Secrets, painting as his excuse, divided living-Frank’s selfishness grows but Helen isn’t innocent, an enabler, devotee, supplicant. He is a man who diminishes the women that love him and Helen is all to willing to submit, to feed his need for her ‘help’.
Helen spends much of their life together in the background, greasing the machine. When she does finally make a decision to love another in half measures, as her heart is still occupied by Frank, not even moving to Boston can erase her devotion. She is lost without him, but one must survive. Now, news is through gossip and “an abundance of letters” between them, until something even bigger happens in the kingdom of Appledore. Reunited again, neither are quite who they were and what is set in motion through rejection is heartbreaking.
Helen has operated so long as the person who cleans up after his messes, but this… this is something bigger than herself, her jealousy is mounting, how far will she go to protect Frank? How is it, in the end, they may collectively have a death on their hands?
What I loved, Helen’s raw pain, mindless devotion and her constant return to be flayed. Could it have turned out any other way though? Frank is selfish and indifferent but such people can only get away with what others allow. She is content to blindly accept her version of their love, sure he must feel as deeply as her. At times, she comes off as a mother of sorts, excusing her wayward little boy. As time passes, her jealousy and resentment is a contagion, and yet she can never walk away. This, she has decided, is their life, their love…a maddening relationship that outright devours an innocent. What a novel! We are so dangerous, sometimes, with the hearts and feelings of others but more so with our own. Great read!
Published August 25, 2020
Europa Editions
March 10, 2019
Excellente découverte. Le livre est vraiment très touchant
March 22, 2022
This book had grown on me slowly and at the beginning I I could not relate to the story and to the characters. they did not seem real to me. I did not believe the sudden metamorphosis from somehow ordinary young man into the brilliant artist, the possibility of it without any education and background or any indication of interest for the art in the past.
The idea of a blind devotion of a smart and self-aware woman is tragic in its absurdity. there never was a happy ending for her and Franck's character. He is an unpleasant and selfish one through the story. The tragic part of the book is that between the two of them they destroyed the life of a innocent youth who they pretend to care about but in reality simply use as a glue to justify their life together.
The idea of a blind devotion of a smart and self-aware woman is tragic in its absurdity. there never was a happy ending for her and Franck's character. He is an unpleasant and selfish one through the story. The tragic part of the book is that between the two of them they destroyed the life of a innocent youth who they pretend to care about but in reality simply use as a glue to justify their life together.
August 22, 2018
Quatrième roman de Julia Kerninon, quatrième coup de cœur pour cette talentueuse romancière. L'écriture de Julia Kerninon est impeccable, fluide, cinématographique, si bien qu'on est facilement happé par le texte, sans pourvoir le mettre de côté avant de le terminer.
C'est un grand et beau roman qui, sous la forme de monologue splendide, raconte toute une vie. A lire sans aucune hésitation.
C'est un grand et beau roman qui, sous la forme de monologue splendide, raconte toute une vie. A lire sans aucune hésitation.
May 15, 2021
A masterpiece. The books I love the most are the ones that unselfconsciously divulge the way we empathize with ourselves and others. Kerninon does this beautifully and heartbreakingly. 5 stars.
May 26, 2025
This is the life story of two troubled teenagers whose initial relationship saves them from their loveless, rootless family situations. It is the story as supposedly told by the female narrator after she bumps into her fellow protagonist in London when they are nearing their eighties and over twenty years since they had last met. Things are very much seen from her perspective as she moves from being the more dominant partner to the supportive one as he gains prominence as an artist and it’s an absorbing look at a life that, if not totally subsumed, certainly is held captive to a relationship even when the narrator is married to and happy with someone else. In the end it’s a very different take on the ‘invisible, neglected but hugely influential artist’s wife’ trope and is interesting for that alone. The action does speed up in the latter parts of the book which maybe wasn’t strictly necessary but it make for a juicier read and adds an extra element to the narrator’s character that isn’t entirely unwelcome.
May 4, 2021
A beautifully written and quite moody look into a flawed love. The author’s soft and smooth style of writing felt like spreading peanut butter on toast. The love she wrote about was so complicated yet heartfelt that throughout the book I didn’t know whether to want Frank and Helen together or not. I suppose the book is a tragedy (it is) but it’s also quite beautiful the messed up yet love filled bond these people have. The book also goes to tell how how ur parents mess u up (or make u, or all of the above, depending) and you can never escape them. My biggest takeaway from Frank and Helen is communication. Just be damn honest and tell the damn person the ways u feel. Easier said than done as Frank and Helen never could. Also, the book made me want to move to Europe so freaking badly. My lack of a star is I was a bit bored at times. I wanted some nuts in my peanut butter but there never were any. Even when tragedy struck the author kept her cool and dissociated view of everything. It was too calm for comfort. I guess that’s a magnificent skill but it left me wanting a bit more. Put me in it instead of floating in a blimp above watching through binoculars.
October 9, 2018
Beau, mélancolique, fiévreux par moments. Un dénouement tragique qui donne un écho bien différent à toute l’histoire. On n’a qu’une vie, comme le conclue l’auteure. Tout ça pour ça, sans retour en arrière... Julia Kerbinon est une grande romancière, c’est un très beau récit qu’elle nous offre à nouveau.
July 28, 2024
J’avais lu Liv Maria, d’elle, et je n’avais pas aimé.
Ce livre « Ma dévotion » est plus intéressant.
L’intérêt est maintenu. L’écriture, moins didactique que dans Liv Maria, n’est pas transcendante mais agréable. Sujet déjà maintes fois abordé… derrière tout homme célèbre, il y a une femme….rien d’original.
Ce livre « Ma dévotion » est plus intéressant.
L’intérêt est maintenu. L’écriture, moins didactique que dans Liv Maria, n’est pas transcendante mais agréable. Sujet déjà maintes fois abordé… derrière tout homme célèbre, il y a une femme….rien d’original.
September 3, 2021
A woman lives her life for a 'brilliant' man. We needed this novel? Nah.
July 11, 2025
2.5 ☆ - J'entretiens une relation amour-haine avec les univers de Julia Kerninon. J'aime son style qui magnétise mon attention. Ses héroïnes fortes, brillantes et admirables. Mais pourquoi ce penchant récurrent pour les hommes dotés d'un illustre narcissisme, si suffisants et centrés sur eux-mêmes? Le schéma de la femme qui s'éprend et se dévoue pour un bellâtre torturé - qui l'exploite et ne la mérite même pas! - finit immanquablement par m'exaspérer.
S'il existe toutefois un intérêt narratif à ce roman, il se loge dans le dernier tiers. Malgré ses écueils, il faut donc réussir à persister jusqu'à la fin - et encore, ce ne sera pas parfait. Si, donc, vous n'avez jamais lu Kerninon, je vous conseille plutôt Sauvage ou Liv Maria, que j'ai dévorés avec beaucoup plus d'intérêt.
S'il existe toutefois un intérêt narratif à ce roman, il se loge dans le dernier tiers. Malgré ses écueils, il faut donc réussir à persister jusqu'à la fin - et encore, ce ne sera pas parfait. Si, donc, vous n'avez jamais lu Kerninon, je vous conseille plutôt Sauvage ou Liv Maria, que j'ai dévorés avec beaucoup plus d'intérêt.
September 19, 2019
"La mia devozione" rispecchia perfettamente ciò che narra: un amore non morboso, ma viscerale; una storia lunga una vita che evapora in pochi istanti e nella maniera più dolorosa che una persona possa vivere.
Non è un romanzo per tutti, questo. Servono cicatrici profonde per poterlo amare, servono scorte di dolore per poterlo capire. Ma è un romanzo che penetra sottopelle, che eviscera, che graffia, che lascia esausti e pieni.
La recensione completa qui: https://www.lalibridinosa.com/2019/09...
Non è un romanzo per tutti, questo. Servono cicatrici profonde per poterlo amare, servono scorte di dolore per poterlo capire. Ma è un romanzo che penetra sottopelle, che eviscera, che graffia, che lascia esausti e pieni.
La recensione completa qui: https://www.lalibridinosa.com/2019/09...
May 10, 2023
Sans hésitation mon coup de cœur de l’année 2021. Que dire ? Ce livre est merveilleusement bien écrit, l’auteure propose une narration originale, comme une lettre à un amour de toujours, on s’attache aux personnages en un instant et on vit leur histoire avec eux. Rien ne permet de prédire ce qu’il va se passer et on n’en a pas fini d’être surpris. J’ai plongé la tête la première et j’étais inconsolable de l’avoir terminé - toutes mes lectures suivantes m’ont paru fades. Une pépite que je ne cesse de conseiller à tous mes proches.
update 2023 : toujours mon livre favori.
update 2023 : toujours mon livre favori.
April 23, 2019
http://www.lacauselitteraire.fr/ma-de...
2 amis, l'homme un artiste, la femme travailleuse, un amour non partage, un homme egoiste et irresponsable, une femme qui se rend indispensable pensant que ca ira vers l'amour. Cette relation malsaine va virer vers l'amertume et la vengeance et c'est l'enfant (du mari) qui en payera le prix
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyqJT...
2 amis, l'homme un artiste, la femme travailleuse, un amour non partage, un homme egoiste et irresponsable, une femme qui se rend indispensable pensant que ca ira vers l'amour. Cette relation malsaine va virer vers l'amertume et la vengeance et c'est l'enfant (du mari) qui en payera le prix
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyqJT...
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
December 17, 2021
La charge mentale n’a jamais été aussi poétique.
March 7, 2023
Resistere alla tentazione di scrivere senza riflettere un attimo: questo è stato l’impulso che ho dovuto trattenere dopo aver letto questo libro così intenso e insieme vero. Ho respirato, ho aspettato che mi si liberasse la mente. Non ci sono riuscita. Questo libro è un turbinio di emozioni, ti cattura, con la sua prosa intima, con la narrazione che è a metà tra una confessione e un lungo sussurro. La traduzione di Alberto Bracci Testasecca è armoniosa, rende la voce femminile del personaggio, con tutte le sue intonazioni, presente e vibrante.
La storia è quella di due ragazzi, poi adulti, un uomo e una donna, un famoso pittore, Frank e Helene, una letterata, nonché voce narrante del libro. Il narratore interno ci conduce attraverso la sua vita, non tace nulla del profondo sentimento che la lega al suo Frank, un amore profondo e devoto, che finisce, silenziosamente, per rovinarle la vita.
I due si dividono l’adolescenza dorata e infelice, figli di diplomatici, vivono le proprie crudeltà da due scalini diversi della società, uniti dall’amore per le fughe e l’odio per i genitori. Sono diversi: Helene è animata da un obiettivo, un senso del dovere maniacale, nei confronti della letteratura le vibra dentro, già dalla scuola; Frank è geniale ma pigro, vive di ribellioni, non si impegna in niente, è l’eterno assente, e nello stesso tempo il motore di tutto. Attorno a lui nasce la narrazione, attorno al suo successo gira il mondo di entrambi, si genera un vortice da cui si estranea in fretta, incapace di impegnarsi, di donarsi.
Questa è la storia di una devozione totale all’altro, che porta ad annullare se stessi; e nello stesso tempo è la storia di un’incapacità di esserci, di viversi davvero, trasfigurandosi nel personaggio che qualcuno crea per te.
La storia prende un arco temporale molto lungo, inizia nel perbenismo degli anni Cinquanta e nel disincanto dei Sessanta, in una splendida cornice dorata romana, in cui la città eterna vede nascere il legame tra i due; continua in un’Amsterdam irriguardosa e bohémien, tra gli eccessi degli anni Settanta. Ha una sua breve fuga nella Boston multiculturale e fredda dei primi anni Ottanta, e chiude il cerchio spaziale in Normandia, tra inizi bucolici e familiari, e una fine tragica e distruttiva.
C’è un prima e c’è un dopo, e in mezzo c’è un amore che non nasce mai veramente e non finisce, nemmeno di fronte alla tragedia, incapace di accettare il suo epilogo, rassegnato ad una parte secondaria.
C’è anche un destino di estromissione da se stesse, che è tipico di molte donne di fronte all’uomo che amano. È deprecabile, perché significa sconfitta e non accettazione della propria forza, e in questo senso ci restituisce un fraintendimento, rispetto all’amore vero, che è quasi irritante. Helen non capisce chi è, non accetta la propria indipendenza; dopo averla inseguita, crede di doversi ritagliare un posto nella vita di chi non la vuole davvero, di chi la sfrutta; si condanna all’infelicità. Per questo il personaggio ci appare tragico e nello stesso tempo consapevole, ci lascia increduli nel suo costruirsi un legame infruttuoso, nella rinuncia per se stessi di un progetto di stabilità. Nell’incapacità di accettare che qualcuno possa non ambire all’amore, limitandosi a passeggiare sulla vita degli altri, senza ritegno e senza sofferenza alcuna.
Profondo, intenso, inconcepibile e vero. Come la devozione nei confronti di chi amiamo, o crediamo di amare e a cui pensiamo di appartenere, come il tradimento di quell’amore, come la vita di alcuni rapporti, a cui dovremmo rinunciare, con coraggio e con fermezza, prima di perderci e distruggere gli altri, e noi stessi.
La storia è quella di due ragazzi, poi adulti, un uomo e una donna, un famoso pittore, Frank e Helene, una letterata, nonché voce narrante del libro. Il narratore interno ci conduce attraverso la sua vita, non tace nulla del profondo sentimento che la lega al suo Frank, un amore profondo e devoto, che finisce, silenziosamente, per rovinarle la vita.
I due si dividono l’adolescenza dorata e infelice, figli di diplomatici, vivono le proprie crudeltà da due scalini diversi della società, uniti dall’amore per le fughe e l’odio per i genitori. Sono diversi: Helene è animata da un obiettivo, un senso del dovere maniacale, nei confronti della letteratura le vibra dentro, già dalla scuola; Frank è geniale ma pigro, vive di ribellioni, non si impegna in niente, è l’eterno assente, e nello stesso tempo il motore di tutto. Attorno a lui nasce la narrazione, attorno al suo successo gira il mondo di entrambi, si genera un vortice da cui si estranea in fretta, incapace di impegnarsi, di donarsi.
Questa è la storia di una devozione totale all’altro, che porta ad annullare se stessi; e nello stesso tempo è la storia di un’incapacità di esserci, di viversi davvero, trasfigurandosi nel personaggio che qualcuno crea per te.
La storia prende un arco temporale molto lungo, inizia nel perbenismo degli anni Cinquanta e nel disincanto dei Sessanta, in una splendida cornice dorata romana, in cui la città eterna vede nascere il legame tra i due; continua in un’Amsterdam irriguardosa e bohémien, tra gli eccessi degli anni Settanta. Ha una sua breve fuga nella Boston multiculturale e fredda dei primi anni Ottanta, e chiude il cerchio spaziale in Normandia, tra inizi bucolici e familiari, e una fine tragica e distruttiva.
C’è un prima e c’è un dopo, e in mezzo c’è un amore che non nasce mai veramente e non finisce, nemmeno di fronte alla tragedia, incapace di accettare il suo epilogo, rassegnato ad una parte secondaria.
C’è anche un destino di estromissione da se stesse, che è tipico di molte donne di fronte all’uomo che amano. È deprecabile, perché significa sconfitta e non accettazione della propria forza, e in questo senso ci restituisce un fraintendimento, rispetto all’amore vero, che è quasi irritante. Helen non capisce chi è, non accetta la propria indipendenza; dopo averla inseguita, crede di doversi ritagliare un posto nella vita di chi non la vuole davvero, di chi la sfrutta; si condanna all’infelicità. Per questo il personaggio ci appare tragico e nello stesso tempo consapevole, ci lascia increduli nel suo costruirsi un legame infruttuoso, nella rinuncia per se stessi di un progetto di stabilità. Nell’incapacità di accettare che qualcuno possa non ambire all’amore, limitandosi a passeggiare sulla vita degli altri, senza ritegno e senza sofferenza alcuna.
Profondo, intenso, inconcepibile e vero. Come la devozione nei confronti di chi amiamo, o crediamo di amare e a cui pensiamo di appartenere, come il tradimento di quell’amore, come la vita di alcuni rapporti, a cui dovremmo rinunciare, con coraggio e con fermezza, prima di perderci e distruggere gli altri, e noi stessi.
March 25, 2022
Helen et Frank, 80 ans, se rencontrent fortuitement sur un trottoir de Londres. On comprend qu’ils sont très proches, ou plutôt qu’ils l’ont été avant que quelque chose de grave ne les sépare définitivement il y a plus de 20 ans. Pour Helen, c’est l’occasion de dire à Frank ce qu’elle n’a jamais réussi à lui dire, sa vérité à elle.
Étrange « couple » qui s’est forgé d’abord , à douze ans, sur la haine réciproque de leurs familles, à Rome, dans le petit monde feutré des ambassades.
« Toi aussi tu déteste ta famille ? [...] Mais qu’est-ce qu’on va faire ? Comment on va s’en sortir ?
Ainsi, je crois que, dès le premier soir, j’ai eu cette certitude, Frank : veiller sur toi serait ma destinée. »
Pendant six heures ( précision de l’auteur), Helen va donc rembobiner le cours de leurs vies et de ses sentiments, de Rome à Amsterdam, de Boston à la Normandie.
Histoire d’amour-amitié, de dépendance, une relation complexe qui évolue au fil du temps mais entre deux personnes qui ont une conception radicalement opposée de la vie. Alors qu’elle est studieuse, appliquée, exigeante avec elle-même, dans le contrôle , lui vit dans l’instant, détaché des contingences matérielles, libre ... Auprès de lui, Helen est à la fois ou tour à tour amante, grande sœur, meilleure amie, oreille attentive et prête à tout pour faire éclore le génie qui sommeille , forcément, chez Franck ! Elle écrit, il sera peintre, un peintre reconnu, un être solaire, fantasque, charismatique, qui attire la lumière alors qu’elle reste toujours dans l’ombre , assurant l’intendance : « et ma petite silhouette toujours, toujours à l'arrière-plan. Ça, c'était toi, Frank. Parce que c'était moi qui tenais toute notre vie à bout de bras."
J’avoue avoir eu du mal à ressentir de l’empathie pour ces personnages , un peu trop convenus à mon goût : Helen, trop parfaite mais finalement très envahissante et surtout Frank, image trop classique de l’artiste égocentrique , entièrement dévoué à son art et incapable d’assurer les tâches quotidiennes.... Peut-être m’a t-il manqué aussi un peu plus de « contenu » sur leur travail à l’un et à l’autre pour mieux les apprécier . On ne sait rien ou presque des tableaux de Frank , par exemple; que peint-il ? A part les chevaux sauvages envoyés à sa mère et les arbres et la forêt normande, on ne le sait pas, comme si Julia Kerninon ne s’intéressait qu’aux sentiments qui animent Helen, à la complexité de ses relations avec Frank, à ses attentes, ses déceptions.
J’ai retrouvé dans ce roman l’écriture fluide et épurée que j’avais appréciée dans Buvard, son premier livre. Les chapitres ultra courts donnent du rythme à la lecture mais les six heures de « confession - monologue » m’ont paru un peu longues malgré tout.
March 3, 2025
Ma Dévotion est un roman captivant (lu en 48 heures), porté par une écriture fluide.
L’un des aspects les plus troublants du récit est la manière dont Helen semble presque aimer la maltraitance psychologique que lui inflige Frank. Peut-on y voir une répétition de son enfance marquée par les abus de ses frères ? Helen subit et s’efface. Peut-on considérer qu’une relation est « suffisante » simplement parce qu’elle donne du sens à celui qui aime ? Frank ne lui montrera aucune reconnaissance, si ce n’est en choisissant de rester vivre à proximité d’elle.
Un autre manque notable réside dans l’histoire de leur fils, dont le suicide est à peine esquissé. On sait très peu de choses sur lui : allait-il à l’école ? Comment vivait-il en dehors de son amour pour la musique ? Son existence reste floue, ce qui amoindrit l’impact de sa disparition dans le récit.
Mais le plus grand mystère du roman demeure Frank lui-même. Contrairement à Helen, dont nous suivons le ressenti, Frank reste une énigme. On ne comprend ni ses motivations ni son évolution. Comment un homme habitué à la frénésie d’Amsterdam, à la reconnaissance artistique et à une vie de prestige a-t-il pu tout abandonner pour s’installer en Normandie ? Et surtout, comment s’y est-il si rapidement adapté, sans le moindre conflit intérieur apparent ? cette transition est étonnamment lisse. Lors de leur grande dispute finale, son point de vue reste inaccessible. Était-ce un choix narratif pour nous contraindre à adopter exclusivement le regard d’Helen ? Ou peut-on espérer un second roman qui offrirait cette fois la version de Frank ?
Enfin, certains éléments semblent superflus, notamment le personnage de Zaza, dont les multiples aventures amoureuses deviennent rapidement répétitives et n’apportent rien de significatif à l’histoire. On aurait préféré que l’autrice consacre plus de temps à approfondir la complexité des protagonistes principaux. Le manque d’explications et de profondeur sur certains éléments clés de l’intrigue empêche un véritable questionnement.
L’un des aspects les plus troublants du récit est la manière dont Helen semble presque aimer la maltraitance psychologique que lui inflige Frank. Peut-on y voir une répétition de son enfance marquée par les abus de ses frères ? Helen subit et s’efface. Peut-on considérer qu’une relation est « suffisante » simplement parce qu’elle donne du sens à celui qui aime ? Frank ne lui montrera aucune reconnaissance, si ce n’est en choisissant de rester vivre à proximité d’elle.
Un autre manque notable réside dans l’histoire de leur fils, dont le suicide est à peine esquissé. On sait très peu de choses sur lui : allait-il à l’école ? Comment vivait-il en dehors de son amour pour la musique ? Son existence reste floue, ce qui amoindrit l’impact de sa disparition dans le récit.
Mais le plus grand mystère du roman demeure Frank lui-même. Contrairement à Helen, dont nous suivons le ressenti, Frank reste une énigme. On ne comprend ni ses motivations ni son évolution. Comment un homme habitué à la frénésie d’Amsterdam, à la reconnaissance artistique et à une vie de prestige a-t-il pu tout abandonner pour s’installer en Normandie ? Et surtout, comment s’y est-il si rapidement adapté, sans le moindre conflit intérieur apparent ? cette transition est étonnamment lisse. Lors de leur grande dispute finale, son point de vue reste inaccessible. Était-ce un choix narratif pour nous contraindre à adopter exclusivement le regard d’Helen ? Ou peut-on espérer un second roman qui offrirait cette fois la version de Frank ?
Enfin, certains éléments semblent superflus, notamment le personnage de Zaza, dont les multiples aventures amoureuses deviennent rapidement répétitives et n’apportent rien de significatif à l’histoire. On aurait préféré que l’autrice consacre plus de temps à approfondir la complexité des protagonistes principaux. Le manque d’explications et de profondeur sur certains éléments clés de l’intrigue empêche un véritable questionnement.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
June 6, 2019
Helen, fille de l’ambassadeur de Grande Bretagne à Rome, tombe passionnément amoureuse de Franck, le fils du premier secrétaire.
Helen offre à Franck l’occasion de fuir leur famille respective, et c’est à Amsterdam que les adolescents s’installent, dans la maison de la mère d’Helen.
Si Helen est passionnée de littérature et en fait petit à petit son métier, Franck cherche sa voix. Ce sera la peinture.
Helen est toujours là pour organiser la maison, recevoir les amis, fermer les yeux sur les amantes de Franck.
Comme l’annonce le titre, c’est le récit d’une dévotion racontée par la voix d’Helen.
Pourtant, je suis restée en dehors de son histoire : seule me tenait en haleine les frasques de Franck.
Encore une fois, il est question, dans un roman de cette auteure d’une enfance dans une famille sans amour ; du génie (ici la peinture, dans son premier roman la littérature).
Encore une fois, l’auteure nous dévoile jusqu’où son personnage est prête à aller par amour.
L’image que je retiendrai :
Celle des toiles de Franck, monumentales et géniales.
https://alexmotamots.fr/ma-devotion-j...
Helen offre à Franck l’occasion de fuir leur famille respective, et c’est à Amsterdam que les adolescents s’installent, dans la maison de la mère d’Helen.
Si Helen est passionnée de littérature et en fait petit à petit son métier, Franck cherche sa voix. Ce sera la peinture.
Helen est toujours là pour organiser la maison, recevoir les amis, fermer les yeux sur les amantes de Franck.
Comme l’annonce le titre, c’est le récit d’une dévotion racontée par la voix d’Helen.
Pourtant, je suis restée en dehors de son histoire : seule me tenait en haleine les frasques de Franck.
Encore une fois, il est question, dans un roman de cette auteure d’une enfance dans une famille sans amour ; du génie (ici la peinture, dans son premier roman la littérature).
Encore une fois, l’auteure nous dévoile jusqu’où son personnage est prête à aller par amour.
L’image que je retiendrai :
Celle des toiles de Franck, monumentales et géniales.
https://alexmotamots.fr/ma-devotion-j...
May 31, 2021
Julia Kerninon m'avait déjà emporté auparavant dans une histoire prenante, sublime de liberté et d'amour avec Liv Maria. Ici, il y est toujours question d'amour, mais un amour acharné, impossiblement passionné, où les deux personnes sont dépendantes l'une de l'autre. Et c'est beau, c'est triste, c'est sensible. L'auteure y mêle l'art, les lettres, les voyages, les conquêtes, les aventures d'une nuit et de la vie. Je ne m'attendais pas à cette fin, mais elle est judicieusement choisie même si elle fait mal. L'amour n'est pas facile et c'est ce que nous présente ces deux personnes, Frank et Helen.
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