Laurent Mauvignier’s desperately uneven, slow-motion, literary thriller revisits his fictional Le Bassée, a semi-rural region of France. In what’s essentially an attempt to subvert the all-too-familiar, home invasion plot, Mauvignier tackles some weighty subjects ranging from troubled “white” masculinity, marital frustrations, and domestic abuse to class resentment, and cultural rifts in contemporary France. His “huis clos” narrative plays out through spaces of literal and metaphorical confinement. Patrice, his wife Marion and daughter Ida, and their close neighbour, once-celebrated artist Christine, live like an extended family in an isolated hamlet, close to a small town. The area has seen better days, jobs are scarce, younger generations have moved away, and Patrice is barely scraping a living from the smallholding passed down from his father. The quartet are bound together by shared, daily rituals yet separated by secrets and lies. The action takes place over two days, in the build-up to a celebration planned for Marion’s fortieth birthday, an event marred by the arrival of another in a stream of poison pen letters addressed to Christine then totally thrown off-course by the sudden appearance of three, sinister strangers.
Mauvignier’s noir-ish story’s explicitly borrowing from numerous genres, from traditional Westerns to fairy tales, and the contes cruels glimpsed in the bedtime stories Marion reads to Ida. It’s also a highly-referential, at times deliberately cinematic, piece which variously pays homage to the films of Jean Cocteau, Robert Bresson and Claude Chabrol. Although Mauvignier seems to be aiming for a level of psychological depth here, I found his characters, particularly the three intruders, stereotypical, even stock, figures. There’s Christine - a perfect role for Isabelle Huppert - a wealthy, bohemian, Parisian in exile; Patrice a "doughy," brooding farmer; Marion the feisty ‘femme fatale’ with a dubious past; Ida the curiously, ‘knowing’ child; rounded off by the band of violent, resentful, working-class criminals who disrupt the hamlet’s ordered existence. Although Christine’s presumably partly informed by Mauvignier’s own art-school background.
Mauvignier choice of style marks a radical departure from standard thriller-writing conventions: his sentences are often lengthy and winding; his scenes rendered in incredible, intense detail, sometimes akin to something unfolding in real time. I thought his slow-paced approach was highly effective for at least the first half, somehow ramping up rather than defusing an atmosphere of tension and growing menace. There are pleasing touches like the David Seymour photograph that inspired Christine’s artistic career but also hints at what’s to come. But as this progressed, I became more and more impatient, the detail started to feel like unnecessary filler, the style too dense, and the twisting plot increasingly forced and crudely drawn.
Home invasion narratives have a reputation for being socially conservative, a reflection of prevailing cultural anxieties, frequently dabbling in simplistic notions of the line between order and chaos and/or a showdown between good and evil. Although Mauvignier tries to steer clear of these pitfalls, he doesn’t entirely evade them, particularly when it comes to his depiction of gender and the nuclear family. There’s also more than a whiff of cloying sentimentality pervading the final chapters. Moreover, Mauvignier’s none-too-subtle when it comes to representing mental health issues, class divides, or sexual exploitation – the scenes with Patrice and the Black “prostitutes” in the neighbouring town were especially problematic. So, for me at least, this didn’t live up to its initial promise although there were some entertaining, imaginative flourishes along the way. Translated by Daniel Levin Becker.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Fitzcarraldo Editions for an ARC
Rating: 2.5/3