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Capitularea
Paru en 1965
Lucile décide de quitter Charles, quinquagénaire élégant, pour Antoine, jeune éditeur parisien. Pourtant, Charles sait bien que Lucile lui reviendra, car Antoine ne la comprend pas et il finira par se lasser d’une femme-enfant. Il entend déjà la « chamade » ce roulement de tambour qui annonce les défaites.
Paperback
First published January 1, 1965
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About the author
Françoise Sagan
249 books1,659 followersBorn Françoise Quoirez, Sagan grew up in a French Catholic, bourgeois family. She was an independent thinker and avid reader as a young girl, and upon failing her examinations for continuing at the Sorbonne, she became a writer.
She went to her family's home in the south of France and wrote her first novel, Bonjour Tristesse, at age 18. She submitted it to Editions Juillard in January 1954 and it was published that March. Later that year, She won the Prix des Critiques for Bonjour Tristesse.
She chose "Sagan" as her pen name because she liked the sound of it and also liked the reference to the Prince and Princesse de Sagan, 19th century Parisians, who are said to be the basis of some of Marcel Proust's characters.
She was known for her love of drinking, gambling, and fast driving. Her habit of driving fast was moderated after a serious car accident in 1957 involving her Aston Martin while she was living in Milly, France.
Sagan was twice married and divorced, and subsequently maintained several long-term lesbian relationships. First married in 1958 to Guy Schoeller, a publisher, they divorced in 1960, and she was then married to Robert James Westhoff, an American ceramicist and sculptor, from 1962 to 63. She had one son, Denis, from her second marriage.
She won the Prix de Monaco in 1984 in recognition of all of her work.
She went to her family's home in the south of France and wrote her first novel, Bonjour Tristesse, at age 18. She submitted it to Editions Juillard in January 1954 and it was published that March. Later that year, She won the Prix des Critiques for Bonjour Tristesse.
She chose "Sagan" as her pen name because she liked the sound of it and also liked the reference to the Prince and Princesse de Sagan, 19th century Parisians, who are said to be the basis of some of Marcel Proust's characters.
She was known for her love of drinking, gambling, and fast driving. Her habit of driving fast was moderated after a serious car accident in 1957 involving her Aston Martin while she was living in Milly, France.
Sagan was twice married and divorced, and subsequently maintained several long-term lesbian relationships. First married in 1958 to Guy Schoeller, a publisher, they divorced in 1960, and she was then married to Robert James Westhoff, an American ceramicist and sculptor, from 1962 to 63. She had one son, Denis, from her second marriage.
She won the Prix de Monaco in 1984 in recognition of all of her work.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 185 reviews
May 17, 2020
Αυτό το βιβλίο ήταν μια έκπληξη γιατί ομολογώ το ξεκίνησα κάπως επιφυλακτικά. Τελειώνοντας το όμως, έχω να πω ότι είναι από εκείνα τα βιβλία που με κάνουν να θυμάμαι γιατί αγαπώ το διάβασμα!
Αυτό το βιβλίο μελετά τον έρωτα. Δε διηγείται, όμως, απλά μια ρομαντική ιστορία, αλλά αναλύει με ένα τρόπο βαθιά "εσωτερικό" τα συναισθήματα και τις αντιδράσεις των άμεσα εμπλεκόμενων σε διάφορες εκφάνσεις μιας ερωτικής σχέσης. Ίσως το πιο εντυπωσιακό σημείο του βιβλίου και ταυτοχρόνως το πιο δύσκολο για τη συγγραφέα είναι ότι δε δίνει βαρύτητα μόνο στα συναισθήματα ενός μέλους της σχέσης αλλά αναπτύσσει το ψυχογράφημα όλων των μελών της, χωρίς διακρίσεις ανάμεσα στα δύο φύλα, με αποτέλεσμα ο αναγνώστης να έχει πλήρη επίγνωση των συναισθημάτων όλων των εμπλεκόμενων μερών, καθ' όλη τη διάρκεια ανάγνωσης του βιβλίου.
Αυτό το βιβλίο μελετά τον έρωτα. Δε διηγείται, όμως, απλά μια ρομαντική ιστορία, αλλά αναλύει με ένα τρόπο βαθιά "εσωτερικό" τα συναισθήματα και τις αντιδράσεις των άμεσα εμπλεκόμενων σε διάφορες εκφάνσεις μιας ερωτικής σχέσης. Ίσως το πιο εντυπωσιακό σημείο του βιβλίου και ταυτοχρόνως το πιο δύσκολο για τη συγγραφέα είναι ότι δε δίνει βαρύτητα μόνο στα συναισθήματα ενός μέλους της σχέσης αλλά αναπτύσσει το ψυχογράφημα όλων των μελών της, χωρίς διακρίσεις ανάμεσα στα δύο φύλα, με αποτέλεσμα ο αναγνώστης να έχει πλήρη επίγνωση των συναισθημάτων όλων των εμπλεκόμενων μερών, καθ' όλη τη διάρκεια ανάγνωσης του βιβλίου.
March 29, 2021
Lucile is a young woman in her late twenties, living with Charles, a middle age man. He is hopelessly in love with her, but disguises it behind a veil of insouciance and paternal concern, so as not to spook her away. She likes him very much, but she is not in love with him. This subtle, courteous relationship showcases Sagan’s talents. It is never creepy or cheapened by opportunism. Lucile could easily be a gold-digger, but even the suggestion seems uncouth and absurd. Charles could be a disturbing codger whose money guarantees him a sense of ownership over Lucile. He is no such thing, however; he is gentle, worldly, and non-judgmental. He is also handsome, which proves that he is with Lucile because he wants to, not because he has no other alternative.
It all comes to a head when Lucile falls in love with the overbearing Antoine, who pressures her to leave Charles. She reluctantly complies. Life with Charles is easy, carefree. He demands almost nothing from her, and is content to let her live the life of a Parisian Flâneur, with the occasional trip to New York or Saint-Tropez. Antoine, a young intellectual, wants her to wake up early, to work, to have children. It is, Lucile soon understands, unendurable.
The invisible lines that tug these characters towards one another and link them together are this novel's greatest strength. The end is very moving. Sagan excels at creating feelings out of the mundane. Simple acts or words are heavy with meaning. If this unbearable lightness of feeling appeals to you, then La Chamade is a book you should read.
It all comes to a head when Lucile falls in love with the overbearing Antoine, who pressures her to leave Charles. She reluctantly complies. Life with Charles is easy, carefree. He demands almost nothing from her, and is content to let her live the life of a Parisian Flâneur, with the occasional trip to New York or Saint-Tropez. Antoine, a young intellectual, wants her to wake up early, to work, to have children. It is, Lucile soon understands, unendurable.
The invisible lines that tug these characters towards one another and link them together are this novel's greatest strength. The end is very moving. Sagan excels at creating feelings out of the mundane. Simple acts or words are heavy with meaning. If this unbearable lightness of feeling appeals to you, then La Chamade is a book you should read.
July 16, 2022
nimeni nu scrie mai bine despre iubire si despre triunghiuri amoroase decat Francoise Sagan.
nimeni nu te poate purta prin Parisul anilor 60 (ani ai inceputului emanciparii sexualie), prin saloanele si barurile Parisului cum o face Francoise Sagan. ea insasi avand o viata palpitanta, Sagan este, pentru mine, definitia frantuzismului in literatura. daca ar fi sa ma apuc sa descriu un roman frantuzesc, unul din romanele ei le-as alege. romanele ei au forta, pasiunea, decadenta, senzualitatea, sexualitatea si sofisticarea pe care le asociem (cliseic, desigur) cu francezii. desi publicat in 1965, romanul atinge si subiecte sensible precum avortul (legalizat abia in 70 in Franta) si homosexualitatea.
nimeni nu te poate purta prin Parisul anilor 60 (ani ai inceputului emanciparii sexualie), prin saloanele si barurile Parisului cum o face Francoise Sagan. ea insasi avand o viata palpitanta, Sagan este, pentru mine, definitia frantuzismului in literatura. daca ar fi sa ma apuc sa descriu un roman frantuzesc, unul din romanele ei le-as alege. romanele ei au forta, pasiunea, decadenta, senzualitatea, sexualitatea si sofisticarea pe care le asociem (cliseic, desigur) cu francezii. desi publicat in 1965, romanul atinge si subiecte sensible precum avortul (legalizat abia in 70 in Franta) si homosexualitatea.
May 19, 2022
S-a tradus „La Chamade” („Capitularea”, la Polirom) și m-am văzut nevoită s-o recitesc. Pentru mine nu există guilty pleasure literar mai delicios ca Françoise Sagan. Am citit (și-am recitit) tot ce-a scris.
Nimeni nu creionează relațiile de iubire așa cum o face ea, totul este realist, omenesc, neforțat, Paule, Dominique, Josephine, Lucile sunt niște eroine atât de credibile în conflictele lor interioare, iar nimeni – dar absolut nimeni – nu simte Parisul anilor ’50-’60, cu seratele lui elegante și aventurile amoroase, tandru, senzual, scandalos și ușor decadent, așa cum o face Sagan.
Multă lume spune despre cărțile ei c-ar fi plictisitoare și sentimentale, prea multe gânduri, prea multe plimbări pe străzi, prea multe cocktail-uri și galerii de artă, dar eu zic să le citiți. O veți avea mereu pe Ingrid Bergman în minte.
Nimeni nu creionează relațiile de iubire așa cum o face ea, totul este realist, omenesc, neforțat, Paule, Dominique, Josephine, Lucile sunt niște eroine atât de credibile în conflictele lor interioare, iar nimeni – dar absolut nimeni – nu simte Parisul anilor ’50-’60, cu seratele lui elegante și aventurile amoroase, tandru, senzual, scandalos și ușor decadent, așa cum o face Sagan.
Multă lume spune despre cărțile ei c-ar fi plictisitoare și sentimentale, prea multe gânduri, prea multe plimbări pe străzi, prea multe cocktail-uri și galerii de artă, dar eu zic să le citiți. O veți avea mereu pe Ingrid Bergman în minte.
June 7, 2009
Lucile, a beautiful carefree woman of about thirty, lives happily and contentedly with a rich older man, Charles, as his mistress of two years. She's had a few affairs on the side, but she keeps the promise she made to herself and to him: she would never flaunt it in his face. Charles can't help but accept her for who she is: he's hopelessly in love with her and his only desire is that she reciprocated.
At one of the many dinners at a friend's house, Lucile meets Antoine, a poor young editor picked up by a wealthy older woman, Diane. A comfortable friendship sparks between them but its several days later that it turns into something else entirely, something hot and passionate and inescapable. But Antoine wants more from Lucile than anyone's ever demanded of her, and she'll have to make the biggest decision of her life: stay in a life of comfort with Charles, who understands her perfectly, or throw caution to the wind and move in with Antoine, who brings her alive with his passion but wants more than she can give?
I read this nearly a week ago and didn't have a chance to write the review then when it was fresh - now it seems like a daunting task. I'll just do what I usually do when I get stuck, though: start with what I can say and hope the rest comes.
That Mad Ache is a translation of the 1965 French novel La Chamade, which is, apparently, a rather untranslatable title. It won't be possible to discuss this novel without discussing the translation, for reasons that will become apparent. Never before, though, when reading a novel that's been translated into English, have I considered the translator very much - and in general, they're very much in the background, where most of them prefer to be. While reading That Mad Ache, I was swept up by Sagan's distinctive prose and style - only to feel almost cheated after reading the translator's words afterwards. I'll explain in a bit.
This is one of those lovely, breezy novels, light on plot and almost totally preoccupied with exploring human nature: human foibles, human vanity, human fears, human love. With a distinctly Parisian flair and some quite lovely prose, That Mad Ache reads like a movie where you are drawn into the characters' lives intensely for a few hours, where they come distinctly alive and pulsing in your hands, only to drift away at the end and leave you bereft and nostalgic.
Sagan has a light touch, detailing her characters and their surroundings with deft details that reveal much. Her characters live in a bubble, in isolation from the rest of the world and even their immediate surroundings. Yet it's always there, hovering at the edges. It creates a dreamlike setting, and made me think of those 20s novels and films that are so caught up in themselves and the social lives of their characters. This book definitely had an earlier, less contemporary feel - partly because aside from one quick mention of a TV, there's nothing that really pins it to the 60s. Even the blasé attitude to having affairs is more Parisian than contemporary.
The prose flits between objective, third person omniscient voice to a subjective, third person intimate one, giving us the inner thoughts of the characters as well as an omniscient perspective into their personalities and flaws, things they barely understand themselves. Yet we don't really know more than they do themselves, and they are independent and free-willed, following their own paths. They're utterly familiar, their emotions were ones that I recognised, had felt myself more than once, which only draws you in even more, eager again for the magic. It's a fascinating place to be as a reader, knowing more but less than the characters, avidly watching them dance around each other, understanding what's happening, feeling what they feel, but not knowing where it's going next.
The trouble is, how much of it is Sagan, and how much Hofstadter? I would never have worried about it before, and would have gladly laid the praise all at Sagan's feet, despite the hard work of the translator, except that in the essay that follows the novel, Hofstadter openly discusses what it's like to translate a work of fiction, the paradoxes and difficulties, and also where he inserted his own style.
In a way that makes me feel like a heathen, I think the book is better for having been translated by a modern American - he himself worried constantly about Americanising a French book, and removing it from its setting to negative effect, but he'd be pleased to hear that the end result is far more subtle than that. I don't read French, but I can tell, by the examples he gives of the original French, the earlier translation into English by her ex-husband, and Hofstadter's own translation, that the latter's is smoother, more fluid, more contemporary, less stuffy - more appealing. I feel a bit like a traitor but I can't help it: I'm a product of my times as well, and I derive a great deal of pleasure from reading smoothly flowing prose in a distinctive voice.
The essay is, in essence, a justification for all the small changes Hofstadter made to the original text, but I appreciated the insight. It also makes me concerned for those foreign-language books that have been translated poorly, or in a style that doesn't work for me: you almost have to shop around for a translation that does.
Hofstadter writes in a conversational, opinionated style, and I kept wanting to respond and give my own thoughts back. Like with the change he made to the structure of the novel. The original is divided into three parts: spring, summer and autumn. Hofstadter kept this but added winter and a final part, for the last chapter that's set two years later, because of the time differences. I would object to this change. While the names of the parts did match the seasons - until part three: autumn stretched into winter - I would argue that they are also meant metaphorically. Spring captures things new, curiosity, budding attraction; summer - as Lucile and Antoine practically spell out - is the time of vigour and health and happiness, no longer testing the water but plunging straight into the warmth. Autumn is a season of change, of things fading and dying and yet also settling into comfort and familiarity: things that echo the events of the novel. Hofstadter didn't make all that many changes, and most of them I actually preferred, but this was one that I think he shouldn't have touched.
When he talked about the title, about how titles can change from one language into English, or from English into another language, I wanted to jump in again. I wanted to say "yeah and also from English to American English!" For example, Jaclyn Moriarty's Australian YA novel Finding Cassy Crazy was published in America under the title The Year of Secret Assignments. That's quite a drastic change. Smaller changes, like Markus Zusak's book The Messenger being changed into I Am the Messenger, can be even more puzzling. If it makes him feel better, "That Mad Ache" works well, though if you're going with a different title, hell, the world is your oyster and you may as well be more imaginative.
It's a short novel, and a shorter essay, and I highly recommend both. Sagan, a famous French author whom I've never heard of before, captures with unflinching honesty "that mad ache", that flutter of feeling for a new attraction, the yearning, the hopes and desires of new couples, and then the waning, stretched love that's known too much buffeting. Hofstadter's essay is a wonderful glimpse into the art of translating, and just how much credit these people deserve - and raises the complicated question of just who's book is it anyway?
At one of the many dinners at a friend's house, Lucile meets Antoine, a poor young editor picked up by a wealthy older woman, Diane. A comfortable friendship sparks between them but its several days later that it turns into something else entirely, something hot and passionate and inescapable. But Antoine wants more from Lucile than anyone's ever demanded of her, and she'll have to make the biggest decision of her life: stay in a life of comfort with Charles, who understands her perfectly, or throw caution to the wind and move in with Antoine, who brings her alive with his passion but wants more than she can give?
I read this nearly a week ago and didn't have a chance to write the review then when it was fresh - now it seems like a daunting task. I'll just do what I usually do when I get stuck, though: start with what I can say and hope the rest comes.
That Mad Ache is a translation of the 1965 French novel La Chamade, which is, apparently, a rather untranslatable title. It won't be possible to discuss this novel without discussing the translation, for reasons that will become apparent. Never before, though, when reading a novel that's been translated into English, have I considered the translator very much - and in general, they're very much in the background, where most of them prefer to be. While reading That Mad Ache, I was swept up by Sagan's distinctive prose and style - only to feel almost cheated after reading the translator's words afterwards. I'll explain in a bit.
This is one of those lovely, breezy novels, light on plot and almost totally preoccupied with exploring human nature: human foibles, human vanity, human fears, human love. With a distinctly Parisian flair and some quite lovely prose, That Mad Ache reads like a movie where you are drawn into the characters' lives intensely for a few hours, where they come distinctly alive and pulsing in your hands, only to drift away at the end and leave you bereft and nostalgic.
Sagan has a light touch, detailing her characters and their surroundings with deft details that reveal much. Her characters live in a bubble, in isolation from the rest of the world and even their immediate surroundings. Yet it's always there, hovering at the edges. It creates a dreamlike setting, and made me think of those 20s novels and films that are so caught up in themselves and the social lives of their characters. This book definitely had an earlier, less contemporary feel - partly because aside from one quick mention of a TV, there's nothing that really pins it to the 60s. Even the blasé attitude to having affairs is more Parisian than contemporary.
The prose flits between objective, third person omniscient voice to a subjective, third person intimate one, giving us the inner thoughts of the characters as well as an omniscient perspective into their personalities and flaws, things they barely understand themselves. Yet we don't really know more than they do themselves, and they are independent and free-willed, following their own paths. They're utterly familiar, their emotions were ones that I recognised, had felt myself more than once, which only draws you in even more, eager again for the magic. It's a fascinating place to be as a reader, knowing more but less than the characters, avidly watching them dance around each other, understanding what's happening, feeling what they feel, but not knowing where it's going next.
The trouble is, how much of it is Sagan, and how much Hofstadter? I would never have worried about it before, and would have gladly laid the praise all at Sagan's feet, despite the hard work of the translator, except that in the essay that follows the novel, Hofstadter openly discusses what it's like to translate a work of fiction, the paradoxes and difficulties, and also where he inserted his own style.
In a way that makes me feel like a heathen, I think the book is better for having been translated by a modern American - he himself worried constantly about Americanising a French book, and removing it from its setting to negative effect, but he'd be pleased to hear that the end result is far more subtle than that. I don't read French, but I can tell, by the examples he gives of the original French, the earlier translation into English by her ex-husband, and Hofstadter's own translation, that the latter's is smoother, more fluid, more contemporary, less stuffy - more appealing. I feel a bit like a traitor but I can't help it: I'm a product of my times as well, and I derive a great deal of pleasure from reading smoothly flowing prose in a distinctive voice.
The essay is, in essence, a justification for all the small changes Hofstadter made to the original text, but I appreciated the insight. It also makes me concerned for those foreign-language books that have been translated poorly, or in a style that doesn't work for me: you almost have to shop around for a translation that does.
Hofstadter writes in a conversational, opinionated style, and I kept wanting to respond and give my own thoughts back. Like with the change he made to the structure of the novel. The original is divided into three parts: spring, summer and autumn. Hofstadter kept this but added winter and a final part, for the last chapter that's set two years later, because of the time differences. I would object to this change. While the names of the parts did match the seasons - until part three: autumn stretched into winter - I would argue that they are also meant metaphorically. Spring captures things new, curiosity, budding attraction; summer - as Lucile and Antoine practically spell out - is the time of vigour and health and happiness, no longer testing the water but plunging straight into the warmth. Autumn is a season of change, of things fading and dying and yet also settling into comfort and familiarity: things that echo the events of the novel. Hofstadter didn't make all that many changes, and most of them I actually preferred, but this was one that I think he shouldn't have touched.
When he talked about the title, about how titles can change from one language into English, or from English into another language, I wanted to jump in again. I wanted to say "yeah and also from English to American English!" For example, Jaclyn Moriarty's Australian YA novel Finding Cassy Crazy was published in America under the title The Year of Secret Assignments. That's quite a drastic change. Smaller changes, like Markus Zusak's book The Messenger being changed into I Am the Messenger, can be even more puzzling. If it makes him feel better, "That Mad Ache" works well, though if you're going with a different title, hell, the world is your oyster and you may as well be more imaginative.
It's a short novel, and a shorter essay, and I highly recommend both. Sagan, a famous French author whom I've never heard of before, captures with unflinching honesty "that mad ache", that flutter of feeling for a new attraction, the yearning, the hopes and desires of new couples, and then the waning, stretched love that's known too much buffeting. Hofstadter's essay is a wonderful glimpse into the art of translating, and just how much credit these people deserve - and raises the complicated question of just who's book is it anyway?
August 21, 2019
Paris by night or day actually depends on which stage of the story you are at but the author introduces the typical Parisian lifestyle of the 60’s with its flamboyant dinners exotic cocktails and love affairs.
Each character represents a certain category of the french society ; the aristocrats, the artists, the proletariat, The underprivileged etc ...
Through Lucile’s story, Sagan unleashes her inner demons on Paris’ finest acting scandalous and getting intwined in infidelity, snubbing the working class and refusing to adhere to their routine along with being an advocate of the farniente and getting by with reading books, strolling the streets of the city of lights and endless afternoon drinks at exclusive bars.
Each character represents a certain category of the french society ; the aristocrats, the artists, the proletariat, The underprivileged etc ...
Through Lucile’s story, Sagan unleashes her inner demons on Paris’ finest acting scandalous and getting intwined in infidelity, snubbing the working class and refusing to adhere to their routine along with being an advocate of the farniente and getting by with reading books, strolling the streets of the city of lights and endless afternoon drinks at exclusive bars.
December 2, 2023
He knew this euphoria of hers: it was the euphoria of being alone.
May 30, 2024
O carte ca o radiografie a complicatei anatomii a iubirii.
October 2, 2021
na stranu krajnje iritantni likovi: žrtve dokonog i mondenog pariškog života sredinom prošlog stoljeća, bezličnost, krajnja dosada, pomodnost i potpuno odsustvo životnog smisla; françoise sagan podlegla je zamci banalnosti i pomanjkanja stila (da je još samo jednom upotrijebila izraz "oči boje lješnjaka", mislim da bih se ispovraćala) pokušavajući prikazati razvoj jedne "ljubavne veze", od njenog početka slučajnim pogledom na (dosadnoj, dokonoj) večeri, preko kratkotrajnog zajedničkog života (ispunjenog dosadom i dokonošću), do njenog raspada. "ljubavna veza", pod navodnicima: nejasno je što je to dvoje privuklo jedno drugome jer osim "ljubovanja" oni malošto rade, a osjećaji koje izmjenjuju neutemeljeni su i krnji. afera, to da.
tu i tamo pokoja poetičnija rečenica koju valja pročitati dva puta, ali ostalo je sasvim prosječno ispričana priča o egoizmu i besmislu.
tu i tamo pokoja poetičnija rečenica koju valja pročitati dva puta, ali ostalo je sasvim prosječno ispričana priča o egoizmu i besmislu.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 31, 2010
The novel is based on a love story and it would appear quite an ordinary and typical triangle, but below the surface the author has developed a concept that is much more profound and complicated than the love affair itself. Lucile, the main character has been living with Charles, her 50-year-old lover and outstanding representative of the Parisian elite society, when she meets the handsome young Antoine and is powerfully drawn to him. Lucile’s choice between the two men in her life and the resulting consequences are the focus of the story line. It is the shattering dilemma whether to be true to herself and hurt others’ feelings or sacrifice her own feelings, whether to give up all the benefits of wealth in order to commit herself freely and openly to the man she loves or choose the safety and comfort of a rich life and lose the only one with whom she got to know the true meaning of love and passion. She chooses to follow her heart after all, but it proves the wrong decision for her. Eventually, her feelings are smothered by the mundane and trivial in a daily routine that lacks the sparkle and excitement of opulence. Finally, Lucile returns to the delicate, loving and understanding Charles for whom she feels genuine affection, but nothing of the powerful attraction she had for Antoine. Yet, this is not a victory of money over love. Money here is simply the means providing the freedom that Lucile desperately needs to be her real self.
The most interesting and valid point for me is the conclusion the main character draws inspired by a book she’s reading, William Faulkner’s The Wild Palms, that it is idleness that allows us to indulge in introspection, to gain balance and concentrate on the simple pleasure of just breathing, being alive and being aware of it. Idleness in the sense of not being reduced to some boring job that drains out all your energy, idleness as opposed to having to earn one’s living doing something alien and incongruous with your natural predisposition.
The most interesting and valid point for me is the conclusion the main character draws inspired by a book she’s reading, William Faulkner’s The Wild Palms, that it is idleness that allows us to indulge in introspection, to gain balance and concentrate on the simple pleasure of just breathing, being alive and being aware of it. Idleness in the sense of not being reduced to some boring job that drains out all your energy, idleness as opposed to having to earn one’s living doing something alien and incongruous with your natural predisposition.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 7, 2012
I felt supremely intellectual and sensitive while I was reading this book, all the more so because I read most of it while standing the queue for the David Hockney exhibition at the Royal Academy in London. Not that David Hockney is an intellectual. But the standard of badinage in the queues at the Royal Academy is generally pretty high.
I should also point out that the edition I was reading was not chosen lightly. I settled on the translation by Robert Westhoff only after a protracted internal struggle.
Nevertheless, although I liked this book and couldn't fault individual sentences, it didn't hold my attention as much as I'd hoped.
The dialogue is a bit precious. There is some wan and winsome philosophizing. The characters drift along in a haze of amorality, without too much to do. But there are some very sensual descriptions, which I adored. Chapter 7 is very good, for example. It's only a page and a half but it has sentences like this:
and this:
Even in English this is very French: classic, simple, understated and intense.
The English have more words but, as one of the characters states in the (very short) closing chapter, "where poetry is concerned, France reigns supreme."
Françoise Sagan is perhaps not the greatest French writer but she does justice to the tradition of beautiful, clear, poignant love stories into which she was born.
I should also point out that the edition I was reading was not chosen lightly. I settled on the translation by Robert Westhoff only after a protracted internal struggle.
Nevertheless, although I liked this book and couldn't fault individual sentences, it didn't hold my attention as much as I'd hoped.
The dialogue is a bit precious. There is some wan and winsome philosophizing. The characters drift along in a haze of amorality, without too much to do. But there are some very sensual descriptions, which I adored. Chapter 7 is very good, for example. It's only a page and a half but it has sentences like this:
I'll never be able to meet you without blushing," said Lucile, "or see you leave without feeling pain, or speak to you in public without turning my eyes away."
and this:
As she turned, he closed his fingers and held the lower part of her face, almost fiercely for a second, her mouth pressed to his palm. Gazing at each other, they wordlessly promised to have thousands of such moments together, no matter what happened."
Even in English this is very French: classic, simple, understated and intense.
The English have more words but, as one of the characters states in the (very short) closing chapter, "where poetry is concerned, France reigns supreme."
Françoise Sagan is perhaps not the greatest French writer but she does justice to the tradition of beautiful, clear, poignant love stories into which she was born.
November 26, 2022
Uau ! Mi-a placut enorm! Este o carte psihologica, trista, socanta, avand in centru iubirea. Nu are multa actiune dar pune foarte mult accent pe sentimente, pe iubire, pe trairile interioare ale personajelor, pe felul lor de a gandi si simti, si pe modul lor de a reactiona intr-o situatie in functie de sentimentele lor. In ,,Capitularea" sunt prezentate doua tipuri de iubire. Este descrisa acea iubirea matura, cuminte, de la distanta care rezista in timp si in fata greutatilor ( mi-a placut foarte mult Charles ca personaj, chiar daca parea un tip distant, mi-a placut puterea lui de a o iubi pe Lucile asa cum era si am respectat faptul ca nu a incercat sa o schimbe sub nici o forma. Puterea lui de iertare a fost chiar induiosatoare,venind din acea iubire adanca, constanta) .....si este descrisa si acea iubire pasionala, carnala, care te consuma dar se termina foarte repede si se pierde in fata greutatilor (Antoine, care de la inceput mi-a fost antipatic, este un tanar, pasional, lipsit de experienta, care se lasa condus de sentimente devenind violent, nesigur pe el nu stie ca a iubi inseamna sa accepti aceea persoana asa cum este, el incercand sa o schimbe pe Lucile, sa ii impuna anumite lucruri, fortand-o chiar sa il aleaga pe el ... dar de fapt asta e disperarea si nesiguranta lui, nu ?). "Capitularea " este povestea unui triunghi amoros .... si evident ca pentru asta avem nevoie si de cineva superficial, nonconformist, libertin (Lucile cea boema ).
February 27, 2016
I loved the etymology of "la chamade" (that mad ache) at the end of the novel! As in "Bonjour Tristesse", Sagan exposes the inner thoughts of a young French woman as she attempts to navigate the social mores of the 1960's, high-society Paris. I like Sagan's sometimes brutally honest appraisal of human relationships, especially as they deal with love. There is a realism that resonates with me, and even when her protagonists behave badly, there is an empathy that I appreciate. I can't address the issues of the translation since I have not read the novel in French. However, to me the language flowed well, something that is sometimes problematic in translations.
April 1, 2022
pure passion with young idiot twat or domesticity with a sweet dilf who loves you very much and would do anything you wanted (added bonus he is very rich). can you tell who i prefer.
July 31, 2024
That Mad Ache tells the story of thirty year old Lucile, who is the mistress of fifty year old Charles, a wealthy businessman. Then, at a dinner party, she meets thirty year old Antoine, a handsome but poor man who is the lover of an older woman, Diane, and through this connection he is able to be a part of high society functions. With Antoine, Lucile knows a passionate relationship while with Charles she has all her needs cared for and is able to pursue a life of leisure and pleasure. However, the time will come when she must choose between those two men and therefore those two lifestyles...
I loved this. It was a bit tell over show but for some reason I didn't mind, similar to Elena Ferrante's writing. I spent all day at work chomping at the bit, waiting to get back home to this to see how it would end - what Lucile's choices would be and how she would get there. It's a fascinating exploration of human nature - can carefree Lucile change her ways? Or is she always destined to be a hedonist?
Having also recently read Bonjour Tristesse, which was written when Sagan was a teenager, and this it was fascinating to see the evolution in her writing. I enjoyed both immensely and intend to read more of her works soon.
Rating: 4.5 / 5
I loved this. It was a bit tell over show but for some reason I didn't mind, similar to Elena Ferrante's writing. I spent all day at work chomping at the bit, waiting to get back home to this to see how it would end - what Lucile's choices would be and how she would get there. It's a fascinating exploration of human nature - can carefree Lucile change her ways? Or is she always destined to be a hedonist?
Having also recently read Bonjour Tristesse, which was written when Sagan was a teenager, and this it was fascinating to see the evolution in her writing. I enjoyed both immensely and intend to read more of her works soon.
Rating: 4.5 / 5
August 22, 2009
High-society Paris in the 1960s. Sagan’s talent is her ability to make vacuous and self-absorbed characters colorful and interesting.
July 7, 2023
This was impeccable! The writing was one of the most beautiful I've ever read. Emotions are so beautifully written, like highlighting material!
July 10, 2025
C’est l’histoire d’un homme et d’une femme. Tout ce qu’il y a de plus banal. Lucile et Antoine. Ils fréquentent les mêmes cercles, sans vraiment se connaître. Mais un fou rire change tout. Un amour d’abord interdit entre deux jeunes gens poussés par leurs passions.
Antoine est un homme simple, parfois incohérent, amoureux et jaloux. Lucile est un personnage bien plus complexe encore. On l’aime, puis on la déteste, on la trouve trop déconnectée de la réalité, trop désinvolte et paresseuse. Et puis on comprend. Elle est humaine, ce qui la rend immanquablement imparfaite. Lucile est cette part d’égoïsme et de volonté qui sommeille en nous. Elle ne vit que pour elle-même et préfère sa liberté à toute forme de bonheur.
Françoise Sagan délivre des réflexions bouleversantes et d’une justesse rare à travers l’histoire simple de personnages compliqués. Son style est magistral et donne envie de souligner les mots pour ne pas les oublier.
Antoine est un homme simple, parfois incohérent, amoureux et jaloux. Lucile est un personnage bien plus complexe encore. On l’aime, puis on la déteste, on la trouve trop déconnectée de la réalité, trop désinvolte et paresseuse. Et puis on comprend. Elle est humaine, ce qui la rend immanquablement imparfaite. Lucile est cette part d’égoïsme et de volonté qui sommeille en nous. Elle ne vit que pour elle-même et préfère sa liberté à toute forme de bonheur.
Françoise Sagan délivre des réflexions bouleversantes et d’une justesse rare à travers l’histoire simple de personnages compliqués. Son style est magistral et donne envie de souligner les mots pour ne pas les oublier.
December 10, 2018
3,5 και χαλάλι του. Παρότι οι ερωτικές ιστορίες δεν είναι και πολύ του στυλ μου, η δεξιοτεχνία της Σαγκαν με συνεπήρε.
Αυτό. Λιτό και απέριττο!
Αυτό. Λιτό και απέριττο!
July 14, 2023
Ah vilken ljuvlig sommarbok!! Alla som någongång varit lyckliga av att bada i havet eller dricka vin eller se våren komma eller äta grillad fisk i solen eller röka en cigg och läsa en bok bör läsa omgående
September 6, 2022
"After all, she did deserve sympathy - sympathy for her willingness to so radically complicate her life, all for the sake of this very inflexible man. It would have been so simple to tell him, 'I've quit my job,' and thereby to free herself up from the burden of her daily charades, But since the charades made Antoine happy, might as well keep them up - and truth to tell, at times she considered herself a saint."
I was screaming when I read this paragraph. Although sometimes, I do feel seen by this book. Very existentialist. Reminds me of The Worst Person In The World.
----
It’s really wonderful that Sagan (and Hofstadter) could make the totally irrational behaviours of these people become completely understandable (and sometimes almost justifiable?) with these little inner thoughts. Usually these inner thoughts are things that a lot of people can’t even begin to notice or articulate. This third-person omniscient narrative style intercutting with character interactions really works in its favor as Sagan (and Hofstatdter?) adroitly captured the maddening and intoxicating infatuation for someone, down to the adrenaline fueled trembling during an intense coupling, and the next-day anxiety and insecurity that accompanied. But passionate love isn't the only Mad Ache. Aging and falling out of fashion is also a mad ache, as evidenced by Diane's remark at herself growing older and more vulgar. The longing for youth and romance is common for everyone in this book. The scene where Diane and Antoine broke up was one of my favourite things in this book.
The only place this style sort of fell apart for me was during the exchange where Claire was sizing up Antoine and Lucille after their affair first began. It feels supernatural to me that they could read each other's minds during an almost wordless exchange like that. Is this because the high Parisian society is so homogenous that these little subtleties convey definitive meaning to everyone? I have no way of knowing.
But back to the mad ache, I didn't quite get the sense that Lucille felt very torn choosing between Charles and Antoine. There was never a vivid description of her being physical with Charles, or any kind of passionate exchange. I do see that the relationship with Charles is one marked by stability and intimacy, so if the indecision is based on the trade-off between the qualities of passion and stability, rather than the two different lovers, I can understand.
----
However, I just didn't feel the mad ache that Hofstadter was describing in the essay. Is it I just can't empathize with Lucille's conundrum? Is it because he dialed the temperature too high? Is it because the ennui is just lost from French if you have to put these feelings into English? Is it because this novel really is an interpretation, and an adaptation, of the original work?
No matter the question about the translation work, the afterword essay was mad interesting. It is colourful, entertaining, direct, thoughtful, and thought provoking. Clearly written by the hands of a popular science writer (if I can accuse him of being one). And I realize, maybe that's what contributed to the novel's clarity to me; never was I confused about anything happening in the book, unlike translations of some other literary works.
I was screaming when I read this paragraph. Although sometimes, I do feel seen by this book. Very existentialist. Reminds me of The Worst Person In The World.
----
It’s really wonderful that Sagan (and Hofstadter) could make the totally irrational behaviours of these people become completely understandable (and sometimes almost justifiable?) with these little inner thoughts. Usually these inner thoughts are things that a lot of people can’t even begin to notice or articulate. This third-person omniscient narrative style intercutting with character interactions really works in its favor as Sagan (and Hofstatdter?) adroitly captured the maddening and intoxicating infatuation for someone, down to the adrenaline fueled trembling during an intense coupling, and the next-day anxiety and insecurity that accompanied. But passionate love isn't the only Mad Ache. Aging and falling out of fashion is also a mad ache, as evidenced by Diane's remark at herself growing older and more vulgar. The longing for youth and romance is common for everyone in this book. The scene where Diane and Antoine broke up was one of my favourite things in this book.
The only place this style sort of fell apart for me was during the exchange where Claire was sizing up Antoine and Lucille after their affair first began. It feels supernatural to me that they could read each other's minds during an almost wordless exchange like that. Is this because the high Parisian society is so homogenous that these little subtleties convey definitive meaning to everyone? I have no way of knowing.
But back to the mad ache, I didn't quite get the sense that Lucille felt very torn choosing between Charles and Antoine. There was never a vivid description of her being physical with Charles, or any kind of passionate exchange. I do see that the relationship with Charles is one marked by stability and intimacy, so if the indecision is based on the trade-off between the qualities of passion and stability, rather than the two different lovers, I can understand.
----
However, I just didn't feel the mad ache that Hofstadter was describing in the essay. Is it I just can't empathize with Lucille's conundrum? Is it because he dialed the temperature too high? Is it because the ennui is just lost from French if you have to put these feelings into English? Is it because this novel really is an interpretation, and an adaptation, of the original work?
No matter the question about the translation work, the afterword essay was mad interesting. It is colourful, entertaining, direct, thoughtful, and thought provoking. Clearly written by the hands of a popular science writer (if I can accuse him of being one). And I realize, maybe that's what contributed to the novel's clarity to me; never was I confused about anything happening in the book, unlike translations of some other literary works.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 13, 2019
“Four people, jaggedly emerging from the superficial gloss of the Paris social set” reads the back cover, and after the first third of this novella I thought that was all it would be, except that I felt they barely 'emerged' at all, so superficial seemed their thoughts and interactions. But now that I’ve finished it, I’m surprised to find myself still thinking about these people and their lives. It left me wondering to what extent it’s possible and desirable to live an untethered life, free of real obligations, possessions, ties; not to encumber and to be unencumbered. Lucile has managed, for the most part, to create such a life for herself but is forced to learn that those qualities do not marry well with the greediness of passion.
November 24, 2009
Even minor Sagan is better than most writers major work.
September 20, 2024
Charles
Pick me
Choose me
Love me
🙏🙏🙏
Pick me
Choose me
Love me
🙏🙏🙏
August 8, 2025
La rencontre de Lucile et Antoine, qui lors d’un dîner, auquel ils accompagnement respectivement Charles et Diane, deux riches Parisiens.
Lucile et Antoine sont attirés l’un vers l’autre. La passion de leur relation suffira-t’elle pour que celle-ci persiste ?
Lucile et Antoine sont attirés l’un vers l’autre. La passion de leur relation suffira-t’elle pour que celle-ci persiste ?
July 23, 2025
I will think about it excessively for the rest of my existence
August 26, 2022
Lucile, carefree, focused on now than the future, is caught between 50-year-old Charles (well off businessman), and 30-year-old Antoine (struggling editor). Sagan did a good job describing the internal turmoil and passion (stolen afternoon delights) between Lucile and Antoine, the insecurity (Antoine thinking Lucile will cheat or goes back to Charles), the reality (being poor and Lucile living in her head and not wanting to work, getting pregnant but cannot afford a proper procedure).
Million dollar question - do you choose love or do you choose water?
la chamade - powerful throbbing of the heart, caused by intense emotions such as fear or anticipation or thrill.
Million dollar question - do you choose love or do you choose water?
la chamade - powerful throbbing of the heart, caused by intense emotions such as fear or anticipation or thrill.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 26, 2019
I think this is Sagan’s most eloquent novel so far in her career regarding relationships, different personalities, what kinds of passionate love or non–passionate love are destined for short-term or long-term success. The title translates loosely as “the heartbeat” but is really more complex than that. The word, as described at the story’s end, refers to a drum roll announcing a military defeat. Sagan leaves us readers to imagine precisely what she means about this definition in the love triangle she creates. It is tempting to describe 30-year-old Lucile as shallow and blatantly self-serving. She has not done much with her life, and at the beginning has been content to let Charles, a kind, adoring man some 20 years her senior, be her sugar daddy, spoiling her with a sports car, dresses, jewelry, and vacations, and leaving her with as much liberty as she desires. She has respect for Charles, but no passion. “Il y avait deux ans qu’il vivait ensemble, si l’on pouvait appeler vivre ensemble le fait d’habiter le même appartement, de voir les mêmes gens, et de partager parfois le même lit” (15). Sagan describes Lucile as half-woman, half-child, someone who has no capacity for acting responsibly and productively who has a “horror of possession,” who cannot exist without a certain amount of freedom. In short, she is incapable of any kind of traditional give-and-take relationship that puts normal demands on her. “Je n’ai jamais compris à rien. La vie m’a paru logique jusqu’à ce que j’aie quitté mes parents. Je voulais faire une license à Paris. Je rêvais. Depuis, je cherche des parents partout, chez mes amants, chez mes amis, je supporte de n’avoir rien à moi, ni le moindre projet, ni le moindre souci. Je suis bien dans la vie, c’est affreux, je ne sais pas pourquoi, quelque chose en moi s’accorde avec la vie dès que je m’éveille” (30-31). Early in the story, Lucile meets Antoine who works at a publishing company on a limited income. Antoine and Lucile fall passionately in love, and she leaves a sorrowful Charles for him. But can Antoine live very long with someone who cannot rise to the challenge of being a traditional wife/partner, some who is capable of doing basically nothing? “Le soleil, les plages, l’oisiveté, la liberté . . . c’est notre dû, Antoine, nous n’y pouvons plus rien" (144). The beginning of the end for Lucile and Antoine comes when he finds her a simple job at his company. Not only is she incapable of sticking to the job, but she also is insulted by the lifestyle—riding the métro, waiting for the bus in the rain, rubbing elbows with the workforce and riffraff of Paris, and worst of all, living on a strict budget. But rather than earn a little money, Lucile abandons her easy office position after reading a passage by William Faulkner (translated into French) that seems to champion the merits of idleness. (I know. I had never heard of it either). The final blow to Lucile and Antoine’s relationship, which I will not reveal, is a chilling situation that shows Charles’s amazing capacity for forgiveness and unconditional love. This is a very interesting psychological study about some unusual people, and Sagan has shown herself an affecting analyst of some singular emotions. The French-language film version that stars the luminous Catherine Deneuve as Lucile, is very true to the book. According to YouTube, one of the most popular clips from the film seems to be the part where Lucile reads the Faulkner passage and ditches her job.
May 17, 2009
this ~210 page novel is accompanied by a 100 page essay on translation. okay hofstadter, we know you are adorable.
okay so i realize i still haven't gotten anything down on this & so for now am just going to paste in an email i sent john after, pretty choppy & having followed a more in-depth conversation but hey, it's a start; also want to note (& so remember) john's snarky comment, "it's like it was written by someone who's never heard of derrida!"
...OH SNAP
**********
But do I, a mere translator, have the right to turn up the clarity and vividness knobs? ... Well, the fact is that I'm naturally inclined to turn these knobs up high no matter what I'm writing, because clarity and vividness are, in some sense, my religion. I would be betraying myself if I didn't allow myself to be as clear and as vivid as possible when I translate. - douglas hofstadter, "translator, trader"
which is troubling!: i mean, having the translator choose what things should be made vivid, what things are in fact there to be made vivid??? but something that he gets to later on, & which seems apparent from the excerpts in french, is that (it seems) a great part of why sagan appealed to hofstadter in the first place is the very fact of her own straightforwardness, her simplicity, how explicit & questionless her language is ("questionless" being an awkward word which hopefully will be taken the way i mean it - not that she doesn't use language to question, whether or not that's true, but that the way she uses words doesn't allow much room for ambiguity) --- to a degree that even hofstadter seems to fight against sometimes, as he often finds her language dull & awkward & so, um, changes it --- which, on the plus side, means the book probably hasn't been bastardized too much simply because dh chose to translate someone who already reminded him of himself.
also on the plus side, i've been gifted this massive, flashing, warning sign that translations by hofstadter are given from a place of (for me!) unapproachable linguistic privilege, & that they do not therefore function in the way that i think translations should.
mental notes of issues to return to later (in talks w/ you &/or goodreads for-me review, depending): music argument, ludicrous google comparison, p. 71 "the raw material..." !, p. 77 un "autre" to another - an other, a not her, "low levels" of manipulation, the careenium vs the word, p. 75 "voice" = macro-level, "voice" vs the novel as a work, etc etc etc
okay so i realize i still haven't gotten anything down on this & so for now am just going to paste in an email i sent john after, pretty choppy & having followed a more in-depth conversation but hey, it's a start; also want to note (& so remember) john's snarky comment, "it's like it was written by someone who's never heard of derrida!"
...OH SNAP
**********
But do I, a mere translator, have the right to turn up the clarity and vividness knobs? ... Well, the fact is that I'm naturally inclined to turn these knobs up high no matter what I'm writing, because clarity and vividness are, in some sense, my religion. I would be betraying myself if I didn't allow myself to be as clear and as vivid as possible when I translate. - douglas hofstadter, "translator, trader"
which is troubling!: i mean, having the translator choose what things should be made vivid, what things are in fact there to be made vivid??? but something that he gets to later on, & which seems apparent from the excerpts in french, is that (it seems) a great part of why sagan appealed to hofstadter in the first place is the very fact of her own straightforwardness, her simplicity, how explicit & questionless her language is ("questionless" being an awkward word which hopefully will be taken the way i mean it - not that she doesn't use language to question, whether or not that's true, but that the way she uses words doesn't allow much room for ambiguity) --- to a degree that even hofstadter seems to fight against sometimes, as he often finds her language dull & awkward & so, um, changes it --- which, on the plus side, means the book probably hasn't been bastardized too much simply because dh chose to translate someone who already reminded him of himself.
also on the plus side, i've been gifted this massive, flashing, warning sign that translations by hofstadter are given from a place of (for me!) unapproachable linguistic privilege, & that they do not therefore function in the way that i think translations should.
mental notes of issues to return to later (in talks w/ you &/or goodreads for-me review, depending): music argument, ludicrous google comparison, p. 71 "the raw material..." !, p. 77 un "autre" to another - an other, a not her, "low levels" of manipulation, the careenium vs the word, p. 75 "voice" = macro-level, "voice" vs the novel as a work, etc etc etc
December 22, 2014
I seem to be adding 3 stars to almost every book I read these days! There isn't anything earth shattering about the novel- it's a simple story, at times a beautiful one, about the passion between two lovers. The title is actually a loose translation of Sagan's original title, La Chamade, which embodies that "mad ache" one feels in the throes of love. What I liked a good deal about the book is that Sagan- and the translator- perfectly capture that emotion, which is almost inexplicable. We've all felt at some point in our lives the intense heat and passion for another human being that disappears almost as suddenly as when the attraction first appeared. I know I've felt bewildered at the end of a relationship, wondering "Where did the love go?". You feel absolutely certain, in the very beginning at least, that this person is IT. You can't get enough of a each other, and then one day it's "Poof"!, just gone.
I did not like that the characters were mere archetypes. Lucile really only exists as a plaything for both men, but I had to keep reminding myself that it was the sixties and views towards extramarital affairs and women living on their own were not what they are today. Still, I wish I got to know what ultimately attracted Charles to Lucile and Antoine to Diane. I couldn't see it, especially in Antoine's case, and so I didn't find the relationships very believable.
Do find a copy of the book that has the translator Douglas Hofstadter's essay on his translation of the novel. It's fascinating! I skimmed the text at certain times- Hofstadter does ramble- but did find it a worthy explanation of a translators role with the original writer. Anyone who likes works written originally in a different language will benefit from his insight.
I did not like that the characters were mere archetypes. Lucile really only exists as a plaything for both men, but I had to keep reminding myself that it was the sixties and views towards extramarital affairs and women living on their own were not what they are today. Still, I wish I got to know what ultimately attracted Charles to Lucile and Antoine to Diane. I couldn't see it, especially in Antoine's case, and so I didn't find the relationships very believable.
Do find a copy of the book that has the translator Douglas Hofstadter's essay on his translation of the novel. It's fascinating! I skimmed the text at certain times- Hofstadter does ramble- but did find it a worthy explanation of a translators role with the original writer. Anyone who likes works written originally in a different language will benefit from his insight.
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