The return of the narrator to his run-down estate in the provinces after a trivial, wasted life triggers a critical look at his youth and its inextricable bonds to the present, in an apocalyptic study of a life in dissolution, by the 1985 Nobel laureate
Awarded 1985 Nobel Prize in Literature, for being an author "who in his novel combines the poet's and the painter's creativeness with a deepened awareness of time in the depiction of the human condition."
Easily the most Simon of any Claude Simon I’ve read, almost totally incoherent in its formal structure for the entirety of the work, yet the prose is so lucid it doesn’t matter, he talks of every possible pixel of fading photographs, post cards, letters in a home where the parents have died, where the familial history is ending. A book that exists in between the moments a camera flash turns into a photo turns into a memory turns into a forgotten one. Probably the best novel I’ve read