It's the word on the tip of your tongue, a butterfly that flutters, alighting and then gone. It's a glance across the table, fiery and sharp—after the children have left for school—eyes entrapped with a deep and yearning desire. It's startling awake, unknowing, across the room, naked and in a cold sweat, unaware of yourself and why you are standing here, instead of in bed, from yet another nightmare, and then, almost accidentally, finding arms already encircling you as you elicit awareness, stroking your hair and uttering soothing words into your ear. It's loving someone all over again, for the very first time, despite having already shared an entire life together. Above all else, it's the remembering, the grasping at straws and fragments of images that flash through your mind—and then choosing to follow a path that feels the truest to you right now, despite what you remember. It's about holding on...
...and it's about being rescued. Rescued by her, the "her" that will never give up on you, the "her" that loves you more than the thought of living without you. When you are lost and plummeting, you need an anchor, for without it, you will find yourself sinking. Drowning. Gasping for air. She is the anchor at the end of the rope that you have been fraying apart, one thread at a time—a thread each day—until it was nearly out of your grasp, until she found you. And she held on.
576 pages.
576 pages of ethereal linguistic genius.
That was my attempt to pay homage to this erudite work of literature—this substantially poignant work of word wizardry. These 160,341 words have painstakingly been ensnared with the thoughts and feelings of these two commonplace and unremarkable individuals. These are two flawed creatures who, try as you might, you can't help falling in love with.
Julie has waited for 8 years for him to return. She has never lost hope and has never given up the idea that she will find him—her precious husband, Armand. It is the aftermath of World War I, the year is 1922, in the Flemish region of Flanders in Northern Belgium. Julienne has visited numerous hospitals and asylums in search of Armand, and then, on one inconceivable chance day, she locates the start of the dream she has been longing for...
Bringing Armand home from the asylum is not without its difficulties; he has lost his memories in the war...he doesn't remember owning a photography studio with Julie, he doesn't remember his children, and he doesn't remember his life. All he can recall are ghosts...
What would it be like to experience life again for the first time? But a life that you should already know? Is it filled with wonder and happiness at the rediscovery, or shame, sadness, and confusion at what has been lost and might not ever be reclaimed?
"And they try to find intimacy again, they talk, exchange glances, smile at each other, she rests her hand on his shoulder, he his hand on her back, but every attempt runs aground on a poisonous mixture of inflated intentions, overwrought expectations, and doubts, and, after a while, fresh disappointment and shame. How could it be that before the war they lived a life together, effortlessly, and now, after eight years of waiting, it's there for the taking yet it still eludes their grasp, it must be his fault, maybe a person needs a past to be happy, and there are also times he thinks it must be her, there's something about her, something unnameable."
I hold this book close. I treasured the snapshots of the daily experiences that Julie and Armand shared: her patience at teaching him photography again, the intricacies involved in navigating the ownership of a small business, and the untangling of the roles of husband and wife that revolve around the duties each is best suited for. There is so much joy; but it also comes with a pricetag that insists on the compensation of shed tears, aimless words scattered nearby to hurt, and innumerable nascent misunderstandings. All of this nuanced intimacy that's been meticulously captured in words and glances and hidden smiles, this, this is how I loved with my ex-husband for 20 years with our own photography business. There was too much here that grasped my heart and held on tight.
"...he understands why she loves photography, why he used to love it too, it creates the illusion of complete control, a few square inches of the world in which no disappointment, fear, or sorrow exists."
I would love to dissect all of the intricacies and nuances that effortlessly made this book one of my favorites this year. If I succumb to this desire, I would indubiously ruin it for you, my friends, and that is not what I want for you. You need to experience this magic for the first time, on your own terms, and when finished, then come to me, and we can discuss.
Oh, this book! This book, this book, this book. What a word sorceress Anjet Daanje is! It is so fiery in its intensity, you are left feeling suffocated, unable to breathe, and unabashedly overwhelmed by the depth of it. Indescribable. Have you ever been just exhausted by how undeniably beautiful a book is? Genuine, frank, truthful exhaustion. Every sentence you read is a masterpiece, and you can't help but wonder—how can someone formulate sentences with such power and intent? This book is an existential beauty, deep beyond measure.
A last thought.
Devastation and hope are presenting a unified front within these pages. These two will ambush you and have you questioning your sanity as you step amongst the land mines. Just remember—find your way home.