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Rien ne va plus
"Every time I want to write, I want to write love stories. But as soon as I pick up the pen I'm overcome by horror."
Margarita Karapanou’s third novel is, like roulette, a breathtaking, suspenseful game. The story is simple: a love affair ends badly. A woman and a man marry, and their marriage leads them to cruelty, infidelity, and divorce. But here their story is told twice, from opposing perspectives. We don’t know whom to trust; the distinction between truth and deception blurs, then seems to disappear. It becomes impossible to tell love story from horror story, as Karapanou explores just what makes us want to read one or the other, just what makes each so tempting to write. The result is an ironic, seductive, brutal experiment, a devastating exploration of what it can mean to narrate any life. This novel refuses to shy from the moment of rien ne va plus—the moment in roulette when all bets are off and the game becomes fate; when, with an impossible faith, a masterly writer tells of her own dissolution.
Margarita Karapanou’s third novel is, like roulette, a breathtaking, suspenseful game. The story is simple: a love affair ends badly. A woman and a man marry, and their marriage leads them to cruelty, infidelity, and divorce. But here their story is told twice, from opposing perspectives. We don’t know whom to trust; the distinction between truth and deception blurs, then seems to disappear. It becomes impossible to tell love story from horror story, as Karapanou explores just what makes us want to read one or the other, just what makes each so tempting to write. The result is an ironic, seductive, brutal experiment, a devastating exploration of what it can mean to narrate any life. This novel refuses to shy from the moment of rien ne va plus—the moment in roulette when all bets are off and the game becomes fate; when, with an impossible faith, a masterly writer tells of her own dissolution.
192 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1991
4 people are currently reading
1070 people want to read
About the author
Margarita Karapanou
7 books131 followersMargarita Karapanou (Μαργαρίτα Καραπάνου) was a Greek novelist. She was born in Athens in 1946, the daughter of Greek novelist Margarita Liberaki. She was raised and educated in Greece and France.
Her novels have been translated into several European languages. Her 1976 novel Η Κασσάνδρα και ο Λύκος (Cassandra and the Wolf) was awarded in the year 1988 in France as the best translated work of fiction.
Her novels have been translated into several European languages. Her 1976 novel Η Κασσάνδρα και ο Λύκος (Cassandra and the Wolf) was awarded in the year 1988 in France as the best translated work of fiction.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 75 reviews
September 12, 2025
Paradoxically, I'm the only woman who never really lied to you. I simply distorted reality in order to bring it closer to the truth. But you didn't understand anything. Anything. And I hate you for that.
There are some authors who are always a step ahead in the revered game of author-reader, and Magarita Karapanou could be safely placed among those. The author who has broken most of the norms of literature or rather set new norms, she could be said to be at the top of her craft right through her literary career. It is my second brush with the poignant, penetrating yet haunting world of Karapanou and I have been equally surprised and taken aback by the potency of the words of the author. She has developed a unique voice that has been carefully crafted with the emotions of life through elements of reality, fiction, and dream. The events in the world of Karapanou may sometimes be real, sometimes not since reality could be too harsh to handle. We know that human relations have always been muddy and complex, and there could not be any set pattern to define them, the author works here upon the most relatable yet not so comprehensible human relationship through an artistic endeavor of par excellence.
source
It is a seemingly straight forward love story of a couple who has been trying to understand their relationship through the events of their daily life as most do. The story appears to be everyone’s tale with tribulations, comforts, adversities, and pleasures of every family unit. As you start to enter the consciousness of the narrator (or rather vice versa in this case) and develop an association with the characters with a consummate joy on deciphering that the narrative is like any other story of the social unit we know as family, the author sweeps you off your feet with her deft pen, and the seemingly simple story appears to be not simple anymore. Somehow you manage to brave yourself and move further, and your entire sympathy has been drawn out by the author towards one of the members of the family under examination of probing eyes of the reader, and you feel a joyous air for eventually knocking out the author. Your eyes swell with tears which ride on the passionate emotions that pour out of moral obligation towards the victimized character.
The author, who is the omnipotent being of her universe, rises again from cervices of anonymity to the challenge you present as a reader, and takes a turnaround to starts the story again from a different perspective, you feel as if you have been robbed off your sympathy. As you start again to keep up with the new narrative you realize that not only the perspective, but the events and characterization have also been changed altogether. In the process, you learn an important lesson of life that truth is always relative. You ponder with your bewildered eyes on the words ultimately to recognize that one of the members of the family we are talking about here, revolts again the mighty pen of the author and rises from the dungeons of being the merely character to be the narrator of the unusual story and then perhaps leapfrogs ultimately to be the almighty being of this universe, as the author sacrificed herself during the course and the entire universe of the story has been devised by wild and fierce passions, and freakishly fickle desires of the same narrator.
The game starts again from the beginning. The end is always another beginning.
The nightmare of eternity in time, this is our fate.
What occurs to be everyone’s story superficially, turns out to be a unique story deep down. We observe that the thin line, separately the truth and deceit, completely vanishes to nothingness in Karapanou’s world. The changing perspectives and narratives of the story make it hard to ascertain whom to believe and whom to doubt, and the game goes on right through the tale, there comes fateful moment of rien ne va plus when all bets are off and the game becomes the alluring but savage game of life. The other lines such as those drawing distinction between love and horror, virtuous and evil, also take a deep dive into the well of nothingness and what comes up is life in its true sense. The distinct lines drawing the clear demarcation of past from present, and future also seems to become fruitless as the linear narratives gave away themselves to the rise of more humane and lively narratives in which past and present may live together just like in proposed model of multiverse and jump here and there as our brain works.
source
We know that literature takes birth out of necessity, the need here is to address the demons of tribulations of life going on in and around the world of the author. Perhaps the best way to handle these anxious ordeals of existence is to put them on paper, as a sort of insanity may take over the author if she/ he does not flush out the thoughts boiling up in her/ his head. The words are simply used to oversee the tumult and turbulence she/ he might be going through, they are perhaps being used to handle the randomness of life aesthetically. The literature takes shape in the artistic womb of an author wherein the reading probably acts as a sort of nourishment to the haunting soul of the author, and the words, which may be invincible hymns, come out of it as an offspring of this life-long gestation. The reader is given the opportunity to experience the glimpse of this gestation process in which the eternal experiences of the author are deftly maneuvered to progenerate a true work of art through this metafiction novel.
We have seen that there has been an unprecedented uprising of self-exploring genre in the twentieth century as there has been a flourish of autobiographies. The upheaval of autofiction which takes the elements of autobiography and fiction to formulate this new genre, reminds me of Anne Ernaux as most of her books fall under autofiction. There has been also progress towards postmodernism as quite a few previously unforeseen genres took birth in it, though the boundary among them keeps on diminishing perhaps aptly too since any specimen of literature should not be confined to any enclosure. The authors have experimented extensively, and the readers have been allowed to enter the sacred sphere of the authors to actively participate through metafiction. Rien Ne Va Plus fuses the elements of autofiction with that of metafiction and what takes birth a new genre, to which critics have to scratch their heads to bring up a new nomenclature from their kitty, an exercise they love to do although it may appear to be a futile one in essence.
source
The end has arrived.
But not even that can release me
Because there is no End.
There are some authors who are always a step ahead in the revered game of author-reader, and Magarita Karapanou could be safely placed among those. The author who has broken most of the norms of literature or rather set new norms, she could be said to be at the top of her craft right through her literary career. It is my second brush with the poignant, penetrating yet haunting world of Karapanou and I have been equally surprised and taken aback by the potency of the words of the author. She has developed a unique voice that has been carefully crafted with the emotions of life through elements of reality, fiction, and dream. The events in the world of Karapanou may sometimes be real, sometimes not since reality could be too harsh to handle. We know that human relations have always been muddy and complex, and there could not be any set pattern to define them, the author works here upon the most relatable yet not so comprehensible human relationship through an artistic endeavor of par excellence.
source
It is a seemingly straight forward love story of a couple who has been trying to understand their relationship through the events of their daily life as most do. The story appears to be everyone’s tale with tribulations, comforts, adversities, and pleasures of every family unit. As you start to enter the consciousness of the narrator (or rather vice versa in this case) and develop an association with the characters with a consummate joy on deciphering that the narrative is like any other story of the social unit we know as family, the author sweeps you off your feet with her deft pen, and the seemingly simple story appears to be not simple anymore. Somehow you manage to brave yourself and move further, and your entire sympathy has been drawn out by the author towards one of the members of the family under examination of probing eyes of the reader, and you feel a joyous air for eventually knocking out the author. Your eyes swell with tears which ride on the passionate emotions that pour out of moral obligation towards the victimized character.
The author, who is the omnipotent being of her universe, rises again from cervices of anonymity to the challenge you present as a reader, and takes a turnaround to starts the story again from a different perspective, you feel as if you have been robbed off your sympathy. As you start again to keep up with the new narrative you realize that not only the perspective, but the events and characterization have also been changed altogether. In the process, you learn an important lesson of life that truth is always relative. You ponder with your bewildered eyes on the words ultimately to recognize that one of the members of the family we are talking about here, revolts again the mighty pen of the author and rises from the dungeons of being the merely character to be the narrator of the unusual story and then perhaps leapfrogs ultimately to be the almighty being of this universe, as the author sacrificed herself during the course and the entire universe of the story has been devised by wild and fierce passions, and freakishly fickle desires of the same narrator.
The game starts again from the beginning. The end is always another beginning.
The nightmare of eternity in time, this is our fate.
What occurs to be everyone’s story superficially, turns out to be a unique story deep down. We observe that the thin line, separately the truth and deceit, completely vanishes to nothingness in Karapanou’s world. The changing perspectives and narratives of the story make it hard to ascertain whom to believe and whom to doubt, and the game goes on right through the tale, there comes fateful moment of rien ne va plus when all bets are off and the game becomes the alluring but savage game of life. The other lines such as those drawing distinction between love and horror, virtuous and evil, also take a deep dive into the well of nothingness and what comes up is life in its true sense. The distinct lines drawing the clear demarcation of past from present, and future also seems to become fruitless as the linear narratives gave away themselves to the rise of more humane and lively narratives in which past and present may live together just like in proposed model of multiverse and jump here and there as our brain works.
source
We know that literature takes birth out of necessity, the need here is to address the demons of tribulations of life going on in and around the world of the author. Perhaps the best way to handle these anxious ordeals of existence is to put them on paper, as a sort of insanity may take over the author if she/ he does not flush out the thoughts boiling up in her/ his head. The words are simply used to oversee the tumult and turbulence she/ he might be going through, they are perhaps being used to handle the randomness of life aesthetically. The literature takes shape in the artistic womb of an author wherein the reading probably acts as a sort of nourishment to the haunting soul of the author, and the words, which may be invincible hymns, come out of it as an offspring of this life-long gestation. The reader is given the opportunity to experience the glimpse of this gestation process in which the eternal experiences of the author are deftly maneuvered to progenerate a true work of art through this metafiction novel.
We have seen that there has been an unprecedented uprising of self-exploring genre in the twentieth century as there has been a flourish of autobiographies. The upheaval of autofiction which takes the elements of autobiography and fiction to formulate this new genre, reminds me of Anne Ernaux as most of her books fall under autofiction. There has been also progress towards postmodernism as quite a few previously unforeseen genres took birth in it, though the boundary among them keeps on diminishing perhaps aptly too since any specimen of literature should not be confined to any enclosure. The authors have experimented extensively, and the readers have been allowed to enter the sacred sphere of the authors to actively participate through metafiction. Rien Ne Va Plus fuses the elements of autofiction with that of metafiction and what takes birth a new genre, to which critics have to scratch their heads to bring up a new nomenclature from their kitty, an exercise they love to do although it may appear to be a futile one in essence.
source
The end has arrived.
But not even that can release me
Because there is no End.
January 14, 2019
Άλκη οι άνθρωποι είναι μίζεροι και τσιγγούνηδες με τα αισθήματα τους. Θέλουν να παίρνουν αγάπη, αλλά χωρίς τίποτα να ταράζει τη ζωή τους, το πρόγραμμα τους, τα καθαρά τους έπιπλα. Ξέρεις πολλούς ανθρώπους που θ’ αφήνανε το γάτο τους να γδέρνει τις πολυθρόνες τους;»
«Μένουνε τότε μόνο με τις πολυθρόνες. Γιατί και οι άνθρωποι που μας αγαπούν μας γδέρνουνε, σαν τον Καίσαρα. Πρέπει ν’ αφήνουμε στον άλλο την ελευθερία να μας δείχνει την αγάπη του όπως θέλει, όπως ξέρει, όπως μπορεί αρκεί να μη μας καταστρέφει. Κι ο έρωτας τι είναι; Νυχιές αγάπης είναι, σημάδια, ίχνη που αφήνει ο άλλος μέσα σου. Εγώ αυτό που φοβάμαι πάνω απ’ ‘όλα είναι η ησυχία, η σιωπή. Θέλω ανεξίτηλα σημάδια, ζωή.
Όταν είπα ότι θα διαβάσω Καραπάνου ένα πολύ εύστοχο τελικά σχόλιο που μου έγινε είναι ότι με την Καραπάνου θα ρθουν στιγμές που θα πεις Θεε μου τι διαβάζω τώρα αλλά στο τέλος θα έχεις απόλυτα συμβιβαστεί με τις παραξενιές και τις «τρελές» στιγμές της συγγραφέως και θα την έχεις αποδεχτεί με τα όποια ελαττώματα της. Κάπως έτσι συνέβη λοιπόν και μένα καθώς υπήρχαν στιγμές που πραγματικά δε μπορώ να ακολουθήσω πάντα στο ρυθμό του συγγραφικού της παραληρήματος και άλλες πάλι που λέω εντάξει τώρα τι είπε η γυναίκα, πόσο μα πόσο αληθινό.
Το rien ne va plus είναι ένα αρκετά περίεργο βιβλίο που μέχρι το τέλος του δεν είσαι πολύ σίγουρος ποιο είναι το θύμα και ποιος ο θύτης. Ένα βιβλίο που μιλάει για την αιώνια μάχη των δύο φύλων, για τις αρρωστημένες σχέσεις και σχέσεις εξάρτησης, ένα βιβλίο που αν μη τι άλλω δεν τον ξεχνάς αφότου το τελειώσεις.
Άναψε ένα τσιγάρο, κι άρχισε να διαβάζει.
Ξαφνικά σήκωσε το κεφάλι, με κοίταξε γελαστός.
-Rien ne va plus, μου είπε.
-Άλκη, δεν είναι όρος της ρουλέτας;
- Ναι. Φαίνεται μία φράση απειλητική, αλλά δεν είναι. Είναι η πιο κρίσιμη στιγμή του παιχνιδιού, γι΄αυτό δίνει αυτή την κοφτή αίσθηση, μια αίσθηση του τέλους.
-Τι θα πει ακριβώς;
-Είναι η στιγμή, στο παιχνίδι, που δε μπορείς να επηρεάσεις πια το μέλλον, είτε θετικά, είτε αρνητικά. Τότε είναι που ακούγεται απ΄τον κρουπιέρη το περίφημο "Rien ne va plus". Ή χάνεις ή κερδίζεις ό,τι έχεις μιζάρει. Συνήθως χάνεις.
-Καμιά φορά όμως κερδίζεις, απάντησα.
-Όχι. Σπάνια. Η ρουλέτα είναι θανατηφόρα.
«Μένουνε τότε μόνο με τις πολυθρόνες. Γιατί και οι άνθρωποι που μας αγαπούν μας γδέρνουνε, σαν τον Καίσαρα. Πρέπει ν’ αφήνουμε στον άλλο την ελευθερία να μας δείχνει την αγάπη του όπως θέλει, όπως ξέρει, όπως μπορεί αρκεί να μη μας καταστρέφει. Κι ο έρωτας τι είναι; Νυχιές αγάπης είναι, σημάδια, ίχνη που αφήνει ο άλλος μέσα σου. Εγώ αυτό που φοβάμαι πάνω απ’ ‘όλα είναι η ησυχία, η σιωπή. Θέλω ανεξίτηλα σημάδια, ζωή.
Όταν είπα ότι θα διαβάσω Καραπάνου ένα πολύ εύστοχο τελικά σχόλιο που μου έγινε είναι ότι με την Καραπάνου θα ρθουν στιγμές που θα πεις Θεε μου τι διαβάζω τώρα αλλά στο τέλος θα έχεις απόλυτα συμβιβαστεί με τις παραξενιές και τις «τρελές» στιγμές της συγγραφέως και θα την έχεις αποδεχτεί με τα όποια ελαττώματα της. Κάπως έτσι συνέβη λοιπόν και μένα καθώς υπήρχαν στιγμές που πραγματικά δε μπορώ να ακολουθήσω πάντα στο ρυθμό του συγγραφικού της παραληρήματος και άλλες πάλι που λέω εντάξει τώρα τι είπε η γυναίκα, πόσο μα πόσο αληθινό.
Το rien ne va plus είναι ένα αρκετά περίεργο βιβλίο που μέχρι το τέλος του δεν είσαι πολύ σίγουρος ποιο είναι το θύμα και ποιος ο θύτης. Ένα βιβλίο που μιλάει για την αιώνια μάχη των δύο φύλων, για τις αρρωστημένες σχέσεις και σχέσεις εξάρτησης, ένα βιβλίο που αν μη τι άλλω δεν τον ξεχνάς αφότου το τελειώσεις.
Άναψε ένα τσιγάρο, κι άρχισε να διαβάζει.
Ξαφνικά σήκωσε το κεφάλι, με κοίταξε γελαστός.
-Rien ne va plus, μου είπε.
-Άλκη, δεν είναι όρος της ρουλέτας;
- Ναι. Φαίνεται μία φράση απειλητική, αλλά δεν είναι. Είναι η πιο κρίσιμη στιγμή του παιχνιδιού, γι΄αυτό δίνει αυτή την κοφτή αίσθηση, μια αίσθηση του τέλους.
-Τι θα πει ακριβώς;
-Είναι η στιγμή, στο παιχνίδι, που δε μπορείς να επηρεάσεις πια το μέλλον, είτε θετικά, είτε αρνητικά. Τότε είναι που ακούγεται απ΄τον κρουπιέρη το περίφημο "Rien ne va plus". Ή χάνεις ή κερδίζεις ό,τι έχεις μιζάρει. Συνήθως χάνεις.
-Καμιά φορά όμως κερδίζεις, απάντησα.
-Όχι. Σπάνια. Η ρουλέτα είναι θανατηφόρα.
January 31, 2019
Η αληθινή ιστορία του κτηνίατρου με τα βιολετί μάτια είναι εδώ σε μια διπλή παραλλαγή, με μια αντιστροφή του νομίσματος με την ίδια όμως όψη. Έξοχο.
August 3, 2010
two times the amour fou! …a writing of passion and extremes not dissimilar to marguerite duras and georges bataille, karapanou’s RIEN NE VA PLUS tells a break-up story twice, completely shifting not only perspective but wholly changing event and characterization. the effect is more subtle than simply the apprehension of relative truth à la a he-said-she-said story — but rather something is revealed about our own ability (and desire) to be both brutalizer and willing submissive.
there’s something about this type of passion tale that’s inviolable, so evidently pure that it appears impossible to fake. it respects something, keeps something holy so that, despite itself, it maintains its integrity ….and yet karapanou’s novel is also entirely about the deceptions and lens of narrative, about the malleability of truth. it’s the congress of erotic truth with skilled and pointed artifice then that arguably gives this superb book its force.
also its immaculate style (beautifully translated from the greek by Karen emmerich), e.g.
–I love you more than anything, Alkiviadis told me, eyeing the boys around him in the café, who returned his gaze.
–Alkis, are you only attracted to boys?
–Yes, but it’s you I love.
My cup of coffee spilled on the lap of the blond boy at the table next to ours. He was wearing green corduroy pants.
–It’s nothing, he said, catching Alkis’s eye.
there’s something about this type of passion tale that’s inviolable, so evidently pure that it appears impossible to fake. it respects something, keeps something holy so that, despite itself, it maintains its integrity ….and yet karapanou’s novel is also entirely about the deceptions and lens of narrative, about the malleability of truth. it’s the congress of erotic truth with skilled and pointed artifice then that arguably gives this superb book its force.
also its immaculate style (beautifully translated from the greek by Karen emmerich), e.g.
–I love you more than anything, Alkiviadis told me, eyeing the boys around him in the café, who returned his gaze.
–Alkis, are you only attracted to boys?
–Yes, but it’s you I love.
My cup of coffee spilled on the lap of the blond boy at the table next to ours. He was wearing green corduroy pants.
–It’s nothing, he said, catching Alkis’s eye.
May 18, 2021
"Οι άνθρωποι που αγαπάμε ή πεθαίνουν ή φεύγουν"
Κείμενο δυνατό, γραφή χειμαρρώδης, εντυπωσιακή. Μια ερωτική ιστορία γραμμένη σε δύο εκδοχές ή μάλλον σε πολλές περισσότερες. Δε μένει παρά να διαλέξεις ποια σου "πάει" περισσότερο, ποια είναι εκείνη που είναι πιο πραγματική, λιγότερο σοκαριστική. Σκληρή πλοκή, πρωτότυπο και ευρηματικό το έργο.
Κείμενο δυνατό, γραφή χειμαρρώδης, εντυπωσιακή. Μια ερωτική ιστορία γραμμένη σε δύο εκδοχές ή μάλλον σε πολλές περισσότερες. Δε μένει παρά να διαλέξεις ποια σου "πάει" περισσότερο, ποια είναι εκείνη που είναι πιο πραγματική, λιγότερο σοκαριστική. Σκληρή πλοκή, πρωτότυπο και ευρηματικό το έργο.
December 26, 2020
Margarita te prvo grli i nežno ti provlači prstima kroz kosu a onda ti nasilnički gurne dva prsta do dna grla dok ne ispovraćaš svu žuč i nataloženu tugu
August 1, 2024
EUPHORIA. No wonder this word is greek. No wonder greek shapes waves and clouds of emotions into single words containing entire galaxies.
Heart palpitations.
This kept me awake and demanded me to finish it.
Think a tiny splash of
Mariana Dimopolous
Yorgos Lanthimos
Michael Haneke
Ingmar Bergman
Natalia Ginzberg
All swirled into something completely different and violent and cruel and unique, as only freedom and solitude could conceive. Sharp as those dark red nails.
Books are mirrors, this reflected like no other.
I am weirdly shocked and happy. Mentally titillated and aghast.
Heart palpitations.
This kept me awake and demanded me to finish it.
Think a tiny splash of
Mariana Dimopolous
Yorgos Lanthimos
Michael Haneke
Ingmar Bergman
Natalia Ginzberg
All swirled into something completely different and violent and cruel and unique, as only freedom and solitude could conceive. Sharp as those dark red nails.
Books are mirrors, this reflected like no other.
I am weirdly shocked and happy. Mentally titillated and aghast.
August 14, 2024
Talk about female gaze.
This might be my favorite book I've ever read.
The best decision was to read the English translation because now I can re-read it in the original Greek, like a completely different book.
It had meta elements, unlikable characters, windows to lives in different eras, in different countries, a complete study of the human psyche (let me use clichéd non sensical phrases from time to time)
I could write so much but I'm not in my living-long-reviews era, so maybe after my reread .
This might be my favorite book I've ever read.
The best decision was to read the English translation because now I can re-read it in the original Greek, like a completely different book.
It had meta elements, unlikable characters, windows to lives in different eras, in different countries, a complete study of the human psyche (let me use clichéd non sensical phrases from time to time)
I could write so much but I'm not in my living-long-reviews era, so maybe after my reread .
March 24, 2015
Events repeat, reconfigured. This isn't a case of two interpretations of the same events, no, they're irreconcilable. Or are they? Events reconcile in a space outside any one experience, lies illuminate the dead facts that would otherwise compose the truth of any story. Who here is the actual monster? Are they both, or are both ultimately tragic in their final solitude? Love stories, horror stories.
September 11, 2021
man straight people are weird as fuck
Read
February 1, 2019Το πρώτο μέρος μου εξίταρε την περιέργεια, διάβαζα με μεγάλο ενδιαφέρον. Όμως στο τρίτο πια κουράστηκα, έκανα προσπάθεια, πάλευα να καταλάβω το νόημα πίσω από όλες αυτές τις ιστορίες. Είχε κάποιες στιγμές απόλυτης διαύγειας, αλλά στο σύνολο δεν ταιριάξαμε.
Read
July 30, 2024“Don’t be scared, he said. Don’t be scared. I would never hurt you. It’s not just that I love you. You’ve become me, you became me, and how could I ever hurt myself?”
rien ne va plus is a novel of distortions; there is the postmodern sense that the only truth that matters is the truth that there is no absolute truth at all. in this uncertain world, mirrors, whether they reflect a straightforward image of reality or a distorted alternative, are not nearly as important as the shattered shards of the mirror. it is within these shards, comprised of actualities, what-ifs and desires, that a new sense of selfhood can arise: an understanding that the self is inevitably fragmented and therefore, so is the way we piece reality together. in a patriarchal world — where control extends to language — how can women tell their personal truths? karapanou understands that retelling our stories is not enough; we must reconfigure the narrative form itself in order to capture the multiplicious truth of reality.
in awe!!!
April 5, 2024
Για μένα, ελευθερία σημαίνει μοναξιά, μια μοναξιά γεμάτη περιπάτους στην εξοχή, βόλτες μόνη μου μέσα σε άγνωστες πόλεις, βιβλία πεταμένα γύρω απ’ το κρεβάτι μου την νύχτα, και ανοιγμένα τυχαία σε κάποια σελίδα. Κι εγώ βάφω τα νύχια μου κατακόκκινα, αλλά τα βάφω για μένα. Όταν κάθομαι στα καφενεία, κοιτάζω το χέρι μου ακουμπισμένο πάνω στο τραπέζι, το κάτασπρο χέρι μου με τα κόκκινα, μακριά νύχια — ίσως να φοράω κι ένα δαχτυλίδι, και με γεμίζει μια ανείπωτη ηδονή, γιατί το χέρι αυτό είναι δικό μου, και τόχω φιάξει έτσι ωραίο για μένα μόνο, και μετά από το καφενείο, σε κάποια άγνωστη πόλη, θα γυρίσω στο ξενοδοχείο, θα κάνω ένα μπάνιο ζεστό και αρωματικό, και μετά θα κοιμηθώ. Η μοναξιά μου είναι ιερή. […] Θέλω να είμαι μόνη μου, ν’ αρμενίζω σαν καράβι και να σταματάω σε οποίο λιμάνι θέλω και να ξαναφεύγω.
December 15, 2020
"—Every time I want to write, I want to write love stories. But as soon as I pick up the pen I’m overcome by horror.
—What does that have to do with us getting married?
—I don’t know. But it does. My true nature comes out in my writing. I’ve only matured in my writing. In real life, I’m at sea."
—What does that have to do with us getting married?
—I don’t know. But it does. My true nature comes out in my writing. I’ve only matured in my writing. In real life, I’m at sea."
September 29, 2010
Beautifully written, this novel left me speechless. I immediately wanted to read it over, to try to get deeper inside the minds of the haunting characters. This book will be on my mind for a while...and that's a good thing.
August 6, 2023
Δραματικά Υπέροχο… το αισθάνθηκα σαν τη συνέχεια του «Η Κασσάνδρα και ο Λύκος». Σαν μετάγγιση του τραύματος από την παιδική ανάμνηση στην ενήλικη κατάληξη της πρωταγωνίστριας (ίσως γιατί και τα δύο βιβλία είναι υπαινικτικά αυτοβιογραφικά).
July 19, 2024
Με εξέπληξε το πόσο πολύ μου άρεσε αυτό το βιβλίο. Πριν πολλά χρόνια είχα διαβάσει την Κασσάνδρα και τον Λύκο και δεν μου είχε ταιριάξει καθόλου, δεν ξέρω καν γιατί επέλεξα να ξαναδιαβάσω Καραπάνου, κι όμως χαίρομαι πολύ που το έκανα. Σκοτεινό, περίεργο, ασκεί μια ιδιαίτερη έλξη. Σαν να διαβάζεις κάτι που δεν θα έπρεπε, να γίνεσαι μάρτυρας προσωπικών στιγμών. Αφήνει το στίγμα του.
November 14, 2024
[...]Δεν έχω πάψει να σε φοβάμαι. Νεκρό σε φοβάμαι πιο πολύ από ζωντανό, γιατί τώρα μπορείς να τρυπώσεις παντού, αόρατος.
Άλκη, μη μου ξανακάνεις κακό. Πάλι εσύ θα δηλητηριαστείς.[...]
[...]To ΝΑ ΞΕΧΝΑΣ είναι το μεγάλο μυστικό των δυνατών ανθρώπων.
Το να θυμάσαι και να αναμασάς είναι η έσχατη ανθρώπινη αδυναμία, και το πληρώνουν πάντα οι άλλοι.
Αλλά, βέβαια, το πληρώνεις πάντα κι εσύ.[...]
Άλκη, μη μου ξανακάνεις κακό. Πάλι εσύ θα δηλητηριαστείς.[...]
[...]To ΝΑ ΞΕΧΝΑΣ είναι το μεγάλο μυστικό των δυνατών ανθρώπων.
Το να θυμάσαι και να αναμασάς είναι η έσχατη ανθρώπινη αδυναμία, και το πληρώνουν πάντα οι άλλοι.
Αλλά, βέβαια, το πληρώνεις πάντα κι εσύ.[...]
May 22, 2022
"Το να ξεχνάς είναι το μεγάλο μυστικό των δυνατών ανθρώπων.Το να θυμάσαι και να αναμασάς,είναι η έσχατη ανθρώπινη αδυναμία,και το πληρώνουν πάντα οι άλλοι.Αλλά βέβαια,το πληρώνεις πάντα και εσύ."
April 15, 2023
Είχα ξεχάσει πόσο καταπληκτική είναι η γραφή της Καραπάνου!
Δεν έχω να πω πολλά…ένιωσα όμως πως μόλις διάβασα ένα αριστούργημα.
Δεν έχω να πω πολλά…ένιωσα όμως πως μόλις διάβασα ένα αριστούργημα.
August 7, 2024
really disliked the writing but I’m sure much was lost in translation
May 30, 2023
a shocking book
March 7, 2025
Breathtaking portrayal of pregnancy, silence, and deceit. Luscious descriptions. Serpentine structure. The ending evoked the painting so vividly! A good salve to ennui of the Joan Didion/contempt lit variety - because while depression is the overwhelming presence in the novel it is not disaffected but forcefully vivid, screaming almost.
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July 27, 2009“Rien ne va plus is one of the most haunting, affecting novels I’ve ever read. Brilliantly translated by Karen Emmerich, Karapanou’s words have stayed with me like the afterglow of a flash, or the sting of a punch.” —Jonathan Safran Foer
“Margarita Karapanou writes as if riding a wild horse, holding tight to its mane. If she had written in English, today the whole English-speaking world would be talking about her.” —Amanda Michalopoulou
"Every time I want to write, I want to write love stories. But as soon as I pick up the pen I’m overcome by horror."
Margarita Karapanou’s third novel is, like roulette, a breathtaking, suspenseful game. The story is simple: a love affair ends badly. A woman and a man marry, and their marriage leads them to cruelty, infidelity, and divorce. But here their story is told twice, from opposing perspectives. We don’t know whom to trust; the distinction between truth and deception blurs, then seems to disappear. It becomes impossible to tell love story from horror story, as Karapanou explores just what makes us want to read one or the other, just what makes each so tempting to write. The result is an ironic, seductive, brutal experiment, a devastating exploration of what it can mean to narrate any life. This novel refuses to shy from the moment of rien ne va plus—the moment in roulette when all bets are off and the game becomes fate; when, with an impossible faith, a masterly writer tells of her own dissolution.
“Margarita Karapanou writes as if riding a wild horse, holding tight to its mane. If she had written in English, today the whole English-speaking world would be talking about her.” —Amanda Michalopoulou
"Every time I want to write, I want to write love stories. But as soon as I pick up the pen I’m overcome by horror."
Margarita Karapanou’s third novel is, like roulette, a breathtaking, suspenseful game. The story is simple: a love affair ends badly. A woman and a man marry, and their marriage leads them to cruelty, infidelity, and divorce. But here their story is told twice, from opposing perspectives. We don’t know whom to trust; the distinction between truth and deception blurs, then seems to disappear. It becomes impossible to tell love story from horror story, as Karapanou explores just what makes us want to read one or the other, just what makes each so tempting to write. The result is an ironic, seductive, brutal experiment, a devastating exploration of what it can mean to narrate any life. This novel refuses to shy from the moment of rien ne va plus—the moment in roulette when all bets are off and the game becomes fate; when, with an impossible faith, a masterly writer tells of her own dissolution.
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December 17, 2012This novel is only understandable as a postmodernist rejection meaning. If you try to look at it as two sides of the coin (ala Rashomon), you will be dissapointed. It is all over the place and completely unreliable (in section 3 there is a seeming explanation of the first part, but the 3rd part itself is filled with lies and delusion). This is the point of the novel and in that respect it succeeds admirably. In the end, however, it is not a particularly masterful execution of anything other than confusion, which takes away the joy. Perhaps her other novels are stronger.
March 6, 2021
In the first part the narration was engaging and the story took me aback as it was so unexpected and unbecoming. Quite bizarre scenes described so vividly and with beautifully calming words which sounded like a lullaby made me feel in another realm of tranquility.
But when the second part made its scene, then the narration took another turn. A big U-turn as it sounded like she (the narrator) wanted to drag things out with exhaustive descriptions of useless things I felt no need to know of.
Overall good book!
But when the second part made its scene, then the narration took another turn. A big U-turn as it sounded like she (the narrator) wanted to drag things out with exhaustive descriptions of useless things I felt no need to know of.
Overall good book!
October 15, 2013
Το δεύτερο μυθιστόρημα της Καραπάνου που διαβάζω, αν και όχι τόσο βαρύ όσο η Κασσάνδρα και ο λύκος με τράβηξε από τις πρώτες σελίδες και με κράτησε ως το τέλος. Η συγγραφέας και εδώ αφήνει να φανούν τα θέματα που έχει με τη μητέρα της παρόλο που έχουμε να κάνουμε με την ιστορία ενός ζευγαριού. Η κοφτερή γραφή της νομίζω δεν αφήνει κανέναν ασυγκίνητο και είναι σίγουρα ένα από τα βιβλία που θα'θελα να ξαναδιαβάσω κάποια στιγμή.
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