I didn't like it at all. Dude, it's because I didn't understand it. Not because it was in French, but because it doesn't make any f***ing sense, man. I had to look for a forum that would explain the crappy book.

However, I liked the plot very much. It was quite cool.

Maybe if I had understood the language better or if the book had been written more clearly, I would have had a better experience. But as it stands, I'm left feeling frustrated and disappointed.

Still, I can't deny that the story had its moments and kept me engaged to some extent. I just wish it had been presented in a more accessible way.

I'll probably give the author another chance in the future, but for now, I'm going to move on to something else.

Several years ago, in a classical guitar masterclass in Chalkidiki, Roland Dyens told us that the chromaticism of a musical piece is something completely subjective and depends solely and only on the performer and the moment of performance. In other words, each musician perceives piano, forte, moderato, and so on differently.

The title of this book is "Musical". It pushes one into something melodious yet gentle, while at the same time leaving room for interpretative "freedoms". Diras does not attempt to impress the reader -hence the moderate lyricism- but wants to lead him/her into an erotic puzzle. The story begins with a piano lesson and gradually evolves into an erotic game of two strangers.

A dull and uninteresting piano lesson on a sonatina by Debussy is interrupted by a strange voice. It is the beginning of Anna's acquaintance with a strange man, Soven, in a small seaside café. The author gradually isolates the couple, leaving all the other characters to function symbolically and subsidiarily until the finale. All the settings, names, and characters have a symbolic character. The indifferent piano teacher, Anna's small child, the couple's past, the sea, the port, the flowery balconies...

Diras' writing sometimes resembles the writing of James Joyce, and for this reason, the text allows for many interpretations at the end. The couple's past as well as their future are shadowy, and perhaps only we ourselves must shed the light that is needed. The story is short but has a great literary impact. The translation by Areti Marangopoulou is excellent, and the introductory elements are very interesting.

5/5

"Por la noche, quedan lejos las casas." This simple yet evocative phrase paints a vivid picture in the mind.

At night, as the darkness descends, the houses seem to recede into the distance. They become less distinct, almost fading away.

The night has a way of transforming the familiar landscape. The once prominent houses now blend into the background, their details lost in the shadows.

Perhaps it is a time when people retreat into the warmth and safety of their homes, away from the outside world.

The phrase also implies a sense of solitude and separation. The houses, which are usually a symbol of community and connection, now stand apart.

It makes one wonder about the lives going on inside those distant houses. What stories are being told, what dreams are being dreamt?

Overall, "Por la noche, quedan lejos las casas" captures a moment in time, a feeling of the night and the way it changes our perception of the world around us.

This book is a special kind of silence.

It is the ephemeral silence that exists only between the notes of a sonata played on the piano by a child, on a sunny afternoon.

It is the horrified and surprised silence that overwhelms the witnesses of a passionate crime.

It is the silence of a smile or a half-extended hand, which doesn't know if the other hand will come to meet it.

It is the heavy silence that lies between two passionate glances, which never need words.

This book is a sublime ode dedicated to Never.

The writing is very light, but the descriptions of the colors of the sunset sky hint at something violent, as do the sirens coming from the port.

There was a crime. A husband shot his wife in the heart at the entrance of a bar. But there are few details here, few anchors. The relationship between Anne, a rich woman, and Chauvin, a former dockworker, is ambiguous but very intense.

The characters exist and interact, but there is a kind of emptiness, a suspension of time and words. For a week, Anne and Chauvin meet every afternoon to talk about the murder. Gradually, Chauvin seems to dominate Anne with words and with silence. He knows details of her intimate life. There is a power/obsession dynamic between them. But both seem to exist in a dreamlike reality outside the dictates of society, outside of space and time. I found a very original and interesting novel.

[Read in an English translation of the book "Four Novels"]

Forty years ago, I seem to have forgotten almost everything. However, there is one thing that still lingers in my mind vaguely. It is a piano, and a child of my age who took piano lessons since then.

I remember this clearly because at that time, I was completely crazy about the piano. In fact, my passion for it has not diminished even today.

I have a strong desire to reread that memory. But this time, I would not just read the presentation on the surface. Instead, I would like to see if I can still recognize myself in that child.

Moreover, I am curious to know if that child has made any progress in the field of piano since then.

These thoughts keep swirling in my mind, making me eager to explore that distant past and discover the answers that lie within.

There is a kind of simple, fine-honed perfection to Duras' constructions.

On the surface of her stories, nothing ever really breaks through the calm shell. They are almost soothing in the cadence and repetition of details.

However, perfect calm is deceptive. Underneath, they are seething.

And so, there is a careful progression. It begins with a death and a piano lesson. Then comes a series of meetings. There is a dinner party that is flailing inside and out. Finally, it fades into eternal unresolution.

Duras' works are like a still lake,看似平静的湖面下却隐藏着汹涌的暗流。Her stories draw the reader in with their gentle rhythms and repeated details, only to reveal the turmoil and complexity that lies beneath.

It is this contrast between the calm exterior and the passionate interior that makes her writing so captivating and unforgettable.

Human communication is not only the sole means to endure reality but perhaps also to change it. In our daily lives, we constantly engage in communication with others, whether it's through spoken words, written messages, or non-verbal cues. This exchange of ideas and information allows us to make sense of the world around us and find common ground with those we interact with.

Moreover, communication has the power to inspire change. By sharing our thoughts and feelings, we can influence the opinions and actions of others, and in turn, create a ripple effect that can lead to significant social and personal transformation. Whether it's through a passionate speech, a thought-provoking article, or a simple conversation, communication has the potential to make a difference.

However, effective communication requires more than just the ability to speak or write. It also demands active listening, empathy, and the willingness to understand different perspectives. Only by truly engaging with others can we hope to build meaningful connections and bring about positive change.

In conclusion, human communication is a vital and powerful tool that we must learn to use effectively if we are to navigate the challenges of modern life and create a better future for ourselves and those around us.

Moderato cantabile, which means moderately and beautifully. Just like this book.

When you listen to music, you think about a lot of things and get lost in long daydreams and thoughts. But actually, everything lasts only as long as the music does.

This is such a book. It has a certain charm that makes you沉浸其中. It's not too fast-paced, but rather progresses at a moderate speed, allowing you to fully appreciate every detail.

Similar to how music can touch your soul, this book has the power to move you and make you reflect. It's a journey of the mind and heart, taking you to places you might not have expected.

Whether you're looking for entertainment or a deeper understanding of life, this book has something to offer. So sit back, relax, and let the words of this book carry you away.

A man is walking along the Seaside Promenade. A woman knows this.

Once again, a tiny book like a paper cut from Marguerite Duras. She is truly such a strange woman. Whenever I pick up one of her books, I feel a strange flutter inside me. How does she manage to penetrate my being from some unknown place and touch my heart with her short, fragmented yet rhythmic sentences?

I think "rhythmic" is a particularly apt adjective for this book because the title, "Moderato Cantabile," is a musical term meaning "moderately and melodiously." Duras' literature is known for its connection with cinema, and this book is also cinematographic in a very strange way, and it has even been adapted into a film.

A man shoots and kills his wife in a café. Another woman who hears the murdered woman's scream develops a kind of fixation on this event and starts coming to the same café every day to talk to a man who witnessed the incident. The bulk of the book consists of these dialogues. The woman is married, the man is not. Can we call what develops between them love? I think we can; it is undoubtedly one of the thousand and one forms of love.

I said dialogues - oh my God, how beautifully written these dialogues are. How does she convey so many emotions with so few words? How can she write so powerfully? Every time, I am struck by this woman once again. It is a very strange thing to leave such lasting images in front of a person's eyes without proper description of the setting. Every time I think of a Duras book I have read, images come to my mind, and I already know that this tiny (80-page) book has done the same for me, etching a strange, timeless tableau in my mind.

It is very beautiful, very.

"At night, the houses move away."

I am not one for immediate rereads, but with this little book, I have done a complete about-face as soon as I finished it.

It's as if I were practicing a Diabelli sonatina!

This book has truly captivated me. The story is so engaging and the characters are so well-developed that I found myself completely immersed in its world.

From the very first page, I was drawn in and couldn't put it down.

The author's writing style is also very unique and engaging, making it a pleasure to read.

I would highly recommend this book to anyone looking for a great read. It's one that I will definitely be coming back to in the future.

This seems to be the point where Marguerite Duras's fiction took a significant turn towards the dramatic. It began to focus intently on female protagonists who engage in some form of social suicide. In this regard, it is to some extent successful. However, I must admit that I was somewhat unconvinced or perhaps dissatisfied with the ending.

This is surely a matter of personal taste. For the better part of the narrative, I was firmly engrossed. The story had a certain allure that kept me hooked. But then, towards the end, it fizzled out slowly, leaving me with a sense of letdown.

For most of this short novel, it reminded me of the situation in medieval romance and love lyrics. There was a kind of feudal lady who was loved tragically and from afar by a noble knight. The knight had no chance of crossing that social border without incurring a terrible social tragedy. Here, it is the boss's wife in an industrial seaside town. She becomes overexcited by and eventually ruined through her obsession with a local crime of passion. Her over-identification is her downfall, even though the modern industrial world has made all this noble social suffering as banal as it can be. It is as banal as piano lessons for a little boy who refuses to conform to the rules and regulations of learning.