Real Rating: 4.5* of five

I came to discover the joys of reading Marguerite Duras only after I started working for John Calder at Riverrun Press in New York. It truly was a fabulous fringe benefit indeed.

This work is not for the young. It is brutally frank and unspeakably cruel. It holds within itself a kind of soporific addictive ennui that only someone who has never been in love with another for a long time can dare to imagine, let alone act out.

This is the essence of the book's refrain:

“There are no vacations from love,” he said. “That does not exist. Love, it is necessary to live it completely with its boredom and everything; there are no vacations possible for that.” He was speaking without looking at her, facing the river. “And that is love. To distract yourself from it, one cannot. Like life, with its beauty, its shit and its boredom.”

If this frightens you, then read it; if it confuses you, perhaps it's best not to. It's a complex and intense exploration of love and its many facets, not for the faint of heart.

It's not precisely my delirium, but it's impossible to deny that it's very good. This statement holds a certain truth. Maybe it's not something that completely overwhelms our senses and takes us to a realm of pure madness, but its goodness is palpable. It could be a work of art, a piece of music, a delicious meal, or any other experience that leaves a lasting impression. We can't simply brush it aside or pretend that it doesn't have its merits. There's something about it that catches our attention and makes us take notice. It might not be perfect, but it has a certain charm or quality that makes it stand out. We should embrace these moments of goodness and appreciate them for what they are.

Book that made me discover Duras.

It is a very beautiful novel. There is a kind of overwhelming warmth from the very beginning.

Certain passages that I liked:

" - There are no vacations in love, he said, it doesn't exist. Love, one has to live it completely with its boredom and everything, there are no possible vacations in that.

He was speaking without looking at her, facing the river.

- And that's what love is. One can't escape it."

"Ludi let it happen, happy, because it was only in beach games and others that Gina regained her turbulence.

The game began. It was immediately very absorbing."

This novel by Duras has truly opened my eyes to a new world of literature. The descriptions are so vivid and the emotions are so intense that it feels as if I am right there with the characters. The passages I have quoted are just a small sample of the beauty and depth that can be found within these pages. I highly recommend this book to anyone who loves a good read and wants to explore the complex and often tumultuous world of love.

Heat and cold were very different things. Heat was associated with the idea of vacation, which cold was not. As Diana said, heat depression and sun anxiety were undoubtedly felt less often than cold depression, but it was more unbearable. Heat did not encourage one to work, but to total freedom, while cold seemingly was more fruitful, it encouraged action. Ideas sprouted in people during the winter. But in the summer, people's true nature was revealed much more clearly. People's behavior told more about them in the summer than in the winter. At least that's what one would think. In the sun, a person's character opened up and was on display.

Moreover, the contrast between heat and cold extended beyond just the psychological realm. The physical sensations they brought were also distinct. The warmth of the sun could make one feel lazy and content, lulling them into a state of relaxation. On the other hand, the cold could sting the skin and make one shiver, but it also had the power to invigorate and wake up the senses. It was as if the cold was a call to action, a reminder that there was work to be done and things to achieve.

Interestingly, the perception of heat and cold could also vary from person to person. Some might thrive in the heat, finding it energizing and inspiring, while others might prefer the cooler temperatures and the sense of calm and focus that came with them. In conclusion, while heat and cold were both integral parts of our lives, they had their own unique qualities and effects on us, both physically and mentally.

Hipnótico.

Qué manera más bella de narrar la lentitud, el letargo.

It is as if time slows down, and everything around us enters a state of dreamy slumber.

The word "hipnótico" evokes a sense of tranquility and relaxation, as if we are being lulled into a peaceful trance.

It is a way to describe the beauty that lies within the stillness, the charm that emerges from the slowness.

Viva!

Let us celebrate this unique way of experiencing the world, this ability to find wonder and delight in the midst of lentitud y letargo.

Whether it is through the gentle sway of a breeze, the soft lapping of waves, or the slow unfolding of a flower, the hipnótico offers us a chance to pause, to breathe, and to truly appreciate the beauty that surrounds us.

So, embrace the hipnótico, and let it carry you away to a place of serenity and peace.

Viva la lentitud, viva el letargo, viva el hipnótico!

Bonjour.

I don't particularly have a problem with texts about boredom, but here I was really bored.

I found my reading cold (which is quite a feat considering the subject: the stifling, heavy, immobilizing heat) and annoying.

I felt like hitting all the characters.

The dialogues just didn't ring true.

Maybe it was the way the story was told, or perhaps the characters weren't developed enough to engage me.

Either way, it was a disappointing read.

I expected more from a text about such a potentially interesting topic.

Next time, I'll have to be more careful when choosing what to read to avoid this kind of boredom.

Hopefully, I'll find something that will keep me entertained and engaged from start to finish.

I have the impression of being completely passed by, but it annoys me because I know there is something with this book that I need to reread.

It's as if I missed an important message or a hidden depth within its pages.

Maybe it was my state of mind when I first read it, or perhaps I was in a hurry and didn't give it the attention it deserved.

Whatever the reason, this feeling of incompleteness nags at me.

I find myself thinking about the book more often than I expected, and I can't help but wonder what I might discover on a second reading.

So, I've decided to set aside some time and give it another go.

I'm looking forward to delving deeper into the story, exploring the characters more thoroughly, and uncovering any secrets or nuances that I may have overlooked the first time around.

I hope that this rereading will provide me with a new perspective and a more fulfilling experience.

The rating is 3.5.

It is dense and warm, filled with a sizzling sun that sometimes makes one feel listless. Here, not much happens. Bitter Campari is drunk, people bathe on the beaches, complain about the heat, and walk along the river. Everything flows in a still calm, and it is in the relationships among them that the action takes place. Small, subtle steps in different directions, only to then fall back into the Italian heat again.

This place seems to be in a state of perpetual languor. The intense sun beats down, making the air thick and heavy. The taste of bitter Campari lingers on the tongue, adding a touch of sharpness to the otherwise lazy atmosphere. People seek refuge on the beaches, the cool water lapping at their feet, yet still complaining about the unrelenting heat.

As they walk along the river, they observe the gentle flow of the water, a contrast to the static nature of their own lives. In these relationships, there are these tiny, almost imperceptible movements, as if people are testing the boundaries, taking cautious steps forward or backward. But in the end, they are always drawn back into the embrace of the Italian heat, which seems to hold them captive, keeping them in this state of quiet monotony.

“– I'm going there,” said Ludi. He stepped onto the pontoon and then came back to her. “– There are no vacations in love,” he said. “It doesn't exist. Love, one must live it completely with its boredom and everything. There are no possible vacations from that.” He spoke without looking at her, facing the river. “– And that's what love is. One can't escape it. Just like with life, with its beauty, its shit, and its boredom.”

Ludi's words hung in the air, as if they were weighted with the truth he believed. Standing on the pontoon, the gentle lapping of the river below seemed to echo his sentiments. The woman listened intently, her eyes fixed on him. She knew that what he said was profound, yet it also brought a sense of both acceptance and a tinge of sadness. Love, it seemed, was an all-encompassing force that allowed for no respite. Just like life itself, with all its contradictions and challenges, love demanded to be lived fully, in all its aspects, the good and the not so good.

As the wind blew gently, ruffling their hair, they remained there, lost in thought. The river flowed on, oblivious to their conversation, but in that moment, it served as a backdrop to their exploration of the complex and often mysterious nature of love and life.

The atmosphere is well-described. It's hot, boring, and hopeless. However, one still feels a longing to go to Italy despite the heat....
There is a strange collection of people who seem to be dissatisfied with their company and life in general.

The heat is oppressive, making every moment feel like a struggle. The boredom sets in, numbing the senses and leaving one yearning for something more exciting. The hopelessness looms large, as if there is no way out of this mundane existence. Yet, despite all this, the thought of Italy persists. The allure of its beautiful landscapes, rich history, and vibrant culture is simply too strong to resist.

The people in this strange collection add to the overall sense of unease. Their dissatisfaction is palpable, and it seems to permeate the air. They go about their lives with a sense of weariness, as if they have lost their zest for living. It makes one wonder what has brought them to this point and what can be done to change their outlook.

"Os Cavalos de Traquínia" is not a book to be taken lightly. It is not, so to speak, an extensive work or burdened with preambles and twists, for its sensuality is contained and mysterious, just like that of the protagonists who compose it and whom we only dare to get to know little by little, sometimes with enthusiasm, other times full of uncertainties and even repulsion.

It is the boredom of places, the heat, those everyday conversations, it is hunger and the need for air, the urgency to fill time, silence, the void. Duras addresses the themes that build and define the human experience with an almost cinematographic language: it is a man, a child, a woman, a raising of the eyes, the blue sea, a yawn, a political opinion or philosophical observation forgotten among the clatter of cutlery at the dinner table... everything are images in sequence, creating metaphors, introducing concepts, confronting points of view.

Contrasting with the (many) flaws and traits of a group of friends who love and cannot stand each other, with the dry and almost moribund representation of a sleepy Italian villa, with the bitter smell of the burnt earth, in a terrible exposure of what is the resolute pain of those who have abandoned themselves to time, Duras rises in the creation of magnificent landscapes and moments that are of an almost lyrical, white beauty, like the reflection of the water of the spring.

Entangled in its simple but no less sophisticated language and in its complex and therefore more human characters, we are able to lose ourselves in a state of almost appetizing ennui. And yet, we would be missing one of the best books of that generation (and, I dare say, of the subsequent ones).

Lent, difficile à lire… une grammaire et des tournures de phrases maladroites. Sans intérêt…

This text seems rather brief and lacking in detail. It gives the impression that the work being described is slow-paced, difficult to read due to poor grammar and awkward sentence structures, and overall uninteresting.

Perhaps we could expand on this by providing more specific examples of the grammar mistakes and awkward phrases. We could also describe in more detail why the text is considered uninteresting. For example, is it because the subject matter is dull, or is it because the writing style is flat and unengaging?

By adding these details, we can create a more comprehensive and engaging description of the text, which will help the reader to better understand the author's perspective.