Στις πρώτες σελίδες δεν ήμουν καθόλου σίγουρη αν θα μου άρεσε. Αν πρέπει να πεις μόνο ένα πράγμα για τον Εραστή, αυτό θα ήταν πως είναι ένα σαφώς ατμοσφαιρικό βιβλίο. Η γραφή της είναι περίεργη και ξεχωριστή. Μου θύμισε κάπως τον Καμύ. Θέλω να πω πόσοι καταφέρνουν να γράφουν πρωτοπρόσωπα σαν ψυχρός παρατηρητής και ταυτόχρονα να μας προσφέρουν ένα βιβλίο τόσο σπαρακτικό;
Ο χρόνος και τα πρόσωπα αλλάζουν τόσο γρήγορα, όσο γρήγορα όλο το βιβλίο κινείται μεταξύ ωμότητας και κυνισμού. Όπως εξίσου γρήγορα αλλάζει η αφήγηση από το πρώτο στο τρίτο πρόσωπο, ίσως περισσότερο στα σημεία όπου η ηρωίδα επιβάλλεται να αποστασιοποιηθεί από τον εαυτό της για λόγους αυτοπροστασίας. Ίσως γι’αυτό δεν μας συστήνεται καν. Μέχρι το τέλος του βιβλίου είναι απλώς μια δεκαπεντάχρονη λευκή στην Ινδοκίνα. Που δεν μπήκε σε καλούπια, που έζησε τον απαγορευμένο έρωτα δίχως να νοιάζεται για τους κανόνες, τα πρέπει και τη γνώμη του κόσμου. Που βλέπει ξεκάθαρα τα προβλήματα που προκύπτουν από μια ξεκάθαρα δυσλειτουργική οικογένεια που τη γαλούχησε κατά συγκεκριμένο τρόπο για να γίνει αυτό που είναι, χωρίς ωστόσο να εξαπολύει κατηγορητήρια.
Μη κοροϊδευτείς και σε συγκεκριμένα σημεία του δεν κάνεις ένα πέρασμα ακόμα. Είναι απαραίτητο για να πιάσεις αυτό που θέλει να μας πει η Duras. Και μας το λέει τόσο ωραία ομολογουμένως.

Em pouco mais de 120 páginas, a obra publicada em 1984 - e que levou o Prêmio Goncourt no mesmo ano - marcou a literatura mundial e colocou Duras como um dos principais nomes da literatura francesa.

No livro, a palavra “amante” que estampa o título foge do conceito que estamos acostumados a ouvir. Não se trata de uma traição, mas sim de uma relação amorosa, é o amante como aquele que ama. E os amantes criados pela autora formam um casal pouco provável - e pouco aceito pela sociedade da Indochina pré-guerra, ainda colônia da França. Na verdade, os personagens não são totalmente criados por Duras, já que a obra revela uma carga autobiográfica, com semelhanças do passado da autora.

De um lado, temos uma jovem francesa. De outro, um rico comerciante chinês. É uma relação que esbarra no preconceito contra o oriental, por parte da família europeia da garota, e na diferença de idade entre os dois amantes. Ao mesmo tempo, senti até mesmo uma dúvida sobre os reais sentimentos dos personagens, o que realmente é amor ou apenas uma vontade de transgredir regras sociais.

E não se engane pelas poucas páginas que compõem o livro. A leitura é densa, sobretudo pelas mudanças narrativas que a autora faz durante as páginas. Isso demanda uma atenção maior do leitor, um tempo maior para aproveitar a escrita direta e envolvente de Duras. Vale a leitura!

Nota 8,5/10

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A book full of ugly truths. If you think about it, all the characters are doing bad things, even when they love each other.

Our first sexual relationship, whether emotive or merely physical, is so powerful that it is remembered from that very first moment until the end of our days.

It may serve to guide us to future lovers; it may fulfil and satisfy us immediately; while others may yearn for that same feeling for the rest of their lives.

I, too, read The Lover to be Marguerite Duras writing about herself. 4★

When I picked this book up I was drawn to the haunting picture of the girl on the cover, which turns out to be Marguerite Duras, the author. After reading I'm thinking, I can't believe this book is not more prominent in the mainstream of modern literature. It's a French novel, beautifully written, and set in early 20th century French Colonial Indochina, primarily Vietnam. It's the story of a 15 year old French girl and her affair with an older man, a wealthy Chinese. The girl is an outcast in her own dysfunctional family, a family that is struggling to hold it's place, economically and emotionally, in the strange and ancient culture of Vietmam. Loved it. 4.5 stars

A charming little novel to read! We peacefully revisit the old memories of the author, in particular, the memories of her first love and her somewhat problematic relationship with her mother and big brother. The author remembers the troubles of her adolescence, the discovery of her body and sexuality, and her relationship with an older adult when she was only 15 years old. Not only the age but also the culture separates them because it is Chinese. At the age of 15, Marguerite wants to chart a course for her life to get away from her family. She cannot take any more of this life, led by a mother overwhelmed by her responsibilities as head of the family, an absent father, and a dishonest brother. The latter uses the excessive love of the mother to commit reprehensible acts. At the age of 15, Marguerite is almost a woman.
Read in one go. The Lover is an atypical book that I liked!

editada em 17.9.2022

«Não era preciso atiçar o desejo. Ele já lá estava desde o primeiro olhar ou então nunca tinha existido. Era a imediata percepção da relação de sexualidade ou então não era nada.»

Numa narrativa autobiográfica Margueritte Duras relata-nos de uma forma muito íntima a descoberta da sua sexualidade através das mãos de um amante, mestre do amor sapiente.

Ela tinha quinze anos e meio, pobre e filha de franceses. Ele tinha vinte e sete anos, rico e chinês.

Na Indochina, colónia francesa, nasce uma paixão que choca as convenções sociais, pessoais, políticas e raciais.

Numa escrita bonita, frases muito curtas, - por vezes apenas uma palavra - Margueritte Duras conta tudo sem qualquer pudor: a paixão, a família, a vida nos trópicos.

Por que razão terá escrito um livro tão intimista e sincero?

Será o livro uma espécie de bálsamo para quem como ela não se sentia feliz e que, à data em que o escreveu, tinha acabado de escapar de uma dolorosa cura de desintoxicação que quase a levou ao suicídio?

It appears as though Duras has entrusted her memories to paper in an involuntary attempt to come clean: in essence this is a fascinating story. I realize what an intriguing experience this must have been for her. As a reader however, I felt like being provided with mere glimpses of a rich and interesting biography. Duras' memories you must color with your own imagination. You need to speculate, in order to fill in the gaps, the details the authors sparse prose does not offer.

If anything, this was not an engrossing read. Perhaps it simply has been too long for Duras to recall her childhood, perhaps she - as I suggested earlier - was reluctant to put down in words her disjointed collection of memories, but could not resist the urge to confess. Whatever the case, the author did not allow me to come too close. I couldn't taste prewar Indochina in her words. I could not indulge in the "tumultuous passionate relationship", the back flap falsely promises.

In reality, Duras describes in distant, emotionless prose how she, her narrator, surrenders to her Chinese well-doer merely because she feels the responsibility to take care of her poor family, not in the least of her mentally ill mother. And because it may be expected of her anyway, with her gold lamé high heels and cherry-red lipstick. Thus, the young Duras appears mostly unmoved by her Chinese lover. What they share seems a, to them, necessary emptiness, a closeness devoid of intimacy in a city - Saigon - that does not come to life.

As the ghost of a slightly uncomfortable dream, The Lover lingered in my mind because of what it could have been, if Duras had been been lured into a richer, more compelling writing style.

Maybe I am at a stage in life where I like to revisit old impressions and test them from my newer self's perspective?

To symbolise the change that has occurred between my first reading, some twenty-plus years ago, in hesitant, yet determined French, I chose to listen to an audio version of the 1984 Prix Goncourt.

I never grasped the poetry of the language when I first read it! And now it really seems the main reason one would consider reading this book in the first place. How could I be so absorbed with the affair between an old man (who, from my current perspective, is a young man!) and a girl that I missed the flow of the language - like the river that forms the backdrop!

That old saying that you can never cross the same river twice, maybe that is also true for books? Once you have read a book, you are already altered, so a second reading would by definition be a reading by a different mind?

So in this particular case, I waded through the river of content once, and now I jumped into the waves of poetical language. I wonder which waters would embrace me if I try it again twenty years from now.

And I also wonder what the perspective of 70-year-old Marguerite Duras did to her youth memories while she wrote this piece? Remembering is already altering reality and changing it according to the current microscope and telescope of choice.

I think that accounts for the beauty and melancholy of the atmosphere. Happiness is the sadness of remembering lost things...

If you like lyrical romantic prose in staccato sentences, written in the literariest of all literary styles, this is the novella for you. If you don’t, this isn’t the novella for you. Me, I’ve read this story a million times before. Goodnight March.

Este livro é um chocolate de alta qualidade. É para ser degustado devagar, sendo cada frase pura poesia.
Não é pela história em si, é pela escrita. E a escrita é exímia.

okay um yuh I get why all of my fav authors reference duras like