I'm feeling sort of odd about this. It was my introduction to Marguerite Duras and I think it ought not to have been. On the other hand, I read it because I wanted some foreknowledge and perspective and this surely gave it to me.

The first 50 pages or so are a diary of the end of the war in Paris and her not knowing whether her husband survived. Waiting. Waiting. I tried to remind myself it was a diary, yet written so powerfully I had tears running down my cheeks in the first 10 pages.

The next about 80 pages were some autobiographical short stories she had written about the same time. These told of incidents in connection with her activity with the resistance.

Lastly, there were a couple of very short stories written contemporaneously with her resistance activities, but not autobiographical. They must certainly have been incidents she'd seen and on which she elaborated.

Each of these sections were prefaced with a paragraph or two she penned at time of publication in 1985, explaining what we were about to read. Introducing the autobiographical shorts is:

Thérèse is me. The person who tortures the informer is me. So also is the one who feels like making love to Ter, the member of the Militia. Me. I give you the torturer along with the rest of the texts. Learn to read them properly: they are sacred.

Sacred. Perhaps these brief introductions gave me as much insight as the texts themselves.

3.5 stars. An interesting book about war time experiences in Paris during 1944 and 1945. The mainly autobiographical pieces were written in 1945, but unpublished until 1985.

Three stories that I particularly liked are:

‘La Douleur’ is about a woman (the author), waiting for her partner, Robert L., returning from a concentration camp in 1945. The piece shows how helpless people were at that time, not knowing whether loved ones would return from the war and if they did, what mental and physical condition they would be in.

‘Monsieur X, here called Pierre Rabier’ is about a woman who works for the Resistance, being courted by an agent of the Gestapo, who tortures an informer without compunction. Rabier is an intriguing character, a married man with a child, who believes Germany will win the war.

‘Ter of the Militia’, which is about ‘Ter’ an informer who is well off. A likeable man who is more of a businessman than a political traitor.

La Douleur = The War, Marguerite Duras

War: A Memoir is a controversial, semi-autobiographical work by Marguerite Duras published in 1985 but drawn from diaries that she supposedly wrote during World War II.

It is a collection of six texts recounting a mix of her experiences of the Nazi Occupation of France, with fictional details.

She claims to have "forgotten" ever writing the diary in which she recorded her wartime experiences, but most critics believe that to be a deliberate attempt to confuse autobiography and fiction.

Duras' work is often cited as part of the New Roman movement which tried to redefine traditional ideas about set categories of books, fiction, non-fiction, biography, autobiography, etc.

تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز بیست و دوم ماه اکتبر سال1987میلادی

عنوان: درد (جنگ)؛ نویسنده: مارگریت دوراس؛ مترجم: قاسم روبین؛ تهران، پاپیروس، سال1365؛ در169ص؛ چاپ دیگر تهران، نیلوفر، سال1378، در188ص؛ شابک9646680880؛ چاپ چهارم سال1381؛ چاپ دیگر تهران، اختران، سال1395؛ در169ص؛ شابک9789642071043؛ موضوع داستانهای نویسندگان فرانسوی - سده 20م

هیچگاه در دنیا عدالتی برپا نخواهد شد، اگر آدمی خود در این لحظه، عین عدالت نباشد؛ «مارگریت دوراس» در سال1985میلادی، کتاب «درد (جنگ)» را منتشر کردند؛ کتاب شامل شش بخش جداگانه است، که مضمون جنگ، آن‌ها را به هم درآمیخته است

عنوانهای داستانها: «درد»؛ «پی‌یر رابیه»؛ «آلبر دکاپیتال»؛ «میلیشیایی به نام: تر»؛ «گزنه‌ ی شکسته» و «ارلیا پاریس» است

به گفته‌ ی خودِ «دوراس»، این‌ها دست‌ نوشته‌ هایی هستند، که در روزهایی که در انتظار بازگشت همسر به جنگ‌ رفته‌ اش بوده، آن‌ها را نگاشته اند؛ «دوراس» چهل سال بعد، بدون دست‌کاری و ویرایش، چاپشان می‌کند، و به همین علت خود را شرمنده‌ ی ادبیات می‌داند

نخستین نوشته «درد» نام دارد، از روزهای طاقت فرسای پس از جنگ جهانی دوم سخن می‌گوید؛ از انتظار کشنده‌ ای که «دوراس» برای بازگشت «روبر ل. - همسرش» تحمل کرده سخن میگوید
***
دومین نوشته با عنوان «پی‌یر رابیه» نیز، از روزهایی می‌گوید که شوهر «مارگریت دوراس» دستگیر و زندانی شده، و «دوراس» به دنبال رابطی است که بتواند بسته‌ ای حاوی مواد غذایی را به شوهرش برساند
***
سومین نوشته با عنوان «آلبر دکاپیتال»؛ در بحبوحه‌ ی روزهای پس از جنگ جهانی دوم، و تسخیر دفتر فرمانده نظامی ستاد آلمانی‌ها در فرانسه، پیشخدمت کافه‌ ای از راه می‌رسد، و به گروه پارتیزانی،‌ که «دوراس» از اعضای آن است، اطلاع می‌دهد، که مردی به کافه‌ اش آمده، که پیشترها با پلیس «آلمان» همکاری می‌کرده است؛ گروه به کافه می‌روند، و مرد مزدور را دستگیر می‌کنند
***
چهارمین نوشته با عنوان «میلیشیایی به نام: تر»، حکایت پسر جوانی است، که با آلمانی‌های مستقر در «فرانسه» همکاری می‌کرده، و در روزهای پس از جنگ، توسط گروه پارتیزانی که به صورت خودمختار به دستگیری و ترور آلمانی‌ها می‌پردازند، دستگیر می‌شود
***
پنجمین نوشته با عنوان «گزنه‌ ی شکسته»؛ تصویر ساده و بی‌ پیرایه‌ ای است از باورهای کمونیستی «دوراس»؛
***
ششمین نوشته با عنوان «اُرلیا پاریس»؛ قطعه‌ ای شاعرانه، و کمابیش شعارگونه است؛ در مورد دخترکی «یهودی» که پدر و مادرش به دست «آلمان‌»ها افتاده‌ اند؛

تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 16/12/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ 12/08/1400هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی

“Fuera de esta espera, ya no hay existencia. Pasan más imágenes por nuestra cabeza que las que hay en las carreteras de Alemania. Ráfagas de metralleta a cada minuto en el interior de la cabeza. Y seguimos vivos, estas balas no matan. Fusilado en el camino. Muerto con el vientre vacío. Su hambre da vueltas en la cabeza, semejante a un buitre. Imposible darle algo. Como mucho, probar a ofrecer pan en el vacío. No saber siquiera si aún necesito pan. Comprar miel, azúcar, pastas. Decirse: si ha muerto, arderé por dentro. Nada puede disminuir la quemadura que causa su hambre. La gente muere de cáncer, de un accidente de automóvil, de hambre no, de hambre no mueres, antes te suprimen. Lo que el hambre ha hecho lo completa una bala en el corazón. Yo quisiera poder darle mi vida. No puedo darle un pedazo de pan. A esto ya no se le llama pensar, todo está en suspenso.”

Deixo aquí un fragment del primer capítol (també titulat “El dolor”), que és el que més m’ha agradat. Els altres no estan a l’altura del primer.

A collection of 6 short stories, of which at least 2, possibly 3, are autobiographical. Duras claimed they were written shortly after World War II, but totally forgotten by her; they were not published until 1985. Especially the first story ("La douleur"/literarly "The Suffering", but the English editor chose "The war")is a real punch in the stomach, I cannot describe it otherwise. Set largely in April-June 1945, it describes the state of expectation, despair and feverish confusion of a woman in Paris (clearly Duras herself) awaiting the possible return of her husband Robert from a German concentration camp. The description of Robert's fragile state and his dire recovery are particularly gripping. Since Primo Levi's If This Is a Man no other story on the camps captivated and shocked me like this one.

The second story apparently also is based on true facts. It describes Duras’ dealings with a Gestapo employee while she is active in the resistance, after her husband has been arrested. It poignantly sketches the atmosphere of uncertainty at the end of the war, and the twilight zone in which the resistance had to operate. The third story evokes the resistance's brutal questioning of a possible French collaborator; especially the raw style is striking in this one. The other stories are fictional and seem more like style exercises than full-blown short stories. A memorable booklet!

(side note: apparently the resistance movement Duras and her husband were part of, was led by the later president François Mitterrand; he is mentioned a few times)

Que livro absolutamente fantástico!!!!!
Adoro ler livros sobre a 2ª Guerra Mundial, mas este livro é muito mais do que isso.
O que aconteceu a muitos dos soldados que voltaram para casa depois da guerra? Um relato absolutamente arrepiante de um desses casos, acompanhado de alguns contos igualmente interessantes... valeu tanto a pena ler este livro!

Qué maestría. Lo que quiere decir MD finalmente, es que la guerra no acaba con el fin de la guerra

(es curioso como todos sus relatos se conectan, ya sea por temáticas, nombres, personajes, etc. es como un multiverso lol)

4.5
Uma pena que um livro com as três primeiras partes tão excelentes tenham depois alguns textos menores que estraguem a consistência da "dor" que a guerra provocou e que me fez sentir "dorida" ao ler a maioria deste livro.

São essas primeiras partes, violentas, viscerais, orgânicas, vívidas, que me fizeram sentir a tal plenitude de quem lê um livro perfeito.

São histórias baseadas em momentos ora vividos por Marguerite ora inventados pela escritora em que se transformou.

As primeiras partes, dedicadas ao dealbar da 2a guerra, trazem-nos uma Marguerite atormentada, assertiva, corajosa, amedrontada. Uma Marguerite que espera e desespera pelo regresso do marido de um campo de concentração alemão, após a libertação de muitos campos, pela Europa fora. Dizer se este marido regressa é, para mim, um grande spoiler, porque é a dúvida que a atormenta o ponto alto desta primeira parte.

Nas seguintes, embora a cronologia recue uns meses, a Marguerite surge-nos em modo de resistente comunista, rebelde, violenta, agressiva, manipuladora.

Verdade ou ficção?
Sinceramente, pouco me importa.

Since 9/11, there has been much debate about whether torture is justified. Its apologists in the Bush-Cheney administration were eloquent about why it can sometimes be necessary. We were frequently told about ticking time-bombs and the threat of a mushroom cloud over an American city. Some horrifying stories surfaced from people who had been tortured at Guantánamo, Abu Ghraib, and elsewhere. But, and it just occurs to me now to think how odd this is, I don't recall reading one straightforward account told from the torturer's point of view.

If you're curious, you can read one here. Marguerite Duras was a member of the Resistance in wartime France. In Albert des Capitales, one of the pieces in this book, she describes in her usual matter-of-fact way an incident that occurred a few days after the Liberation. She and the other members of her cell are hanging around when a waiter comes running in and says that there's a guy at his bistro who's an informer. Everyone in his home town knows he is. But they'll have to move fast and grab him before he disappears.

So they rush into the café and arrest him. He's an overweight, unhealthy-looking guy in his 50s. He looks kind of dirty and unwashed. They make him empty his pockets. There's a notebook with names and addresses, and every so often the notation ALBERT DES CAPITALES. They want to know what this means. The guy thinks, or pretends to think, and then he says, oh yes, he's a waiter at another café, Les Capitales. He has a drink there sometimes on the way home.

Okay, says the leader of the Resistance cell, this must be his contact. We need to start rolling up the network. He immediately sends three people over to arrest Albert, but they come back empty-handed. He left days ago. They figure they'll interrogate the informer anyway. He must be able to tell them something else, and if they wait the trail will go cold. The leader asks Marguerite if she wants to lead the interrogation. Why not, she says.

They take the informer into a back room and order him to strip. He takes his clothes off slowly, hanging them up on the back of a chair so they won't get creased. One of the guys tells him to hurry up, they haven't got all day. He apologises and carries on removing his clothes. His underpants and socks are dirty. When he's naked, Marguerite asks him how to find Albert des Capitales. He answers evasively and the guys start hitting him a bit. Then Margurite asks him what he did when he visited the Gestapo headquarters. Nothing special, he says, moaning a bit and rubbing the places where they've hit him. I left my ID card at the door and went up. It was just some black market crap, nothing important.

So what color was your card? asks Marguerite, but he won't answer. They hit him, and then they hit him more, and he's bleeding in several places. She asks him again what color his card was, and he still won't answer, so they carry on hitting and kicking him. Several other people have come in to watch. A couple of women say uncertainly that maybe this is enough. The leader says that anyone who thinks it's disgusting is welcome to leave. No one leaves.

The informer's screaming and covered in blood as they kick him around like a ball. But he still won't say what color his card was. Marguerite tells him he'd better answer or they'll kill him. It looks like she means it. She tries different possibilities. Was it white? He moans no. Red? Also no. Yellow? No again.

In the end, he screams out that it was green. That's the color that means he's an S.D. secret agent. Marguerite tells the guys to stop torturing him and let him put his clothes on. She goes out and sees a woman who'd missed all the fun.

He confessed, says Marguerite. So fucking what? shrugs the woman. Marguerite starts crying. We should just let him go, she says. People won't like that, says the cell leader.

She didn't get around to publishing this story until 1985.
_______________________________________

The "green card" plays an important role in Simenon's La Neige Etait Sale. It becomes clear that anyone who had a green card was a tool of the Nazi occupiers, and could legitimately be regarded as the worst kind of collaborator and traitor.

In so many ways, this is a novel unlike anything else Duras has written-- it's far more straightforward, especially considering how it masks itself as a series of “lost diaries.” And it's skeletally spare, which I think is necessary when you're writing a book called “La Douleur” (“Pain”) (and a major fuck you to whichever American publisher decided to translate this title as “War: A Memoir”). While it doesn't reach the tropical lushness of L'Amant or the spare beauty of Moderato Cantabile, it's still Marguerite Duras. You can't go wrong.

3.5 stars

This book is divided into 3 parts, and the first part deserves 5 stars. The writing style perfectly fits the hurt and loss and confusion that Marguerite Duras endures at the end of World War 2 when she's trying to find her husband. Every sentence is in the present tense, and it switches from first person to third person and even to second person without any warning, each sentence jumping to a new thought.

Duras wrote this in the 1940s just after the war, but it wasn't published until the 1980s. In her introduction she says that she has no recollection of writing this book. Whether this is true or not, it makes her writing so much more powerful. She wrote it in the midst of her trauma, and that trauma is there in its raw form on every page of part 1.

This paragraph is one of my favorite excerpts from the book:
"War is a generality, so are the inevitabilities of war, including death. He died speaking my name. What other name could he have spoken? Those who live on generalities have nothing in common with me. No one has anything in common with me. The street. At this moment there are people in Paris who are laughing, especially the young. I have nothing left but enemies. It's evening, I must go home and wait by the phone. Over there it's evening, too. It's getting darker in the ditch, his mouth is in darkness now. A slow red sun over Paris. Six years of war ending. The great event of the century. Nazi Germany is crushed. So is he, in the ditch. Everything is at an end. I can't stop walking. I'm thin, spare as stone. Beside the ditch is the parapet of the Pont des Arts, the Seine. To be exact, it's to the right of the ditch. They're separated by the dark. Nothing in the world belongs to me now except that corpse in a ditch. It's a red evening. The end of the world. My death's not directed against anyone. Just a simple death. I shall merely have died. It's a matter of indifference to me, the moment I die is a matter of indifference to me. When I die I won't rejoin him, I'll just stop waiting for him."

I mean. The words speak for themselves. It's like you are literally inside her brain experiencing every thought alongside her, each thought like an open wound, like a punch to the stomach.

Now onto parts 2 and 3. I would give both of these sections 3 stars. The writing and the stories just don't have the same impact as part 1. They are both still interesting reads in the sense of getting a better idea of what it's like to be a woman in war (especially because Marguerite Duras was an active participant in the Resistance), but the writing style didn't really contribute to the story anymore. It just made everything a little more confusing.

Overall, like I said, 3.5 stars. I would recommend reading it just for that first part.

Ce livre m'a brisé le coeur. Etre en douleur ou pas, la guérison définitve n'existe pas.