Despite my 3 star for the author's creative style in "The Lover," this one didn't measure up. As a matter of fact, this book really annoyed me. I was so glad to finish it. Unless you are fascinated with Duras and her life, this book isn't necessary. At first I liked this one. I got details that weren't included in the first rendition of this memoir. But as this one progressed, the ugliness of the author's life surpassed any value in the remaining pages. Even the writing style deteriorated and didn't deserve 1 star. Such a sad, depressing lady this author was.

I disagree with the rave reviews for this "fascinating retelling of the dramatic experiences of Marguerite Duras's adolescence." The blurbs all over this book make it look like a tragic love story between a French person and a Chinese person in pre-war Indochina. But this is pedophilia. Granted, the main character lies and says she's 16 but the whole premise is prurient; she is actually referred to throughout the book as "the child". The exotic backdrop is hauntingly gorgeous but the "family of scum" in hysterics in the foreground is wracked by economic and moral poverty; I found their constant cries alternating with incessant laughter, the mother's mental state and the problems of the brothers (one a sadist and the other involved with her sexually) completely overwhelming.

Riassumendo: Marguerite Duras a 15 anni vive in Indocina e ha una storia d'amore con un cinese molto ricco che vive lì di 27 anni. L'uomo però si deve sposare, Marguerite torna in Francia e quindi la loro storia d'amore si interrompe all'improvviso e si carica dell'enorme peso delle storie d'amore che potevano avere una possibilità di essere bellissime ma che le circostanze esterne ne hanno impedito l'esplicitarsi.
Ora: già molto giovane la Duras scrive "l'amante" in cui parla di questa storia in termini crudi e quasi ellittici. E' un grande successo, viene girato un film. Si tratta di un libro molto scarno e duro, in cui l'enorme passione esistente tra i due viene descritta in parallelo alla violenza dei due amanti, figlia dell'impossibilità.
Nel '92 la Duras ritorna su questa faccenda dopo molti anni, quando ha saputo che il suo amante è morto. Rispetto a "l'amante", che mi era piaciuto assai, questo libro mi sembra molto più manieristico. E' come se la scrittrice fosse consapevole del successo che ha ottenuto con il libro precedente e volesse dire una parola più definitiva - oltretutto il suo amante è morto e quindi può davvero dire l'ultima parola - sul suo personaggio descrivendosi in una maniera più bizantina: Marguerite Duras diventa un personaggio da operetta che ama ed è tradita dal ricco amante che alla fine decide di non sposarla. Non c'è più niente della forza iniziale dei sentimenti, ma solo una donna che guarda se stessa e se ne compiace.

There are those who say that The Lover is a much better telling of this affair. Not having read it, I cannot agree or disagree. I did see the movie many years ago and it was what made me pick up this book, which was written after Duras was elderly and her lover had died. Whatever its other failings might be, this book was beautifully written and evocative. Duras made me see, hear, and smell the street that the bachelor's quarters were on. She made me see and feel the love between these two young people, which the film did not. However, I found the cinematic direction in the novel intrusive. It took me out of the immediacy of the story and annoyed me. Mostly, the book made me realize what a very disfunctional childhood Duras had, and I felt a great deal of sympathy for her as well as respect for the fact that she survived it so very well.

Je n’ai pas été fort charmée par cette version alternative proposée de « L’Amant », à laquelle Marguerite Duras tenait pourtant beaucoup. Le premier roman, ce chef d’œuvre, se suffit largement à lui même. Le lecteur, s’attelant à cette lecture, mû par un élan de nostalgie suite à la fin de « L’Amant », risque d’être déçu. Mieux vaudrait lire ce roman en dehors de toute comparaison/attente avec sa première version.

1 star

I'm not really sure what I just read, but I know that I'm equally confused and horrified that this author is so highly regarded in the high-brow literary world. I read a different review somewhere that said something along the lines of "this book is a beautiful and raw embodiment of the complexity of love," and I personally would like to know if we read different books because WTF???

Also, still really confused about if this is an autobiographical book or not. Either way, the whole romanticized portrayal of the...let's call it a May-December affair is nothing short of appalling, whether it's real or fictional. 10/10 will fight anyone who argues with me on that.

Lastly, maybe it's just that Duras was French and the translation was rough, but I absolutely loathe when a book is so clearly trying to be artsy, high-brow literature for no apparent reason. And that's how this felt. Needless to say, did not enjoy.

Destrozada. Qué punto final para El amante. Qué fuerte, Marguerite Duras.

Combien de fois les histoires qui composent notre vie sont-elles ravivées dans l’esprit ? Une image, un son, une saveur suffisent à rappeler ce qui nous a profondément marqué à jamais.

Elle raconte qu'en mai 1990, elle a appris qu'il était mort il y a des années, qu'il avait été enterré à Sadec et que sa famille et ses enfants vivaient toujours dans la maison. Elle a également appris qu'à Sadec, il était apprécié de tous grâce à son bon cœur. Elle a donc décidé de chercher dans ses souvenirs cette jeune fille de quinze ans qui est tombée follement amoureuse de lui ce jour-là où elle a traversé le Mékong dans le bac de Vinh Long.

Bien que L’Amant ait été écrit en 1984, Marguerite Duras décide en 1991, quelque peu déçue par le film paru la même année (réalisé par Jean-Jacques Annaud) d’écrire cet autre roman pour entrer au pays du roman « un pays libre et désintéressé ». Elle a investi un an de sa vie dans ce nouveau projet qu’elle a appelé L’Amant de la Chine du Nord, qui n’est certainement pas une répétition de l’autre roman. Ici, l’intrigue est presque souterraine et la langue décrit beaucoup plus ; on pourrait même dire que le style du récit est plus descriptif et cinématographique, mettant l’accent sur l’aspect visuel. Dans certaines sections, l’auteur ne peut s’empêcher de donner des indications, au cas où l’œuvre aurait été emmenée au cinéma. En outre, les dialogues sont beaucoup plus étendus et visent à mieux peindre la personnalité de chaque personnage.

L'histoire est en principe la même, une histoire d'amour impossible, destinée à la souffrance et à la séparation. Tout au long du roman, les deux amants ne sont nommés à aucun moment, presque comme s'il s'agissait d'ombres projetées sur un mur, qui en ouvrant la fenêtre et en laissant entrer le soleil de midi, disparaissent complètement de la surface de la terre. Il est just l'Amant Chinois et elle l'Enfant. Ainsi, sans jamais se référer à eux par leurs prénoms, les personnages ont plus de poids dans le récit.

À la fin, Marguerite Duras nous raconte que des années après la guerre, il l’a téléphoné. Sa voix tremblait et elle a reconnu l'accent de la Chine du Nord :

« Il avait dit que pour lui, c’était curieux à ce point-là, que leur historie était restée comme elle était avant, qu’il l’aimait encore, qu’il ne pourrait jamais de toute sa vie cesser de l’aimer. Qu’il l’aimerait jusqu’à la mort.
Il avait entendu ses pleurs au téléphone.
Et puis de plus loin, de sa chambre sans doute, elle n’avait pas raccroché, il les avait encore entendus. Et puis il avait essayé d’entendre encore. Elle n’était plus là. Elle était devenue invisible, inatteignable. Et il avait pleuré. Très fort. Du plus fort de ses forces. »

Un roman intime et douloureux à la fois.

stundtals briljant!…….ibland lite…underlig. bortser man från incesten och pedofilin så var den en vacker kärlekshistoria som var otroligt ångestfylld från start my god alltså. den var fin i berättandet av kärlek, längtan, åtrå och familj. många fina miljöbeskrivningar som verkligen kändes levande. duras skriver med ett otroligt vackert och poetiskt språk som fick mig att verkligen kunna förstå allt det som inte sägs. för det är mycket som inte sägs i denna bok? och historien är skriven så sjukt fragmentarisk att det blev lite frustrerande från och till. fick verkligen utmana mig själv och min perfektionism i böcker att alltid kunna förstå allt. men aja det fick bli tre stjärnor - många plus många minus. respekt till duras att hon skriver sina egna tolkningar på hur detta skulle bli en film??? hela sista kapitlet var bara hur hon ville att boken skulle filmas men det finns även fotnoter i boken om hur vissa scener ska filmas och vad som ska inkluderas…? big up

From the first meeting two strangers know that they are doomed to love and separate. They know it as deeply as only it is possible to know anything. One of them is inhabited by terrible mourning, the other is overwhelmed by unspeakable sadness. They feel as if nothing will ever happen in their life except this love.

"They were about to separate. She remembers how difficult, how cruel it was to speak. They couldn't find words, their desire was so strong. They hadn't looked at each other again. They had avoided each other's hands, eyes. It was he who had imposed the silence. She would say later that you could have told they were in love by that silence alone, the words the silence skirted, its very pace, how it diverted them, and the game too, the childishness of that game and the tears.
[...]
The story is already there, already unavoidable,
A story of blinding love,
Always about love,
Always about to be,
Never forgotten."

The North China Lover has a dream-like quality to it and you quickly get used to things not making too much sense and characters having slightly confusing motivations.
This is a novel that drifts into being a movie script and drifts back into being a novel every few chapters.
Set in French Indochina the story had all the potential to be engaging, yet it mostly succeeds at being thrilling instead. Or maybe this is what Marguerite Duras wanted to convey with this one anyway.

Long, overdone, and repetitive. The prose was so sparse that the book ended up feeling disjointed and slightly pretentious. I liked that I was given more insight into her relationship than "The Lover" provided, but that's the only positive aspect of this novel. By the end, I was so sick of reading "We cried. We laughed. He laughed. I cried" that I too almost cried. Out of frustration. Wouldn't recommend this book.