Saturday, September 26, 2009

that mad ache

I recently finished reading "That Mad Ache" (la chamade), a novel originally written in French by Francoise Sagan. The title and cover are what drew me in, but from the very first page I was in love (when the summer breeze leaves the forest and invades the streets of paris, waking Lucille and causing her to head to the countryside at 5 am). Sagan is a very descriptive writer, and I only wish that I could read and understand the original French version. I think the book must have been somewhat autobiographical. It chronicles the love between Lucille and Antoine, two people who love each other so much that it hurts. Do you know what I mean? (maybe this kind of love hurts because you know it will never last, or maybe it will never last because of the hurt; I am still not sure.)  The kind of love that is so exhausting, it takes your whole being to love the other person. And it can't sustain itself because you can't give up who you are or the entirety of your life to love someone. So the love is beautiful and quick even though you wish so bad that it could last forever. I think it takes a deep understanding of this kind of love to write an entire novel about it. 
La Chamade: a solemn drumroll sounded to announce defeat.
(that breaks my heart)
I was reading the book at the picnic table in my back yard. The sun was so warm and I laid my head down on the wood (you know how when sun heats wooden surfaces they feel so good to lay on? And kind of soft almost), and when I opened my eyes I saw the yards next door from such a beautiful angle. I didn't have my camera so I drew it in one of the front pages of the book.

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