"Bruno's earliest memory dated back to when he was four years old. It was a memory of humiliation. At the time, he attended the nursery school in Laperlier Park, in Algiers. One autumn afternoon, the teacher had shown the children how to make necklaces out of leaves. The girls sat waiting halfway up the slope, already bearing the marks of a foolish feminine resignation; most of them wore white dresses. The ground was carpeted with golden leaves, and the trees were mostly chestnuts and plane trees. One by one, his classmates finished their necklaces and placed them around the necks of their chosen little sweethearts. Bruno made no progress. The leaves kept tearing; everything fell apart in his hands. How could he explain that what he needed was love? How could he explain it without a necklace of leaves? He burst into tears, consumed with frustration, but the teacher did not come to help him. It was all over. The children got up and left the park. A little later, the school closed."
>>25373307Come. We are all educated men here who know French. There is no need to quote the English translations.
Or am I just a frenchcel?
>>25373311It is my personal translation, and I am proud of it.
nothing sublime about self-centred narratives of resentment and impotence. childhood memory as a prison for imagination. save it for your therapist. this isn't what literature is for.
In frenchLe premier souvenir de Bruno datait de ses quatre ans ; c’était le souvenir d’une humiliation. Il allait alors à la maternelle du parc Laperlier, à Alger. Une après-midi d’automne, l’institutrice avait expliqué aux garçons comment confectionner des colliers de feuilles. Les petites filles attendaient, assises à mi-pente, avec déjà les signes d’une stupide résignation femelle ; la plupart portaient des robes blanches. Le sol était couvert de feuilles dorées ; il y avait surtout des marronniers et des platanes. L’un après l’autre ses camarades terminaient leur collier, puis allaient le passer autour du cou de leur petite préférée. Il n’avançait pas, les feuilles cassaient, tout se détruisait entre ses mains. Comment leur expliquer qu’il avait besoin d’amour ? Comment leur expliquer, sans le collier de feuilles ? Il commença à pleurer de rage ; l’institutrice ne vint pas l’aider. C’était déjà fini, les enfants se levaient pour quitter le parc. Un peu plus tard, l’école ferma.
>>25373327That faggot shit isn't what literature is for, either. Territorialization and deterritorialization only work if you reduce culture to a contingent byproduct of competing interests and deny that there's any underlying truth behind cultural constructions.
I like the prose of Elementary Particles a lot but I feel he lost his incisiveness after Platform or so. At which point he becomes more ironic than devestating.
>>25373307Why would anyone read this misery porn lmao
>>25373567If you want to have an accurate sociological reading of the present, it is a great friend. And is funny
