The Years

I read this for the small press book club at my LBS. I didn't have any big expectation going in — I don't follow book awards and wasn't familiar with Ernaux's work. As I started reading, I found the use of we/one etc interesting, and then challenging. I flipped forward in search of chapter breaks — none! On page 102 I wrote a note: “the tense is feeling exhausting.”

I read the last 110 pages or so (ie the second half of the book) in one sitting, just before book club. I really enjoyed the first and final quarters of the book. In the middle, I started to feel a bit of a lull, and as if we were meandering. On finishing the book, the pacing feels intentional. I don't know how much to go into this, but one does feel meandering in the middle of life, so it tracks, anyway.

I thought a lot about my mom while reading, especially as Ernaux is describing her children as they grow into adulthood, and visit her. There's a great moment where she is following her sons and pondering how they could come from her. In another, she's musing about how she is a grandparent, where she still thinks that word is only for her grandparents.

There's a lot more in the book — discussions of class, sex, consumer culture. I might update this review later to think a little about those parts of the book. Overall, though, I enjoyed this. I think I'd enjoy making an attempt to read it in the original French, as well.

I've always had a hard time describing history/time and the way it moves; the best I can do is always “it blends together.” Here, Ernaux transforms my 2D “it blends together” into 3D.

When I first wanted to get into Annie Ernaux, articles online would recommend future readers to start their Ernaux journey with “The Years” as it's her magnum opus. While I agree it's her magnum opus, I disagree with starting with this book to get into Ernaux. One of the reasons why I enjoyed this book as much as I did is BECAUSE I was so connected with what I've read of Ernaux's life already—if I didn't it'd feel like an awkward meeting with a stranger.

Anyways, this was great!

Feel like I lived in France, I can see why a bunch of stuffy yet maybe sensitive literary critics awarded this the Pulitzer

Ernaux sees her past selves as Matryoshka dolls; defined more by their passage through time than places