Louis-René des Forêts and the Myth of the Lost Child John T. Naughton I N LOUIS-RENÉ DES FORÊTS’S FIRST NOVEL, Les Mendiants, published in 1943, one of the characters, a steely and disillusioned woman named Annabelle, observes that “ la seule part de vous que vous considérez comme vraiment importante demeure cachée aux regards des hommes et tout ce que vous pouvez montrer d’autre est sans importance: des grimaces, des rôles. . . . ” 1Annabelle is seeking to high light the tension between the world of daily human intercourse which operates on an irreversibly superficial level and another, more deeply inward and secret world, which is the essence of individual destiny. The reality of this inner world is forever transmuted or eclipsed by role play ing and dissimulation, which are fostered by habitual modes of dis course. All of des Forêts’s work is, in fact, concerned with the desire to transmit something of the nature of this hidden reality and with the con viction that this “ part secrète” is inevitably distorted by the nature of the very forces deployed to represent it. In an interview he gave to Tel Quel in 1962, des Forêts remarked that “ écrire, cela suppose une exigence rigoureuse et exclusive, un movement vers une vérité toujours plus impérieuse, mais toujours plus fuyante, et qui s’affirme comme si essen tielle qu’on ne peut s’en écarter sans la certitude de gravement faillir.” And yet, he continues, “ ce que nous cherchons à atteindre se trouve tou jours détourné et modifié par l’acte médiateur qu’il nous faut accomplir pour l’atteindre.” 2 In Les Mendiants, des Forêts routinely sabotages the conventions of the traditional novel, especially through repetition and exaggeration. The “ characters,” in particular, are always on the verge of discarding the roles they precariously play, but without which they seem to have no being. The book, in fact, may be read as the death throes of the tradi tional character, and Le Bavard, published three years later, challenges all the rhetorical strategies that have contributed to the idea of character, the writer himself being seen as the supreme expression of this myth. The narrator of Le Bavard systematically unveils the uncriticized pretenses that are inherent in discourse. Writing is the means by which the funda mental and universal banality of experience is transformed and embelVOL . XXXII, NO. 2 19 L ’E s pr it C réa te u r lished. The person who addresses us seeks, above all, to seduce, impress, and dominate. Writing is thus invariably a form of intoxication and exhibitionism that exists as a function of erotic desire or the need to con trol and manipulate. It abolishes the existence of others in order to make them images of the subjective state of the person speaking. Although the narrator of Le Bavard makes every effort to convince his listener that there is no reason to believe a word of what he is saying, his discourse nonetheless contains a “ version” of what des Forêts will return to again and again as the essence of his own deepest apprehen sions. And it is this passage that is the least interrupted by self-consciousness and auto-criticism. After having been rebuffed in a noisy bar by a woman he has tried to seduce, the narrator wanders through snowy streets toward a public park where he is brutally beaten by the lover of the woman he has sought to woo. In his utterly reduced state of exhaus tion and pain, the narrator is all at once moved by the sounds of a chil dren’s choir which float through the icy air and into the park from a nearby church and seem to annul all sense of suffering and humiliation. The music fills the narrator with lightness, freedom, and joy. It seems to speak of a distant realm, at once sexless and sensual, existing far from human worries and concerns, far from the familiar odor of sin. “Avec le recul du temps,” the narrator observes, “ il me semble que ces voix exprimaient encore une totale indifférence aux douleurs humaines...
Read full abstract