I decided to get hold of this strange little book after reading an article about it in the Guardian by Deborah Levy, which turned out to be the introduction to this new edition. According to Deborah Levy the novels of Violette Leduc are works of genius and also a bit peculiar. She suggests that in addition to Proust and Genet, who were challenging the received ideas about love and sexual roles, Leduc was also ‘rearranging the social and sexual scaffolding of her time.’
I did find this novel very rewarding and also quite unsettling. These are good things to find in a novel.
The Lady and the Little Fox Fur by Violette Leduc. Translated from the French by Derek Colman.
The Lady and the Little Fox Furby Violette Leduc
The lady of the title is in her 60s and lives alone with no income, in a room in Paris under the noisy Metro line. We never learn her name, nor anything much about her previous life, nor why she is in the position she is. We intuit that she never married, has no children, never had a profession and has few, if any surviving friends.
It is the sensation of hunger, of loss of a future, or everyday connection to the rhythms of busy Parisian life that concerns the old lady of the title. (viii)
These three connected sensations occupy the short novel. Each on its own would make a sad story, but Violette Leduc’s lady suffers all three. She is weak from hunger, near the end of her life, but she is attempting to gain human warmth from going onto the streets and into the metro.
As a result, this short novel is in part a wonderful evocation of Paris, night and day, its undersides, the sounds of the streets at night, the light on the river, the metro stations, the streets. As she walks the lady comments on or speaks to everything, animate and non-animate. Memories, small incidents are savoured to give spice to her life. Here is an example of her auditory world.
One night, as a train was fleeing from winter outside her attic, a window had been opened by five or six bars of trumpet playing. Then the window closed again. The diamond winter and the glittering brass. She remembered it still in summer, in the gardens of a square, and she thought of herself as the chosen one of winter. She waited for the brazen blare of jazz again, the first night of frost, but the window would not light up. (26)
Once she is aching for a sip of orange juice and searching for oranges in the rubbish she finds an abandoned fox fur. She adopts the fox, imbuing it with life and love for her. Eventually she realises she is so poor she must sell it. But her attempts bring her contempt and rejection. She realises that the fur must stay with her, must be warmed by her.
In the loneliness and cold of the night she experiences great discomfort, as she tells her feet.
My temples, my stomach she groaned, addressing the words to her feet, two warm strangers. Her eyes were misting over, her heart was talking on her lips. To need everything when everything is finished. She no longer knew whether she was sad or whether it was hunger. (28)
Something about the lack of inhibition in an older person allows them to make observations that are considered a bit unsavoury and downright funny. The lady’s billing and cooing at the fox, for example reminds us of how women have always been expected to address foxy gentlemen.
There is a hallucinatory quality to this novel. The woman frequently addresses inanimate objects, implies that they have spirit, life, and that everything in Paris is responding to her actions. While we know that at one level this is a little delusional, we are also required to see that some of our own behaviour is similar, although we may not be as hungry as this old lady.
The Lady and the Little Fox Fur by Violette Leduc was first published in Paris in 1965. I read the Penguin European Writers edition, of 2018, with an introduction by Deborah Levy. 80pp
Translated from the French by Derek Colman
Women in translation
I have reviewed many books by women in translation on this blog. Here are some recent posts with links.
People in the Roomby Norah Lange, translated from the Spanish by Charlotte Whittle
Go, Went, Goneby Jenny Erpenbeck, translated from the German by Susan Bernofsky.
Flights by Olga Tokarczuk, translated from the Polish by Jennifer Croft.
The Chilli Bean Paste Clanby Yan Ge, translated from the Chinese by Nicky Harman.
Please repeat your subscription request, if you made one, as recent difficulties with this blog resulted in the loss of my previous database. To subscribe and receive email notifications of future posts on Bookword please enter your email address in the box.