"Ele diz-lhe que se enganou, que não é o dia a chegar, que é o crepúsculo, que eles se aproximam de uma noite nova, que vai ser preciso esperar que passe toda a duração dessa noite para se chegar ao dia, que se enganaram quanto à passagem das horas. Ela pergunta-lhe qual é a cor do mar. Ele já não sabe.
Ele ouve-a chorar. Pergunta-lhe porque chora. Não espera pela resposta. Pergunta-lhe qual devia ser a cor do mar. Ela diz que o mar fica com a cor do céu - que se trata menos de uma cor do que do estado da luz.
Ela diz que eles talvez tenham começado a morrer.
Ele diz que não sabe nada sobre a morte, que é um homem que não sabe quando amou, quando ama, quando morre. Na voz dele ainda há gritos, mas longínquos, chorados.
Ele diz-lhe no entanto que também ele, agora, pensa que entre eles se deve tratar daquilo que ela dizia nos primeiros dias da história. Ela esconde o rosto contra o chão, chora." ( )

8481300500

8481300500

As unassuming as it is surprising, this is a book about the quietly obsessive love of two individuals who've both become enamoured with the same nearly untouchable and idealized man. What sounds as if it would be torrid or silly or frustrating, though, at the very least, becomes utterly beautiful in the writing of Duras. The graceful passages of the novel, or novella, I suppose, are so simple and honest that the relationship of the man and woman at the heart of the novel is delivered in a manner that nearly comes across as innocent. Though, this is also tinged with a constant erotic pressure so that innocent feelings are tuned also toward undoubtedly adult sense and material.

If all of this sounds jumbled, it may be because the book itself is something of a beautiful puzzle, built for readers to slip through in a single reading. Duras' language and tone are perfectly set, and the interjections on artistry and acting, as if the entire novel is being read and performed on a private stage, add a level of alien maturity that is nearly indescribable when combined with the simply related relationship at the center of the work.

In the end, this is one of those short works that is both clear in its first communication, and yet demaning of a re-read. It is artful, smart, and perfectly tuned for a quiet read and meditation on relationships, love, and what binds one individual to the next for better or worse.

Absolutely recommended. ( )

My head swam. I think I know what was happening, and I believe I got the message. Seductive and unsettling. Sexuality and sorrow. Secretly appealing.

Thanks to Laura. If I had known. ( )