marilou's review against another edition
challenging
mysterious
fast-paced
5.0
« Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf » meets Duras meets « One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest »… J’suis confuse, j’ai pas tout compris, mais l’écriture est d’une efficacité redoutable. À relire.
liillyy's review against another edition
challenging
dark
mysterious
reflective
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
coffeewithbritt's review
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
2.25
Appreciated the interview with the author at the end of the book, as well as the open format she was going for but in the end it just fell flat.
brieflybutterfly's review
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.75
nealadolph's review against another edition
4.0
A couple years ago I was living in a basement suite, a bachelor pad, a single room with a half wall that divided the kitchen from the living and sleeping room and then a full wall that separated the kitchen from the bathroom, which was given the dignity of having its own door. It was a good place to live, despite its size and the lack of light, and in spite of the settling airs which held back escaping smells of the kitchen. I avoided making curries. In the kitchen were my four bookshelves, full and beautiful, displaying a wealth of adventures. I read a lot; I should have read more.
It was in that space, on an old chair, the only one I had, that I discovered Marguerite Duras in The Lover. I think most people come to Duras through The Lover. I wrote a review of that book which, if you are interested, you can read here . I liked it without being astonished by it; I thought it had a good deal more to say, I thought I needed to read it again when I had a bit more maturity. I wonder if now I have a bit more maturity. After all, here I am, no longer living alone but instead loafing around in my parents’ house, in my old bedroom, looking for jobs in another city, hoping the right thing will pop up so that I can go and not be here. Surely I have matured. But I ask about my impending maturity as it develops because this book, Destroy, She Said, has made it clear to me that Duras knows what she is doing, and is far better at it, far more intricate, far more precise, than I appreciated back then in that chair hidden away from the sun.
Now I do not think that I know what Destroy, She Said is about. I might even understand it less after having read the collection of interview shambles that were included at the back of the novella. But I think I have a sense of something that it was, something that it was trying to be, something that it succeeded at with all of its slight pages and broken, incomplete, beautiful sentences. And, I think I have a sense that it, like The Lover, is worthy of a second or third or fourth reading; maybe one or two or three more which should be afforded to it soon. I know, after putting it down, I thought immediately of picking it up again for another whirlwind tour of its form and relationships and its soul.
What impressed me most about this book is perhaps the thing I tried to share in an instagram post I wrote about it earlier this week. This novella, which Duras was bold enough to call a novel, is not really a novel, and is perhaps closer to a book of poetry in many of its ways, but then is actually more like a piece of theater, at times looking and feeling and reading like it in your head, and then it transfers into the precise benign imagery of great mid-century film-making, black and white and grey-scaled, before the broken sentence structure and jilted and direct dialogue and fragmentary thinking reminds, once again, of poetry - which is to say that it fills you with all sorts of questions that you can’t form into a shape. It is something special.
At the end of the book are two pages of theater notes. Tonight I left my parents’ house, used my dad’s car and everything, to go downtown and see a musical that an acquaintance had invited me to. He was in it. I don’t know him well, but I think he likes reading. I know I mentioned this book to him, said he might be into it given his background in theater and all that, and he told me that he had a copy of The Lover on his shelf. I wanted to give it to him. Before the musical I was planning to say something like “if you don’t love this book after reading it then I want it back. But if it is going to help you make something beautiful and meaningful and something that captures the spirit of this book, then I want you to keep it.” But after seeing the musical, this silly romp about breaking up with boyfriends and using all sorts of famous music from the 60s and 70s to help the women navigate the breakup, I doubted that it was the book for him. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t judge an actor for the work that he takes on to keep food on his table. But I carried my copy with me to the show, excited to share it and bond a bit more over art, and afterwards I hid it under my scarf while waiting for him and then chatting with him in the lobby. He is a nice chap, and it may be that after talking to him a bit more I will decide to send it his way for a while, maybe forever, for the sake of art and its progression, but I couldn’t give it to him in full confidence. That is a confidence I feel I need; this is something special, and I want it to be admired by the hands that hold it.
Destroy, She Said is a marvellous book. I’m glad it has brought me back to Duras with a profound respect. Recommended for all sorts of mysterious reasons that I can’t explain.
It was in that space, on an old chair, the only one I had, that I discovered Marguerite Duras in The Lover. I think most people come to Duras through The Lover. I wrote a review of that book which, if you are interested, you can read here . I liked it without being astonished by it; I thought it had a good deal more to say, I thought I needed to read it again when I had a bit more maturity. I wonder if now I have a bit more maturity. After all, here I am, no longer living alone but instead loafing around in my parents’ house, in my old bedroom, looking for jobs in another city, hoping the right thing will pop up so that I can go and not be here. Surely I have matured. But I ask about my impending maturity as it develops because this book, Destroy, She Said, has made it clear to me that Duras knows what she is doing, and is far better at it, far more intricate, far more precise, than I appreciated back then in that chair hidden away from the sun.
Now I do not think that I know what Destroy, She Said is about. I might even understand it less after having read the collection of interview shambles that were included at the back of the novella. But I think I have a sense of something that it was, something that it was trying to be, something that it succeeded at with all of its slight pages and broken, incomplete, beautiful sentences. And, I think I have a sense that it, like The Lover, is worthy of a second or third or fourth reading; maybe one or two or three more which should be afforded to it soon. I know, after putting it down, I thought immediately of picking it up again for another whirlwind tour of its form and relationships and its soul.
What impressed me most about this book is perhaps the thing I tried to share in an instagram post I wrote about it earlier this week. This novella, which Duras was bold enough to call a novel, is not really a novel, and is perhaps closer to a book of poetry in many of its ways, but then is actually more like a piece of theater, at times looking and feeling and reading like it in your head, and then it transfers into the precise benign imagery of great mid-century film-making, black and white and grey-scaled, before the broken sentence structure and jilted and direct dialogue and fragmentary thinking reminds, once again, of poetry - which is to say that it fills you with all sorts of questions that you can’t form into a shape. It is something special.
At the end of the book are two pages of theater notes. Tonight I left my parents’ house, used my dad’s car and everything, to go downtown and see a musical that an acquaintance had invited me to. He was in it. I don’t know him well, but I think he likes reading. I know I mentioned this book to him, said he might be into it given his background in theater and all that, and he told me that he had a copy of The Lover on his shelf. I wanted to give it to him. Before the musical I was planning to say something like “if you don’t love this book after reading it then I want it back. But if it is going to help you make something beautiful and meaningful and something that captures the spirit of this book, then I want you to keep it.” But after seeing the musical, this silly romp about breaking up with boyfriends and using all sorts of famous music from the 60s and 70s to help the women navigate the breakup, I doubted that it was the book for him. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t judge an actor for the work that he takes on to keep food on his table. But I carried my copy with me to the show, excited to share it and bond a bit more over art, and afterwards I hid it under my scarf while waiting for him and then chatting with him in the lobby. He is a nice chap, and it may be that after talking to him a bit more I will decide to send it his way for a while, maybe forever, for the sake of art and its progression, but I couldn’t give it to him in full confidence. That is a confidence I feel I need; this is something special, and I want it to be admired by the hands that hold it.
Destroy, She Said is a marvellous book. I’m glad it has brought me back to Duras with a profound respect. Recommended for all sorts of mysterious reasons that I can’t explain.
libbysbookshelf's review against another edition
4.0
DESTROY, SHE SAID by MARGUERITE DURAS
On the front cover it states that this is a novel. I think it’s important to make that distinction because this is a novel that reads and acts more as a play script. The writer hardly, and consciously, uses full sentences and most of the plot is moved forward through dialogue.
The setting is a hotel dining room and in the distance is a forest. There a four characters; two men and two woman; one couple among them is married, but there is much polygamy (did I mention it’s a French book?) and a lot of implied eroticism. The violence is subtle but the madness is plain to see and sometimes I wondered if the writer intended me to believe that this hotel was in fact a mental institution.
I look forward to analysing this further and watching the film adaptation that was made by Duras herself.
On the front cover it states that this is a novel. I think it’s important to make that distinction because this is a novel that reads and acts more as a play script. The writer hardly, and consciously, uses full sentences and most of the plot is moved forward through dialogue.
The setting is a hotel dining room and in the distance is a forest. There a four characters; two men and two woman; one couple among them is married, but there is much polygamy (did I mention it’s a French book?) and a lot of implied eroticism. The violence is subtle but the madness is plain to see and sometimes I wondered if the writer intended me to believe that this hotel was in fact a mental institution.
I look forward to analysing this further and watching the film adaptation that was made by Duras herself.
cindyc3689's review
3.0
kesan n suasana sepinya terasa, juga paranoia masing2 tokoh. hanya itu.
*mungkin kapan2 perlu dibaca edisi yg lain, yg kalimat2nya lebih teratur*
*mungkin kapan2 perlu dibaca edisi yg lain, yg kalimat2nya lebih teratur*
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