A review by tomleetang
History of Violence by Édouard Louis

3.0

More than violence, this autobiographical novel is a history of the shameless narcissism of the human soul, obsessed with its own curiosities. That makes it sound like I didn't enjoy it; I did, precisely because it doesn't shy away from these unsavoury details, both in the personality of the protagonist and those around him, as he tries to make sense of the brutal rape and attempted homicide (but was it attempted homicide?) that has dissolved his sense of himself and the world.

Louis places a layer between himself and the description of his rape by a Kabyle man from Algeria (race and colour are important here), separating himself from it by using his sister as a prop - the story is largely relatedthrough her retelling of the event to her husband as Louis eavesdrops out of sight, with Louis chipping in mentally to correct her retelling, which is warped by her views on race and sexuality (what happened is also warped by the police, hence the question mark hanging over 'attempted homicide').

This book reminded me actually of the catharsis of Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking, because History of Violence is also shot through with philosophy, using the experience of writing to reflect and heal - perhaps not completely, but as much as one can