Out of the Dark ( Du Plus Loin De L'Oubli )
Patrick Modiano
Language: English
Pages: 139
ISBN: 080328229X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Patrick Modiano, winner of the 2014 Nobel Prize in Literature, is the author of more than thirty books and one of France’s most admired contemporary novelists. Out of the Dark is a moody, expertly rendered tale of a love affair between two drifters.
The narrator, writing in 1995, looks back thirty years to a time when, having abandoned his studies and selling off old art books to get by, he comes to know Gérard Van Bever and Jacqueline, a young, enigmatic couple who seem to live off roulette winnings. He falls in love with Jacqueline; they run off to England together, where they share a few sad, aimless months, until one day she disappears. Fifteen years later, in Paris, they meet again, a reunion that only recalls the haunting inaccessibility of the past: they spend a few hours together, and the next day, Jacqueline, now married, disappears once again. Almost fifteen years after that, he sees her yet again, this time from a distance he chooses not to bridge. A profoundly affecting novel, Out of the Dark is poignant, strange, delicate, melancholy, and sadly hilarious.
Haroun et La Mer Des Histoires
Out of the Dark � Éditions Gallimard, 1996. Translation and introduction � 1998 by the University of Nebraska Press. All rights reserved. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publicadon Data Modiano, Patrick, 1945—[Du plus loin de l’oubli. English] Out of the dark = Du plus loin de l’oubli / Patrick Modiano; translated by Jordan Stump, p. cm. ISBN-10: 0-8032-3196-2 (hardcover: alk. paper).–ISBN 0-8032-8229-X (pbk.: alk. paper) I. Stump, Jordan, 1959– ISBN: 978-0-8032-8432-6 (electronic: epub)
Linda Jacobsen. She spoke to us first. A dark-haired girl, our age, long hair, high cheekbones and slightly slanted blue eyes. She asked what region of France we were from. She spoke slowly, as if she were hesitating over every word, so it was easy to have a conversation with her in English. She seemed surprised that we were living in one of those seedy Sussex Gardens hotels. But we explained that we had no other choice because we were both underage. The next day we found her in the same place
little creased eyes on Jacqueline. From time to time he puffed nervously on his cigar and blew the smoke into Linda’s face. She stopped talking and he smiled at us, at Jacqueline and me. But his eyes were still cold. He asked me the name of our hotel on Sussex Gardens. I told him: the Radnor. He burst out in a brief laugh. ‘Don’t pay the bill. … I own the place…. Tell the concierge I said there would be no charge for you….’ He turned to Jacqueline. ‘Is it possible that such a pretty woman
swim, if you like….’ ‘I don’t have a suit,’ said Jacqueline. ‘We can get hold of one…. I’ll send someone to find you a suit….’ ‘Don’t bother,’ Linda said sharply. ‘She doesn’t want to swim.’ Rachman lowered his head. He was still mopping his forehead and his neck. ‘Would you care for some refreshment?’ he offered. Then, speaking to Linda: ‘I’m to meet Savoundra here.’ The name conjured up an exotic silhouette in my imagination, and I was expecting to see a Hindu woman in a sari walk
half-ruined houses, looking as if they had just been through a bombardment. ‘You see?’ he said. “This is the sort of place I always work in.…’ Standing on the sidewalk, he pulled a ring of keys from a black briefcase he was holding, but he changed his mind and stuffed them into the pocket of his jacket. There’s no point anymore….’ With one kick he opened the door of one of the houses, a door with peeling paint and nothing but a hole where the lock should have been. We went in. The floor was
