"From September last year, I did nothing else but wait for a man: for him to call me and come round to my place."
This book surprised me. It wasn't what I expected and to be exposed to the raw emotion and sincerity of the narrator touched me deeply. The opening of the novel gripped me and never let go until I finished it in one sitting.
I appreciated the singular focus of it: the woman and her affair with the madness of love itself. It is a bare, tender and crude retelling of her torrid love affair with the married man, A. The way she described him made you fall for him too. Her words are filled with emotion, urgency, and a certain distance as if she isn't completely sure she didn't conjure A to respond to a longing that plagued her. She wrote it all down as a way to preserve her memories as best as she could.
"The partly erased frescoes in Santa Croce moved me because of my story, which would come to resemble them one day--fading fragments in his memory and in mine."
Contrary to the heroines of the early French literature who fought fiercely against the whims of their passions, this unnamed narrator surrendered to the infatuation that shaped her reality and her emotional state without reserve. She lives in perpetual pause waiting for her lover. She loves in secret but even so, her writing and her love are both savage, compelling and absorbing. Truly, this book blurs the line between romantic and depressing but even so, I can't stop myself from loving it.