BLUE SELF-PORTRAIT by Noémi Lefebvre — reviewed by Thomas

Blue Self-Portrait by Noémi Lefebvre (translated from French by Sophie Lewis)

He had been reading, re-reading in fact, a book that he particularly liked, Noémi Lefebvre’s Blue self-Portrait, from Les Fugitives, a publisher that he also particularly liked, largely because they published books that he particularly liked, such as this one. He had chosen to re-read Blue Self-Portrait, which he remembered as being wonderfully well-written and translated, funny and painful and claustrophobic, all the qualities he wanted in a book, and, he thought, it would be a pity to read at any time anything other than what I most would like to read at that time, even if I have already read it and written a review of it also. In the case of this book that reading and that writing was a while ago, he thought, perhaps not a long while but a while long enough for me to re-use my review without anyone noticing that I have re-used my review, not that anyone reads my reviews anyway, he thought, if they don’t read them they won’t notice that I have re-used my review. It made little sense, he thought, to think that he should fill such reading time as he has with good literature as opposed to less-good literature, it is hard to see what difference this would make, but to do the opposite would make even less sense, and it is impossible not to consider what to read without reference to the real limitation of his time to read, it cannot be unlimited and the world is so full of surprises that could make it more limited still, he thought, somewhat ominously but entirely unspecifically. As my reading time is limited and as it is impossible to know how limited this reading time might be, he thought, I have chosen to read, or re-read, Blue Self-Portrait, and I am doing this without committing myself to writing another review. Let me write or not write, he thought, but, if I write, why write or re-write or overwrite what I have already written? There are only so many words in the world, after all, he thought. Had he read that somewhere? It cannot be the case that there are an infinite number of words he will write, but the opposite doesn’t seem quite right, either. One good sentence would do. Lefebvre could write sentences that he wished that he had written himself, which, for someone who prized a good sentence above all other prizes, earned her his devotion as a reader and perhaps as a writer as well. If a sentence was well enough written, he thought, he could read about anything, but he had less and less time for sentences that were less than excellent, if excellent was the right word, no matter what other qualities they might have, if there are other qualities worth having or qualities to have. All is vacuity, he declared, all is vacuity but the way that vacuity is structured gives meaning. Meaning exists only in grammar if meaning exists at all, he thought, now there’s an aphorism for a calendar. Beyond the sentences there was a musical patterning to the book Blue Self-Portrait, he thought, he recognised a musical grammar of repetitions and variations and motifs probably related to the serialism of Arnold Schoenberg, not something he knew enough about to enlarge upon though probably the case since Schoenberg, both the music of Schoenberg and the painting of Schoenberg, is mentioned often in the book, Schoenberg being the painter of the ‘Blue Self-Portrait’ of the title and the book recognisably musically structured, as opposed to employing the range of mundane structural conventions usually forced upon a novel. In any case, he thought, I shall re-use my review for the book I have re-read, there is nothing wrong with that, because the afternoon has worn on, it is growing cool, there is dinner to be made, there are mosquitoes about, I am boring myself. The world will not be worse off for not having a new review from me this week, the world will be better off. Better off without my blather. When all I can write is an aphorism for a calendar it is better not to write, he thought. If anyone wants a review of what I have been reading they can read my old review, the book hasn’t changed. I have changed and my reading has changed, he supposed, but no-one should care about that, if they want a review let them read my old review, but it would be much better if they just read the book, they don’t need me for that.