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Our Assessment:
C : clever presentation, but not much beyond that See our review for fuller assessment.
From the Reviews: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
Happiness is a he said/she said novel: every odd-numbered (right-hand) page is written from the man's perspective, every even-numbered (left-hand) page is written from the woman's.
The novel is an account of their relationship, from a first sizing each other up through a long period of sexual frenzy to an encounter months after they'd drifted apart.
It's told in bite-sized pieces: almost all of the entries are succinct, often consisting of merely a brief description or impression.
There isn't much to this novel -- literally or otherwise.
'You were made for sex, you should do nothing else.'She seems to agree, and while she presumably leads some sort of life beyond her encounters with the author, this account is largely a record of her obsession and involvement with him -- all of which is almost entirely sexual. Of course, that means there are a lot of moments such as: "I unpack my cock, stiff with waiting" (huh ?), and partying like it's 1999: We fuck our way through the end of the millennium. We're lost in the new night that will last for a thousand years. Rootless and fearless, we go one fucking, roused only by the frenzy inside us. We fuck because that is how we conquer death.Etc., etc. She obviously has some issues: I've always been fascinated by prostitution. The lack of emotion reassures me. Not to be obliged to feel affection, to be free of any attachment, to become an object to be used and with a price, all that lifts a great weight from me.Indeed, he likes taking her to sex clubs and having others have their way with her; still, he also comes to find: "Her submissiveness is exhausting." But all she seems to want to do is to continue to barrel down this path: I want him to use me for his pleasure, and thus for mine. I do not want love and above all I do not want his respect.No doubt she fulfils some males' fantasies perfectly. (In the book's only funny moment she takes a 'test' in Elle: "The result told me that I was 'an easy lay'. I find this description rather offensive.") But even the writer finally seems a bit overwhelmed, running out of ideas of what to do with her. Eventually it dawns on him (though readers will have come to this conclusion many, many pages earlier): "Sex can be a lobotomy." Meanwhile, she's the one who finally pegs the whole relationship (and book): None of our experiences tells me anything about myself.Indeed, that is the overwhelming flaw of this book, that it says so little about these characters. (That what it does say about them suggests that they are so utterly unrealistic (and unlikeable) doesn't help either.) Sure, there's something to be said for erotic fantasies and wildly imagined sexual behavior, but Robert's feels particularly self-indulgent -- and isn't very sexy. The back-and-forth, limited to bursts of description and (attempts at) insight, can't convey the complexities of this relationship and these two people, even if one wanted to take them seriously; there's little more than sensationalism on display here. In the extremes he describes -- especially the role of the woman -- Robert may mean to provoke, but without making more of the characters themselves it doesn't feel like much of a fight. This is fantasy so well-worn and silly that it's impossible even to get in any way hot and bothered about it. - M.A.Orthofer, 16 May 2010 - Return to top of the page - Happiness:
- Return to top of the page - French journalist and author Denis Robert was born in 1958. - Return to top of the page -
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