La sainte famille par Florence Seyvos (review)

et passionné avec la rage de vivre et la lumière de la vérité, et surtout avec le plus grand plaisir de raconter. Il faut de nouvelles narrations à Haïti” (22). Additional topics treated in this insightful narration include a tribute to his birthplace, Cavaillon, a short treatise on Haitian voodoo, “L’île magique où les hommes et les dieux se tiennent la main” (138), and a frank examination of color bar issues that continue to divide: “Le noirisme, autant que le mulâtrisme, sont des plaies qui tuent. La République se mue en 10 millions de complexés qui se battent autour de la couleur de la peau” (191). Finally, the moving acknowledgment by Saint-Éloi in the last chapter that he owes his reading ability to his grandmother who could not read—“En fait, tu m’as donné ce que tu n’as pas. Tu m’as donné le verbe donner”(204)—reminds us all of the selfless gifts and true courage offered by so many in Haiti who give beyond their means and limitations. University of Colorado Linda Alcott Seyvos, Florence. La sainte famille. Paris: L’Olivier, 2016. ISBN 978-2-8236-0901-1. Pp. 176. The religious overtones conjured by this novel’s title give way to a more profane, visceral, and ultimately more authentic portrayal of family. Much like the messy, complicated reality of familial life, the narrative is not constrained to move in linear fashion, but rather ebbs and flows like the waters by the lake house where we observe the interactions of four generations of a mononymous clan. The home, itself perhaps the central character, serves as a grounding point in time and space, and a unifying force for a family unit gradually disintegrating. It is the setting where the novel begins and ends, a dank and dusty space inhabited by memories, peopled by generations past and present, filled with death, life, and secrets. The lake house is transformative. It is now, and then, and an indefinite in-between. It is all things to all people: the residence of the ailing arrière-grand-mère Jeanne, where she is cared for by grand-mère Marthe and spinsterly grand-tante Odette, a stopping-off point for a drunk uncle, a retreat for the divorced and depressed Hélène, and a refuge for her children Suzanne and Thomas, the youngest generation. The ambiguous narrative voice of the novel passes from an omniscient third-person to alternate between the two children as first-person narrators , allowing the reader a true 360-degree panorama of the home and those within it.We are offered many glimpses of their lives, from many angles, but are always drawn back to the home by the lake and into its baptismal waters, which seem to insulate and protect them from the world beyond its shores. From fraternal camaraderie, to first sexual experiences, to generation gaps, to suicide attempts, the most beautiful and the basest aspects of life are expressed in palpable detail through the sensory experiences of Suzanne and Thomas. Seasons change, time passes, relationships are 264 FRENCH REVIEW 91.2 Reviews 265 reshaped, and in the end Seyvos’s “holy family” becomes something wholly new, but no less sacred. Lipscomb University (TN) Danielle T. Walters Slimani, Leïla. Chanson douce. Paris: Gallimard, 2016. ISBN 978-2-070-19667-8. Pp. 227. Couronné du prix Goncourt 2016, ce deuxième ouvrage de Slimani est une sorte de roman policier mené avec une maîtrise peu commune. Le crime et le coupable s’annoncent dès les premières pages. Une mère rentre du travail plus tôt que d’habitude et découvre une scène d’horreur: ses enfants sont morts et la nounou de la famille— visiblement l’auteur des meurtres—agonise après une tentative de suicide ratée. Slimani procède ensuite au récit des événements qui précèdent le drame, principalement à travers les yeux de Myriam—épouse de Paul et mère de Mila et d’Adam, les enfants assassinés—mais aussi de ceux de Louise, la nounou que ce jeune ménage parisien de classe...