L’exil des renards by Mira Wladir (review)

The title is deceptive and ironic, for their love story is at best unsettling. It is remarkable that Daniel connects his relationship to Justine to a cocktail. Most likely, the reason for this connection is that Justine seems to move through life with a kind of superficial ease, going from relationship to relationship without revealing her true self. But behind her spirited and lively persona, Justine is a vulnerable woman, longing for a loving and committed relationship. Unfortunately, Justine picks the wrong man. Daniel does not have the courage or the insight to strip away her mask, too interested in himself and in enjoying the present moment, too fearful of commitment. Then again, Justine and Daniel never really communicate openly with each other. Although the characters in this novel rarely reveal their inner thoughts, the reader gets caught up in their relationship because they come alive, Justine, above all. Her suffering and frustration make themselves felt, however indirectly. Then there is the prevailing sadness of the novel, perhaps a message on the part of the author about how two people who have enjoyed intense moments of happiness together can nonetheless hurt each other profoundly. University of Southern Maine Lucia A. DiBenedetto WLADIR, MIRA. L’exil des renards. Chavannes-près-Renens: Empreintes, 2011. ISBN 978-2-940414-16-1. Pp. 63. 12,60 a. Wladir’s second poetry collection deftly interweaves minimalist motifs, many of them variations on the polyvalent image of “renards” as a metaphor for intersubjective relationships that help us to overcome subtle kinds of “exil.” Ably intermingling the earthly and the edenic, human passion and landscapes over which the eye roams, Wladir shows a particular gift for image and form as complements to open-ended narrative. Central threads include exploring finitude via sexuality, seeing ontological uprootedness as a potential salve, and letting dreams and desire intermingle in order to find pleasure in the passing of days. Nuances assert themselves by way of finely chiseled verse that retains mystery and involves the reader in a quest for secret knowledge, thus enabling our survival , provided we imaginatively comprehend people, animals, and nature. Each page functions on its own while also contributing to a compelling modernist long poem. The surging lines, where a mere word or two can contrast with much longer syllabic units, seem at first to depict staccato bursts of thought as well as a somewhat conventional anguish regarding physical love and separation: “Quand il faudrait / partir / ou déployer / très debout très levé // l’étreinte / le poing // le cri étrange d’un reste d’amour / qu’on ne sait pas” (7). Yet quickly much more is at stake, as the book proceeds with the first surprising image of a fox and further stanzas that can read as part of a sentence suspended across pages: “tu serais mon renard / ou peut-être” (8); “le temps de monter / quelques marches // de renverser jadis / ce temps-là de nos mains // on l’apprendrait un peu / ce motl à sans image” (9). Enigmas such as instinct, memory, and language come to the fore, along with the curious symbolism of the line “tu serais mon renard” (8) and a dynamic interplay between the speaker, a familiar “tu,” and a generalized “on.” Wladir develops the fox motif so that it morphs into lovers luxuriating in the outer world and shared attraction; death and nakedness as coincident but not entirely unwelcome expressions of exile; an appeasing “douceur à être là” and “manière de Reviews 1307 grand vivre” (24); the audacity and eventual delights of life in the wild; invitations to absorption in the world beyond the self; slight awakening to fear but in turn immersion in an “étrange douceur sauvage” (51); and instants of time to be savored like precious food. Through periodic images of “le jardin” (15, 19, 28, 33, 59, 61, 63) and “une pomme” (25, 29), the volume expands into a dialogue on what hints of grace in everyday existence we should seek, and it emerges that basking in nature’s promise, letting go, and acknowledging memory’s bittersweetness can counterbalance feelings of exile. The beauty of L’exil des renards lies in its indeterminacy as well as its conjoining...