“Returns”
by Annie Ernaux
translated from the French by Deborah Treisman
from the November 14, 2022 issue of The New Yorker
This is a great opportunity to get to know the work of the most recent Nobel Prize winner, Annie Ernaux, and it’s translated by none other than Deborah Treisman, the fiction editor at the magazine.
Ernaux is known for her autobiographical books, of which I myself have read none. Though I do have a few I need to read.
Here is how “Returns” begins:
The last time I saw my mother at her home, it was July, a Sunday. I travelled there by train. At Motteville, we sat in the station for a long time. It was hot. It was quiet, both in the compartment and outside. I looked out the open window; the platform was empty. On the other side of the S.N.C.F. railroad barriers, the tall grass almost touched the lowest branches of the apple trees. It was then that I could really feel that I was approaching C. and that I was going to see my mother. The train continued on to C. at a reduced speed.
As you may have noticed, October was one of those busy months and for the first time that I can remember I got really far behind in posting for your thoughts. I’m going to go back and fill that in, though that might take me a bit of time. But for now, welcome! And please let us know how you felt about this story and if it has led you to want to read more of Ernaux’s work.
This story resonated personally as I have an older, widowed mother who lives in a senior living facility. It’s one of the “better” ones where she has her own 1-bedroom apartment, but it often makes me think about the older days in which at a certain age people simply died once they no longer worked. Obviously, there were always some who would hang on and be supported by younger generations, but the prolongation of life does sort of leave many older people with little to do.
The other view–these people have worked hard and are quietly enjoying themselves.
Both are true.
Here the daughter is in the prime of working life and visits her mom in the rural town she has escaped, most likely for Paris. She has a pleasant time with her, but notices how much her mom values this short visit. The story is not overtly sentimental or cloying and the mom is not miserable or mentally impaired, but this sense kept hitting me that she was sort of just biding her time.
The daughter recalls their epic fights when she was a teenager and it made me think that at least there you are dealing with an ENEMY, a RIVAL, someone FORMIDABLE not the mildly pleasant person you now encounter.
I think Ken has it right: the Mom’ is just sort of biding her time. The daughter/author visits, but there is nothing more that she can do. The story is sad, but not tragic. Does the daughter “love” her mom? I think not. The sentiment is all one way.
Two further observations:
Under the surface is the fact that the mom has never lived for herself. So now she is alone with nothing to do. Does the daughter think, I don’t want to end up like that?
The writing is very good. In a brief narration of a visit, with no superfluous phrases, she draws a human picture. I don’t see this as Novel Prize-worthy writing, but this is just one short piece.