fiction, paper, 96pp. ISBN 0-87376-013-1
The narrator of The Park watches from his window, his balcony: the avenue, the park, the couple in the apartment across the way. He is attached to the woman. He returns to his room, to his notebook.
She is someone he has loved or hopes to love. He is a friend who died in the war. The I is sometimes a child, sometimes the author and sometimes He. There is no absolute division between He and I, the observer and the observed. The words of the book are those being written in the notebook.
“Perhaps one of the most poetical examples of the ‘new novel’ in France … present and past time are mingled in a work that is a record of its own writing.” Choice
“…One of the most original novelists in contemporary France. …The brilliance of style beautifully preserved in A.M. Sheridan Smith’s translation. The Park is … a difficult stylistic convention, which becomes both the fabric and the texture of the work, at once what Sollers writes and how he writes it.” Tom Bishop—The Saturday Review
Car doors bang in the street, excited voices answer each other. A whole group of people arrive and go away again. Carefully groomed women in evening dresses are laughing and getting into cars which (someone shouts out an address) will soon stop in line along the avenue. But how many times have I gone round to her flat, when there was no danger of me being discovered—I who had know her for so long?
from The Park