When a narrator begins a tale stating “I could say a lot of things, but perhaps it's best to be honest, now” how much can we really trust her? Regardless of how straightforward or truthful she's being, she is certainly earnest in her bitterness. Elodie is a dowdy self-effacing individual from a provincial French town where the painful reverberations of WWII are still felt. In this short but eerie tale she describes her formerly humble existence as a baker's wife. Life irretrievably changed when she developed a twisted relationship with a glamorous ambassador's wife named Violet. At the same time, unsettling things occurred amongst the increasingly hysterical residents of her town. An undertone of violence and resentment fills her account as she reveals small pieces of the puzzle that is her past. Policemen who periodically come to interview her in the present don't get any clear answers and I'm not sure I entirely understood what occurred, but I don't think Mackintosh is interested in solutions. Instead we're offered a novel that possesses a perverse charm as its central character's debasement becomes the self-lacerating tool she uses to discover her own agency.
This story is saturated with Elodie's insatiable hunger - for sex and love but also a life beyond the boundaries of what she's been offered. She declares “I have always been a sort of archivist, glutting myself on what has been left behind.” Memories are presented as sour stuff which she has chewed, swallowed and regurgitated multiple times. She made increasingly desperate attempts to sexually entice her husband and what appeared to be his sweetly earnest desire to produce the best bread in the country was more about his withdrawal of affection. Elodie wanted to simultaneously be intensely close to and become Violet. However, it becomes evident that Violet didn't see her so much as a companion or a confidant, but someone to manipulate for her own churlish amusement. The enigma of who is the perpetrator and who is the victim is teasingly drawn out even after the book's thrilling conclusion so I was left wondering what really happened. Elodie masochistically clings to and inhabits the past commenting that “Pain becomes an animal, walking at your side. Pain becomes a home you can carry with you.”
Though I appreciated the Jean Rhys type mood of this story, I'm not sure it's entirely satisfying in its splicing of fable (in the mode of Mackintosh's debut “The Water Cure”) and fictionalised history. The circuitous nature of the structure became a bit frustrating at points when I wanted to be more enticed by the mystery. Details which might have been clues quickly evaporated as the narrative gradually detached itself from a clear timeline. I enjoyed this book most at points when the private obsessions Elodie nurtured are revealed to be fully known to those around her and used as something they can manipulate. This poignantly shows the vulnerability of someone so fixed in their own perspective they aren't aware of how they can be drawn into a trap. Given how little empathy is extended to Elodie it's no wonder she became so acidic and her testament is effective in demonstrating how the sweetest things in life can so easily turn rotten.
