Public Reading Followed by Discussion

Who’s really telling this story? That’s the mystery at the heart of Danielle Mémoire’s novel, which opens with a writer on stage at a public reading—a public reading that isn’t one, because she never reads a word, much to the audience’s annoyance. When an audience member finally heckles her, the writer’s response sets off a chain reaction of nested stories that tumble one after another like a row of dominoes.

Each storyteller in the series (most are writers at public readings) builds on what’s come before while often radically changing its meaning. Along the way, we encounter fatal stepladders, a painter obsessed with a transom window, a lovestruck dog-walker, and a lost cat restored to its owners through divine intervention. Playful, thought-provoking, and utterly unique, Public Reading Followed by Discussion defies classification and invites every reader to join the game.

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Public Reading Followed by Discussion

Who’s really telling this story? That’s the mystery at the heart of Danielle Mémoire’s novel, which opens with a writer on stage at a public reading—a public reading that isn’t one, because she never reads a word, much to the audience’s annoyance. When an audience member finally heckles her, the writer’s response sets off a chain reaction of nested stories that tumble one after another like a row of dominoes.

Each storyteller in the series (most are writers at public readings) builds on what’s come before while often radically changing its meaning. Along the way, we encounter fatal stepladders, a painter obsessed with a transom window, a lovestruck dog-walker, and a lost cat restored to its owners through divine intervention. Playful, thought-provoking, and utterly unique, Public Reading Followed by Discussion defies classification and invites every reader to join the game.

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Public Reading Followed by Discussion

Public Reading Followed by Discussion

Public Reading Followed by Discussion

Public Reading Followed by Discussion

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Overview

Who’s really telling this story? That’s the mystery at the heart of Danielle Mémoire’s novel, which opens with a writer on stage at a public reading—a public reading that isn’t one, because she never reads a word, much to the audience’s annoyance. When an audience member finally heckles her, the writer’s response sets off a chain reaction of nested stories that tumble one after another like a row of dominoes.

Each storyteller in the series (most are writers at public readings) builds on what’s come before while often radically changing its meaning. Along the way, we encounter fatal stepladders, a painter obsessed with a transom window, a lovestruck dog-walker, and a lost cat restored to its owners through divine intervention. Playful, thought-provoking, and utterly unique, Public Reading Followed by Discussion defies classification and invites every reader to join the game.


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781628973808
Publisher: Dalkey Archive Press
Publication date: 03/23/2021
Series: French Literature
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: eBook
File size: 783 KB

About the Author

Danielle Mémoire (1947- ) is a French writer, author of more than a dozen novels notable for bending the rules of storytelling in unique and surprising ways. This is the first of her books to appear in English.
K. E. Gormley is a translator and academic librarian living near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Read an Excerpt

— Sometime today would be nice! We’ve been waiting here for ages now, and . . .

— Could you repeat that?

— What?

— What you just said. Repeat it.

— I asked you whether . . .

— I’m not asking you what you asked me, I’m asking you to repeat what you said. I’d be extremely grateful, moreover, if, before the words you’re about to repeat—provided, of course, you consent to repeat them—you’d be so very kind as to . . . No, never mind, I can just as easily take care of it myself. And I will take care it myself:

— What do you mean?

— The quotation. I mean I’m beginning it. That it has begun. I’m declaring it to have begun. Could you repeat that, please?

— I’m declaring it . . .

— What you said, repeat what you said. That sometime today would be nice. That you’ve been waiting here for ages now (ages, really!). And how much longer am I going to stay stationed here like a potted plant—stationed here like a potted plant, to my mind, suggests a standing person rather than a seated one. That would’ve been all I needed, to be left here standing up! Incidentally, I wouldn’t say stationed in regard to a potted plant, I’d say set—set here like a potted plant, staring you down (speaking of which, have you not noticed my great difficulty in staring anybody down? It’s because of my strabismus. The divergent variety. And stare down whom? Certainly not you, sir. The audience as a whole?), between my water pitcher and my bouquet of lilacs. End quote—No! One more moment, please. I have to thank the friend who sent me these lilacs. Thank you for the lilacs. Thank you very much indeed.

— And now?

— Now, what?

— And now, what are you waiting for?

— Now, I’m waiting for your questions. Your objections: I’m also waiting for those. Shouldn’t we open the discussion?

— What? You’re not going to continue?

— No. I’m finished.

— Finished? But that’s not possible, you couldn’t be finished . . .

— Yes, yes, I could be, I assure you.

— And you shouldn’t be finished. You’re here to read a work in progress, either in its entirety or as fragments.

— In its entirety. I have no other fragments.

— In that case, why did you agree to come? You should have declined.

— Because I thought I did have a work in progress. I thought so when I accepted the invitation, and it seemed to me I had plenty of time. When I realized it wasn’t going to go any further than this, I tried to cancel: I phoned. No one picked up.

— You could have written.

— But, as you’ve seen, writing is a problem for me.

— And you gave up after—how many lines was that?

— I don’t know. They’re not written down.

— What are you talking about? Not written down?

— I gave up before those few lines, which I didn’t write down. I improvised them.

— So you have no work in progress?

— Those few lines, which I improvised, are part of a work in progress which, for the time being, goes no further. I’m sorry.

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