Ich habe sie geliebt. PART 5.
I finished “Ich habe sie geliebt” today. I had hoped to excavate from its innards a meaning, or at least a mere clue as to what happened to the bathtub. The book has Pierre, a grumpy pensioner, apparently defend his son’s unfaithfulness to Chloé, a stricken daughter-in-law. Pierre tells of his own secret past with a woman named Mathilda whom he loved, and who loved him. But unlike his son, he never managed to break loose, pending unhappy between two lives even after his paramour, fed up with the man’s indecision, walks away.
He remains, as shattered as his daughter-in-law, who’s left to fend for herself and two kids. In “Ich habe sie geliebt” Anna Gavalda seems to weigh the misery of deserter and deserted. The pain of inflicting pain, and the misery of failing to take clear decisions. In the end though, the balance hinges uneasy in between. Anna Gavalda asks the question but seems to indicate that failing a clear answer, human happiness will always be a fickle thing, a lottery at best. I fail to see a connection with my sanitary facilities’ infliction. Perhaps there is none. I cannot leave my bathtub, for it does not belong to me in the first place. Perhaps I belong to the bathtub.
Barring a major philosophical breakthrough, I have decided to simply fix the enamel. You can buy these little spray-on thingies apparently. Brico sells them for a mere tenner. Apply in multiple layers. Like onions, and ogres. Like life. Wait a minute…