A round table covered by a brown floral tablecloth. The bitter aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The voice of a news anchor softly humming from a television in the background. Noises from the street coming in through the open window.
Back home in Brazil, my family spent many Sunday afternoons at my grandparents’ place, watching TV and catching up over coffee. While my grandma usually led the conversation, eager to hear about our lives and recount her little adventures of the week, my grandpa only listened quietly, staring distantly at the TV and nodding every now and then.
He didn’t talk much when we were all gathered around the table and we mostly didn’t notice – my grandma talked enough for both of them. Now that I think about it, though, I’ve always seen my grandpa as an observer.
So it came as a surprise when one day he interrupted a conversation to recommend a novel: “Bonjour Tristesse” by François Sagan. When asked why he liked that book, he just repeated, “You need to read it.”
Back in 1954, an 18-year-old Sagan captivated her home country of France by publishing “Bonjour Tristesse.” Set in the French Riviera, the novel follows 17-year-old Cécile and her widowed father through one summer in a rented villa. The novel was an overnight sensation, becoming popular amongst young readers around the world.
My then-17-year-old grandpa was one of them.
What was it about 17-year-old Cécile, written by 18-year-old Sagan, that attracted the 17-year-old version of my grandpa … and could it possibly attract me, modern-day 17-year-old Anna, too?
I checked out the book from Honnold Mudd Library hoping to answer that question, but I only got the chance to actually read it last week during fall break.
Stuck on a long bus ride to Pasadena, I opened the title hoping to kill some time. I was immediately gripped by the story. The window showed me California landscapes passing me by, but my mind could only picture the sea and houses of the French Riviera.
When my friend poked my shoulder to tell me we’d reached our stop, I was already halfway into the novel. By the time we came back from Pasadena, I’d already finished it.
Clearly, “Bonjour Tristesse” is a page-turner, but it might not seem like one at first. The story tackles common themes: passion, lust, desire, jealousy, and above all, love. The plot is almost expected: a young Cécile makes twisted ploys to separate her father, Raymond, and his new wife Anne.
It’s that old Cinderella story of the rich, handsome, kind and gentle father who is corrupted by the self-centered, loathing, evil stepmother. However, the characters of “Bonjour Tristesse” are more complex than that.
Raymond is indeed rich and handsome, and Cécile loves him: “I cannot imagine a better or a more amusing companion,” she tells us. But her father is also a womanizer and a playboy, frivolous and immature.
Anne is nothing like the archetypical evil stepmother. An old friend of Cécile’s late mother, she is mature, caring and refined. While Raymond is boyish and hedonistic, Anne is the one who pushes Cécile to study, to grow and to become a woman. “I remember thinking her the most wonderful person and being quite embarrassingly fond of her,” Cécile says of Anne.
“Bonjour Tristesse” feels like it was written by a teenager, which it was. That is precisely what makes the novel so special.
“I am a teenager just as my grandpa once was, as Sagan and her readers once were.”
If the writing style had been more mature or refined (like Anne), Cécile might have come off as egocentric, narcissistic and morally questionable. Instead, the novel’s teenage voice constantly reminded me that Cécile was just a young girl who had lost a mother and harbored confusing feelings towards the closest thing she had to a mother figure.
No matter how twisted Cécile’s plots to break up Raymond and Anna were, I found myself wanting them to work out. Not out of pity, but out of friendship. It’s a crazy thing: Cécile wasn’t really a likable character; she could be quite pretentious and insufferable at times. Still, somehow, I just wanted to see her happy.
At first, I was sure that my fondness for Cécile was personal: I empathized with and cheered for her because I am a 17-year-old who recently lost her mother.
Yet I can’t help but think that the charm of her story goes beyond my personal experience.
There is a far-reaching allure to “Bonjour Tristesse,”one that captured France, that captured Europe, that captured my grandpa and that captured me.
It is Cécile’s endearing depiction of teenagehood that draws you in. She makes plots and questionable decisions, but all in hopes of doing right. She’s narcissistic and self-centered, but can we blame her? What is growth if not being able to look with fondness at a past version of yourself and say, “Yes, that was me”?
I am a teenager just as my grandpa once was, as Sagan and her readers once were.
Did my grandpa feel what I feel, I wonder? I’m not sure. So I’ll stop writing and call him — though there’ll be no round table or noise from the TV.
Anna Ripper Naigeborin PO ’28 is from São Paulo, Brazil. She has recently been into watching Éric Rohmer movies — and she turned 18 right after writing this article!
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