«JI would like to expand my kinship from my own stories, to connect them to worlds as far away as possible, […] to look far from myself, in other cultures, other myths, and sew it all together.” In the middle of her short first novel, Louise Bentkowski, born in 1988, director, scenographer and performer, describes her project, carried out with grace and fantasy.
A sensitivity that takes hold all along
“I will move forward by naive analogies,” warns the narrator, very close to the author, endowed like her with the surname Bentkowski, which is also the name of a valley. From the Poles to the Inuits, she weaves her imaginary constellation, goes looking for herself elsewhere and far in time, often addressing her great-great-grandchild. Carried, from one song to another by this rhapsody – literally from the Greek “sewing of songs” –, this chronicle of all times, where Louise Michel, Saint Francis of Assisi or Nina Simone parade, is made of “I was told”, of “I read”.
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A few facilities here and there are immediately covered by the sensitivity which takes hold throughout and imposes itself on the subject of an unfinished sentence in the notebook of Uncle Victor, who died at Dachau: “Is it hanging in the air until someone swallows it?” I whistle to bring back the end of Victor’s sentence.
EXTRACT “I too am an orphan, an infertile and a good mother. […] Read more
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