“Absent”, by Marie Sizun: love in the shadows

Mysterious barricades is the title of a piece for harpsichord by François Couperin composed in 1717. Furthermore, A particular work which seems to turn on itself. Nevertheless, repetitive, fragmented with tiny breaths, infinite despite its brevity and whose sound continues in memory well after the last note. Nevertheless, The short flow, covering with iridescent waves the emotions mixed. Meanwhile, The cheerful, the sad, and the impulses of the heart.

“This music was the one you made me known, so long ago (…). Consequently, Of course it was beautiful our story, that it should not be abandoned, that I had to tell it. Similarly, »AbsentMarie Sizun’s new book is the tender, simple, attentive chronicle of a very “absent”, marie sizun: love shadows long passion. Nevertheless, That of a love of four decades. more, where the crazy radiation of the intimate, the embraces, the sweetness of the moments, are tormented of silence, of lack. That of two lovers that only death will have managed to move away. A “Adulterous adventure that will have lasted so many years. Violent and miraculous. Guilty and innocent “.

They met in their thirties, both teachers in Germany. She recently divorced, married him for the worst: a rough wife and two children with mental disorders. He will never leave them. However, begins, and is rooted, a perennial connection, resistant to reason, to judgments. Devoured of guilt, he will seek to break. Exhausted with compromise, gossip, assault, she will resolve to retreat. But from Karlsruhe to Brussels, then in Paris, together, distant, constantly united, they will continue to live their inexhaustible thunderbolt. “The madness was that we “absent”, marie sizun: love shadows held too much to the other to lose ourselves. »»

Happiness of stolen moments – "absent", marie sizun: love shadows

Marie Sizun writes in the first person a letter to “absent”. A letter to episodes, soap opera of back and forth between memories and the reality of days of mourning, loneliness. It is the farewell torn off. a breath, the last one, on the phone in the hospital, thanks to the complicity of a nurse, the funeral she attended, far from the family. But it is above all the meticulous embroidery of constantly shared moments. the happiness of the stolen moments, which miles, intertwine, and which have made this life, strangely common, so intense, fragile, worried, absolute.

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