Wow. This book floored me. On its own, it’s an incredibly engaging and well-written novel. However, it’s rendered so much more impressive when you factor in how young Françoise Sagan was when she wrote it. The uniqueness of a teenage author writing this narrative centered on the interpersonal relationships and teen angst of an adolescent girl the same age gives Bonjour Tristesse an authenticity that isn’t always prevalent in literature. Despite the narrator’s sometimes rude persona (eg. “I did feel vaguely uncomfortable in the presence of anyone completely devoid of physical charm. Their resignation to the fact that they were unattractive seemed to me somehow indecent” [8]), I admire her level of self-awareness. She knows who she is, and she also knows that her opinions and sense of self will shift over time (eg. “At the time, I believed what I said but I must admit that I was only repeating what I had heard. […] it was quite likely that in a month’s time I would have entirely different opinions on any given subject” [32-33]). I fluctuated from wanting to give the protagonist a big hug to wanting to chastise her.

I think growing up without a mother, and then without a father when she was sent to a convent school, rendered Cécile afraid of love and attachment. We see this through her relationship with Cyril, in which she seems to be suspended in the space between loving him, and enjoying how much he loves her (eg. “Cyril came up to me and put his hand on my arm. I looked at him: I had never loved him! I had found him sweet and attractive. I had loved the pleasure he gave me, but I did not need him” [127]). This is likely partially attributed to the lifestyle that she’s witnessed of her father since he took her out of convent school a few years earlier (eg. “Late into the night we talked of love, of its complications. In my father’s eyes they were all imaginary. He refused categorically all ideas of fidelity or serious commitments. He explained that they were arbitrary and sterile. […] This conception of quick, tempestuous and passing love affairs I found enticing. I was not at the age when fidelity is attractive” [11]). However, despite this aversion to attachment, she remains close with her father, whom she knows very well; she knows Anne would be good for both of them, but she’s not ready to let her father and their carefree way of living go. Anne is the maternal figure she’s never had, and therefore doesn’t know how to act around. Anne isn’t afraid to call her out on the shortcomings Cécile is already quite aware of, and this makes her disgust toward herself redirect to Anne (eg. “it was this I held against Anne: she kept me from liking myself. I, who was naturally meant for happiness and gaiety, had been forced by her into self-criticism and a guilty conscience. Unaccustomed to introspection, I was completely lost” [52]).

Françoise Sagan does a magnificent job of bringing readers right into the head of the protagonist; I felt all of her fear, hurt, and anger as she experienced it. There were parts of the novel where I was actually mad at Anne, just as Cécile is. I think her wanting her fiancee and his daughter to lead a healthier lifestyle makes sense, especially since Cécile is young and impressionable. However, she wasted no time exercising what I believe to be an unnecessary level of control. For instance, forbidding Cécile from seeing Cyril, the semi-frequent slapping, and the all-around condescending attitude (eg. “Your ideas are fashionable, but you don’t know what you are talking about” [32]). I don’t think the protagonist was right in concocting and executing her plan to derail her father’s marriage, but it’s evident the events that lead to Cécile’s desperation for nothing to change; it’s also clear how conflicted she remains throughout (eg. “Neither anger nor desire had ever worked so strongly in me as my longing at that moment for utter defeat. My one wish was to give up all my plans and put myself entirely into her hands for the rest of my life” [79]). She loves Anne, but she is also terrified of losing her father, as well as her sense of self.

The ending of the novel devastated me. It seemed to come out of left field, but looking back, perhaps the part where they’re driving back from dinner with the Webbs and Raymond takes his hands off the wheel and Cécile thinks “For heaven’s sake, not on the Corniche!” (103) was foreshadowing Anne’s imminent demise. I also think it’s interesting that Cécile entertains the idea of it not being an accident, Anne having actually committed suicide (eg. Anne had made us the magnificent present of allowing us to believe it an accident. A dangerous spot on the road, a car that easily lost balance. It was a gift that we would soon be weak enough to accept.” [126]).

Now, my question is, did you sympathise with Cécile at all, as I did?