Suspended Sentences: Three Novellas by Patrick Modiano

Misty watercolor memories of Paris without much direction or conclusion

French author Patrick Modiano won the 2014 Nobel Prize in Literature. The book Suspended Sentences, published that same year, is an English-language collection of three of Modiano’s novellas that were first published in French in 1988, 1991, and 1993. The three works are not related, as in a series, but they do bear some similarities. All are narrated by an unnamed writer, probably not intended to be the same unnamed writer in all three cases, but it’s not difficult to imagine them being one and the same. All three novellas are set in Paris, which is not just an arbitrary setting but a sense of place integral to the narrative. All involve the narrator looking back on his past, coming to terms with bygone losses, harbored regrets, and unsolved mysteries, and reconciling the differences between memory and reality.

In the first novella, “Afterimage,” the narrator befriends a photographer after a chance meeting in a Parisian cafe. He volunteers to catalog all of the artist’s existing photographs, and in doing so becomes involved in the lives of some of the subjects depicted in them. The photographer, on the other hand, has no interest in cementing his career in history, but rather opts for a physically and spiritually nomadic lifestyle of living for the present. When the photographer leaves France, never to return, the narrator is left to piece together his life, resulting in an exploration of the intersections between life, memory, and art.

The title selection, “Suspended Sentences,” is narrated by an adult man remembering his youth. While his mother is off performing in a traveling circus, he and his little brother were sent to a suburb of Paris to stay with his aunt and the two women with whom she lives. The narrator recites the details of his daily life and conversations with these women and their gentlemen friends. New characters are needlessly introduced on almost every page, and the story isn’t very interesting. There are hints of something deeper going on beneath the surface—love affairs? criminal activity?—but the payoff comes late and too little. This renders the narration rather unrealistic since why would anyone tell a story of their life in such a deadpan, unrevealing way without highlighting the aspects of the story that might actually make it interesting to the listener.

In the final selection, “Flowers of Ruin,” the writer/narrator looks back on his memories of living in a particular Parisian neighborhood in the 1960s, while also recalling a murder that took place there in the 1930s. He remembers acquaintances that he knew in his younger days, people with mysterious pasts into which he digs like a tenacious detective. None of these investigations, however, ever amount to much. The prose is largely a list of streets and buildings. Parisian writers often write for Parisian readers, as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Many New York writers are also guilty of this, but not quite to the extent of their French counterparts. For Modiano’s Parisian readers, the mention of a particular avenue or arrondissement may bring up a wealth of associations, preconceptions, and historical baggage. I, on the other hand, being merely a tourist, often felt like I was reading a road atlas.

None of these novellas really have endings; instead they just come to a halt at arbitrary stopping points. Are these really novellas, or are they just unfinished, rough sketches of novels? They read more like the latter than the former. This is my first experience reading Modiano’s fiction. Perhaps he is a fantastic novelist worthy of his Nobel Prize, but these vague short sketches certainly can’t be his best work.

Novellas in this collection

Afterimage

Suspended Sentences

Flowers of Ruin

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