PARIS LETTER
119
of her own life--she determines to attempt to define them. And
iO
each one is put into a pigeonhole: one is an overambitious woman,
another lacks intelligence and is in love with her husband; among the
men, one
i.~
dubbed an unsuccessful writer, another a middle-aged cynic.
Her characters remain silhouettes; and what is worse, nothing ever
happens to them.
It
is now possible to analyze the strange phenomenon that consti–
tutes the success of Franc;oise Sagan. Can it be laid to the quality of
her books?
If
not, then how explain it? We may perhaps learn the
answer when we examine the publishing figures of
Dans un mais, dans
un an
some months hence.
If
this book reaches the 500,000 mark, then
the literary critics will definitely have to withdraw in favor of the
public opinion experts.
One thing
is
certain, however; it is not a novel that will shock
anyone. Fran«oise Sagan is no longer eighteen. Few now would question
her right to talk about men and women in bed. What shocked moralistic
people was not that she talked about these matters too baldly but at
an age, it would seem, when one should remain silent about them.
This time the devotees of literary scandal will be disappointed.
But if they look around they will find cause for indignation else–
where, though of a quite different kind. Actually, is it so very different?
This is the story. Early in the summer, a young writer, Jacques Lanz–
mann, who had previously published a novel or two of mildly humorous
intent, brought out a book entitled
Cuir de Russie (Russian Leather) .
It was little more than an account of a cruise that included stops in
Greece, Turkey, and, lastly, in the Crimea. And what, precisely, did
Jacques Lanzmann see in the Crimea? Nothing out of the ordinary,
really: people, most of them on vacation and finding it tedious; cities,
such as one finds everywhere, with some rich neighborhoods and some
poor ones. All the same, he did meet some Armenians who regretted
having left France for a Socialist country, and who were counting on
Mr. Pineau, who had shown such understanding when he was in the
USSR on his trip, to help them get back into France. But actually,
Jacques Lanzmann, whose curiosity does not always run to intellectual
matters, and because he didn't think he could find out a great deal about
Russia, anyway, in just a week, decided that he would avoid generalities
and give a first-hand report on some facet of Russian life. And so,
looking around for a subject during one of his stops in the Crimea, he
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a..
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made love to her, and for the
~e
price
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ruu\es)
wa~
allowed to get drunk. The girl was neither good-
