Leïla Sebbar

Paris, 17 October 1961: Tens of thousands of French Algerians descended upon Paris to engage in a peaceful protest against a curfew imposed upon them by Maurice Papon, the infamous Prefect of Police. The curfew was a response to a bombing campaign against the French police by members of the Algerian National Liberation Front (FLN) during their resistance movement near the end of the Algerian war for independence, which took place between 1954 and 1962. Papon, who would later be convicted and imprisoned for his role in the deportation of over 1600 French Jews to concentration camps during the Second World War, vowed to suppress the Algerian resistance once and for all, and planned a coordinated and brutal response against the illegal protest, promising his troops that they would not be prosecuted for their actions. Algerian protesters by the thousands, including women and children, were beaten unconscious or shot, and their bodies were dumped into the Seine, resulting in several hundred deaths. The massacre did not receive much coverage in the French or international press, and historical accounts of the war have suppressed or ignored what happened on that day.

My full review is in issue 10 of Belletrista: http://www.belletrista.com/2011/Issue10/reviews_15.php… (mais)

Mildred Mortimer's introduction to this novel calls it an anamnesis...a memory. It's a perfect term since, despite the fictional nature of the plot, the story serves to establish a communal recollection of October 17, 1961 when Parisian police killed perhaps as many as 200 peacefully-demonstrating Algerians, many of whose bodies were hurled into the Seine. Notwithstanding the enormity of the event, the government remained close-lipped about it and the press largely declined to cover it.

Amel is a young French woman of Algerian descent. She knows that her grandparents were imprisoned by the French for dissidence but they have always declined to tell her what happened. When she finally learns the truth from a documentary file produced by a friend, she and an Algerian acquaintance, Omer, take a tour through Paris, visiting the sites that figured both in the events of that day and the Algerian war for independence in general.

The story draws explicit parallels between the actions of Algerian citizens reacting to the de Gaulle administration’s oppressions, and French citizens reacting to those of the Nazi administration. For example, in an attempt to materialize memory, Omer uses graffiti to extend the plaques on monuments, memorializing the Algerian protestors alongside the memories of the French protestors.

Sebbar accomplishes her objective, illuminating an event that should never have been hidden. It is not an easy task to get through it, however. Sebbar’s style is deliberately opaque. People speak in fragments. Conversations are jammed together without benefit of paragraphs or any direct indication of who is speaking. One must read closely and then re-read in order to be certain who is expressing which thought. I couldn’t find any particular meaning in this choice and it struck me as unnecessary.

In the final balance, this is a book worth trying if you are interested in Algeria or the backdrop of French colonial history, but I wish she had made it slightly more accessible.… (mais)

I find anthologies to be hit-and-miss, as I also find memoirs of childhood. As a youngest child, I was surrounded by adults at all times, and the ones I was around the most--my parents--were middle-aged adults, not interested in children (as a group, I mean; they were always interested in children as people). The world of adults always seemed much freer and more enticingly mysterious to me than what I had access to as a child. I view childhood as more of a time of confusion, lack of knowledge, and a lack of power than I do a time of discovery. So childhood narratives are not inherently interesting to me, unless the child is made to be a particularly interesting character.

This long introduction is meant to say that while this anthology had an interesting array of writers (including Helene Cixous), a good range of stories and experiences (from discovery of social inequality to first-hand experiences of war and environmental disasters), it all blurred together for me.… (mais)