Invisible Ink
by Patrick Modiano
(Translated from the French by Mark Polizzotti)
A review
It’s as if all this was already written in
invisible ink. How does the dictionary define it? “Ink, colourless when first
used, that darkens when treated with a given substance.” Perhaps, at the turn
of a page, what was set down in invisible ink will gradually emerge, and the
questions I’ve been asking myself for so long about Nöelle Lefebvre’s
disappearance, as well as the reason I’ve been asking myself those questions,
will be resolved with the precision and clarity of a police report. In a neat
hand which looks like mine, explanations will be provided in minutest detail,
the mysteries cleared up. And perhaps this will allow me, once and for all, to
better understand myself.
In October, Yale University Press, in collaboration
with the Margellos World Republic of Letters, will be publishing Patrick Modiano’s
latest work, Encre sympathique, in a lovely English translation by Mark
Polizzotti. In this novella, the Nobel-Prizewinner
explores the themes of identity, memory and the past. These are time-honoured subjects in literature,
to which Modiano himself has repeatedly returned, turning them into a sort of leitmotif
of his oeuvre.
The narrator of Invisible Ink, to give
the novella its English title, is one Jean Eyben who, thirty years before he
sets out to recount his story, worked for a stint with a detective agency in
Paris. One of the cases in which he was
then involved was the disappearance of a young woman, Noëlle Lefebvre. The facts which his boss, Hutte, provided him
with were scant, and Eyben’s attempts at discovering the whereabouts of the
elusive Noëlle soon drew a blank – so much so that he started to doubt whether the
subject of his investigation did exist at all.
This notwithstanding, the case intrigued Eyben
enough for him to take the file with him when he quit the job. Eyben has got on with his life, but every so
often, he returns to the Lefebvre file and has a go at solving the mystery. With the passage of time, the days of his
youth becoming increasingly distant, Eyben’s efforts to fill the blanks in the
investigation lead him to question his own memories and impressions.
Indeed, there is much that is tentative in the
narration – Eyben himself admits that his account does not follow any formal
order. At one point he states that he
must force himself to respect chronology as much as possible so as not to “get
lost in those spaces where memory blurs into forgetting”. Soon after, however, he gives up – “it’s
impossible to draw up that sort of calendar after such a long time… memories
occur as the pen flies. You shouldn’t force them, but just write”. He then reveals that he has “never
respected chronological order… Present and the past blend together in a kind of
transparency, and every instant I lived in my youth appears to me in an eternal
present, set apart from everything.”
The title of the novel (as well as certain plot
elements such as the thin, uninformative file and the few vague entries in Nöelle’s
day book) become a metaphor for memories
which, besides often being few and incomplete, tend to eventually disappear. Like invisible ink, they may return if given
the right nudge.
Towards the end, the narrative shifts to the
third person, and the setting moves from Paris to Rome. In this part of the
book, Modiano shows that being a “literary author” (for want of a better
description) need not be at the expense of good, old-fashioned storytelling. The
ending – poetic and moving, almost bordering on the sentimental – provides a
satisfying solution to the mystery at the heart of the novella. At the same time, aptly for a work on the transience
of memory, Invisible Ink leaves us with plenty of loose ends – certainly
enough to leave the narrative clouded in a metaphorical fog. The few certainties we acquire are
hard-earned but thrilling, like a ray of light breaking through the haze among
the mountains of Eyben’s youth.
Hardcover, 176 pages
Expected publication: October 27th 2020 by Yale University Press
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