Friday, March 03, 2017
Pierrot Mon Ami by Raymond Queneau
Pierrot had no particular opinion on public morals, or the future of civilization. No one had ever told him that he was intelligent. He had frequently been told, rather, that he behaved like an idiot or that he bore some resemblance to the moon.
When you have a past, Vovonne, you'll realize what an odd thing it is. In the first place, there's whole chunks of it that have caved in: absolutely nothing left. Elsewhere, there's weeds that've grown haphazard, and you can't recognize anything there either. And then there's places that you think are are so beautiful that you give them a fresh coat of paint every year, sometimes in one color, sometimes in another, and they end up not looking in the least like what they were. Not counting the things we thought very simple and unmysterious when they happened, but which years later we discover aren't so obvious, like sometimes you pass a thing every day and didn't notice it and then all of a suddent you see it.