“The gentleman wasn’t a real man and I was so orchestrated that I’m in love with a boy who dominates me.”

I am 14 years old in this photo, taken in Bayonne, in front of the college, by a classmate, Veronique Simon – her name is written on the back of the photo. This denim jacket I picked up was one of the first pieces where I felt less rags, while until now it was my mother who was basically wearing my clothes: skirts, itchy sweaters, lingerie, sweaters…I dreamed of escaping. It was a time of adolescence that was kind of massive, sticky boredom. The circle of friends was small, and quarrels and heartbreaks always seemed appalling.

Fortunately, the sea was three-quarters of an hour away by bike or twenty minutes on a motorbike, like an escape. I joined some surfer friends there. I’ve listened to the music I’ve recorded on cassette tapes: David Bowie, Duran Duran, SuperTrump, orchestral maneuvers in the dark, whose name we pronounce in our Bayonne accent. And then of course the treatment I went to see at a prom in Bordeaux, the frizzy hair, the kohl eyes. I was also a fan of local rock bands – one of them was called Les Suppositoires! I read a lot of science fiction stories, Solaris by Stanislav Lim or novels by René Barjavel, such as reckless traveler Which means a lot to me.

“It was a time after sexual liberation and before AIDS, when we were commanded to sleep very early, when it was absolutely necessary to be a liberated woman, as Marie Claire told us my mother would buy.”

During this period, between 1983 and 1986, I recorded about fifteen audio tapes that served as my diary. In 2010, I came back to it. These are shameful hours of idiocy: “Machine didn’t invite me to his party.” And love is the main theme. But there I found the moving soundtrack of the house: my mother’s heel tapped on the floor tiles, the parrots in the kitchen, the sheep in the meadow, the neighbour’s rooster…it was the language. You hear me say new words – charismatic, narcissistic, mystical… – I don’t know how to use them yet. Or repeat the pseudo-philosophical approach that a boy told me to astonish me.

At first, I was very much listening to myself again, and quite frankly. Then I realized I had enough hindsight to discover magic in him, and that was a starting point for cleaves. In this novel I wanted to present an era and the language of that era. It was a time after sexual liberation and before AIDS, when we were commanded to go to bed at a very young age, when it was absolutely necessary to be a liberated woman, we are told. Marie Claire My mother used to buy it.

Read also: We were that child

Men had to dominate sexual performance. The gentleman was not a real gentleman and I, I have been so groomed that I adore the boy who has controlled me. His school career was mixed, he was 18 and had a driver’s license – we often crossed the Spanish border to go clubbing.

Today, those ’80s, which for me don’t have anything vague about them, fascinate my children. My son and daughter take a jacket from my forty-year-old, with dolman sleeves. My daughter picked up her old Bowie ribbons and slipped her cartoon jacket off let’s go dancing In the case of his smartphone. When they are in my childhood home, they are amazed: “But there was no Internet?” » Their adolescence, which was not far from TikTok, had nothing to do with me. But it may be the subject of a novel. I’m thinking about it now.

cleaves Written by Rudolf Tissot, based on the novel by Marie Dariusek. June 10 at 8:55 PM or watch the replay on arte.tv through September 7. cleaves By Marie Dariusek, Folio, 336 pages, 8.20 €.

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