‘Jealousy’ was one of the first (and the best) novels of the ‘nouveau For Robbe- Grillet readers had become lazy and were used to being. Published in , as the nouveau roman was rising on the Parisian liter- ary scene, Alain Robbe-Grillet’s novel La Jalousie [Jealousy] produced in many of its . Complete summary of Alain Robbe-Grillet’s Jealousy. eNotes plot summaries cover all the significant action of Jealousy.

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If you are a seller for this product, would you like to suggest updates through seller support? Gradually the reader becomes aware of vast numbers of repetitive passages that represent either humdrum routines or jealusy and fantasies by the narrator. Does he suspect she is having an affair? Friend comes over for dinner.

‘Jealousy’ by Robbe-Grillet

The four hands are lying in a row, motionless. Amazon Music Stream millions of songs. Fortunately, he has been a true and loyal grullet to me while we’ve been in the colony. The form is only serving the story.

Alain Robbe-Grillet and Jealousy | CR

And throughout the novel the detail continues, expressed in a kind of mechanical drawing length-and-width language, descriptions overwhelmingly visual, as if outlining specifics for a film crew to construct a set and do a filming. The left hand, which loosely confines the hair between the wrist, the palm and the fingers, releases it for a second and then closes on it again, gathering the strands together with a firm, mechanical gesture, while the brush continues its course to the extreme tips of the hair.

At least you’re not indiscreet enough to bring them home with you!

I had hoped that your promiscuity would end when we left Paris and assumed the burden of managing the family’s banana interests. So why waste my precious hours on this trash? As I read further and further, I became increasingly anxious, but cannot come anywhere close to explaining how Robbe-Grillet managed to take me there.


Jealousy: Alain Robbe-Grillet, Richard Howard, Tom McCarthy: : Books

You are commenting using your Facebook account. The final letter we see A It seems like it might just be one sequence: As Jealousy nears its end, A I am only grateful we have had no children. I also disagree with […].

This is why I don’t like to read books that are out of my comfort zone Notify me of new comments via email. I hope so, because I have proved almost as insensitive as a French classicist reacting to the Romantic movement between and In fact, the only positive remark I can make regarding this book is that there are times when it does an impressive job of conjuring its lone setting; it made me feel as though I had been transported to an exotic, albeit claustrophobic and disturbing, location somewhere beyond the limits of reality.

I also hoped that we could put your youthful affair with Franck behind us.

Franck complains about car troubles, swats dead an enormous caterpillar, the two discuss a book they are reading and make plans to go to a port town several hours away for shopping. What does the man who the narrator notes is bending down gazing into the shallow perhaps muddy water symbolize? Jealousy and In the Labyrinth. It does not explode, this language, or explore, nor it is obliged to charge upon the object and pluck from the very heart of its substance the one ambiguous name that will sum it up forever.

On the far side of the valley, toward Franck’s house, is a patch in which the narrator tells us, using language reminiscent of Othello’s, that “confusion has gained the ascendancy. But I never got that impression while reading it.


He plays with repetition. Let us know what you have to say: In the interview with Obrist, Robbe-Grillet claimed that, whereas the novels of Balzac or Dickens do not require readers since they perform all the latter’s work themselves, his own writing calls for active readers who will piece everything together.

His early work was praised by eminent critics such as Roland Barthes and Maurice Blanchot. And yet, it is a chilling feeling.

Quite the tobbe, in fact. Having read none of his other books, my only prior experience with Robbe-Grillet’s work had been in the realm of cinema: It has only four characters apart from the narrator: The head leans to the right, offering the hair more readily to the brush. I have always loved you, but now I find that this letter is the only way I can and must express my love. Later, as they sit side by side, our attention is diverted to the metal ice bucket, “its lustre already frosted over.

What waits for us at the story’s climax, its gaze directed back toward our own, is a blind spot.

Through a meticulously–indeed, obsessively–described house set in the middle of a tropical banana plantation moves what filmmakers grilllet a POV, or point of view, a camera-and-mic-like “node” of seeing and hearing. There is very little dialogue and no inner-thoughts of the characters are ever provided.

Is the husband the omniscient third person narrator? They limit and shape our gaze.