On Amelie Nothomb’s “The life of hunger”
Vertiginous.Visceral.Exhilarant.Dazzling. Nothomb.
From the very first sentence, Amelie eloquently grabs the attention of all of your senses. This book is like no other. You can perhaps call it an autobiography, or an autofiction as some french people say, but I personally find it extremely unfair to even try to categorize it. It’s one of those pieces of art that speak for themselves, that don’t want nor need a headline. The prose is unmatched, and Amelie’s candor and frankness are like a flaming ball of fire that cracks your skin open, leaving a fissure where every single word walks right in. There is no trembling in her voice. No fear or doubt. No cul de sacs on the narrative, but a very straightforward highway instead. She is poetically blunt, and her wicked humor asks for no permission.
She was born in Brussels, but quickly became a citizen of the World due to her father’s job: a diplomat. Having such diverse environments to develop, being fed in many words and meals, her upbringing was so particular from other kids. From Pekín to New York,Bangladesh and Maoist China, she narrates how her body and mind and everything that is born from it evolved. She gives us a pinpoint insight to the most profound and superficial aspects of her soul and senses.
The primary focus and driven theme in this book, just like in the famous Kafka story “A hunger Artist”, is (oh what a surprise! ) hunger. Hunger, but spreaded out, unraveled. Hunger in all of its shapes and forms. From H to R, from body to soul, we see and read it all. And of course, with her being so passionate, we can also perceive the extremes and consequences of it. Intelligence, anorexia,alcohol,desserts,water. An auto proclaimed Übermensch but with a twist: she is a “surfaim”. Her appetite and not appetite take us on a trip through the first two decades of her life.
A philosophical skeleton gives structure to her storytelling, inviting us to meditate on our own life. Also, the dichotomy of her mature writing but very precise depiction of a child’s mind makes you feel like maybe she is a child, but then you read big words and complex meditations that are definitely coming from an adult, reassuring her wit and clever voice.
There is tough, a notorious shift between childhood and adolescence. She goes from “a desire greater than desire” to “How good it felt to exist without pride or ambition. To live in hibernation”. This contraposition is not something inconceivable for the reader, because we humans know about the thin line that separates extremes. They are also compatible with the ambiance that surrounds her, like tiresom China or extravagant New York. And compatible with life itself. Absurd, rocky, exceptional.
I felt specially connected to many of the portraitures she states, which made the reading even more sentimental and nerve racking. To finish this attempt of review, I’ll quote something very Nothombist : "If God ate, he would eat sugar ... Is it not enough to have some very good chocolate in your mouth, not only to believe in God, but also to feel that one is in his presence? God isn't chocolate, he's the encounter between chocolate and a palate capable of appreciating it. God was me in a state of pleasure or potential pleasure: therefore he was me all the time."