MARLENE :: Philippe Djian

A version of this review previously appeared in Shelf Awareness and is republished here with permission.

Philippe Djian's Marlene begins ambiguously with a man named Dan breaking down a door behind which Mona has locked herself. The initial section, entitled "Girl," is but a few short paragraphs long, beginning a crisp yet dreamlike trip through five lives torn apart by war, secrets and betrayal. It is eventually revealed that Mona is the angst-ridden 18-year-old daughter of Richard and Nath, and is staying with Dan due to trouble at home. Dan and Richard are bonded combat veterans, serving and saving each other's lives in Iraq, Afghanistan and Yemen, each struggling to return to "normal" life.

The difficulties faced by veterans is a theme grimly underlying the whole of Marlene. Dan lives with an "indispensable vigilance" and dedication to structure that keep him contained but still can't tamp his night terrors. Richard exists at the other end of the spectrum--drinking, driving and spending to excess, seeking thrills in schemes fraught with danger. Mona returns home from Dan's just as Richard is released from a stint in jail. Then Nath's estranged sister, Marlene, comes to town looking for a fresh start, lighting the fuse on a powder keg yearning for ignition.

Djian (Oh…, winner of the Prix Interallié) writes in a lean style that is both smooth and abrupt, almost as if the translation is off, even as it understands how every word and short section is intentional and effective. A slim volume, Marlene begs to be read in one tense sitting.