Initially this appears to be a beautifully presented novel based on the possessions of a woman who once lived in the early 1900s (experiencing both World Wars), in Paris. The graphic reproductions of items owned by Louise Brunet, which came into the author’s possession as a young girl, are reproduced in a high-class manner. Unfortunately, this story also contains some troubling characteristics which ruined the experience for this reader.
In the early 1980s, the author’s mother salvaged a small box of mementos formerly owned by Mrs. Brunet: “This box is the sepulcher of Louise Brunet’s heart. The story behind the objects is lost; the objects are now the story… As I have carried this strange box through life and across the world, I have always intended to make a book out of it. This book now exists; you hold it in your hands.”
It is a charming and promising premise – fleshing out an unknown life via the author’s imagination. A great deal of the content involves the lives of French people, men and women, during World War I. The read is initially quite engaging as we encounter an American historical researcher-professor, living in the present day, who comes across Mrs. Brunet’s possessions and begins – as he charts out the happenings of her life – to fall in love with her. It will be an unrequited love except for the fact that through a miracle of time travel he comes to meet her face to face. Having met Mrs. Brunet, the researcher is essentially freed to fall in love with a woman of his own time.
All of this has a Somewhere in Time or The Time Traveler’s Wife aspect to it, which seems wonderful on its face. And yet, the Louise Brunet that the reader comes to identify with in the first half of the novel turns into a madwoman in its concluding portion. This is a happily married woman – a woman who has never had a child – who engages in an affair with a married neighbor, knowing full well that it is wrong and that she takes the chance of getting pregnant; something that would destroy her marriage and world.
This female protagonist also engages in crimes and enjoys confessing her sins to a Catholic priest, to the point where she laughs hysterically after confessing her adultery. It all seems strange and disjointed, as if the two halves of the novel do not fit together properly. But this is not the biggest issue with the telling.
“She does not understand the power of that man’s body over her… He is like a poison in her, all the more potent because she doesn’t want an antidote. She welcomes this disease of desire.”
The major problem with 13 rue Therese is that the sex scenes are described in terms more than a bit reminiscent of Lady Chatterley’s Lover – rude, crude and shocking. The polite language of an earlier time gives way to terms that appear to be deliberately intended to shock the once comfortable reader. Perhaps this was done deliberately as an attempt to demonstrate the lack of control that overtakes Louise, a woman ready to destroy her life for a man she’s attracted to even while she does not understand that attraction.
In summary, 13 rue Therese is like one of those schizophrenic films (the movie version of Steve Martin’s Shopgirl comes to mind) that is quite pleasurable for the first hour, but hard to watch for the second. This is a novel with great potential that simply self-destructs, and concludes in a rather mundane fashion. It’s a pity.
A review copy was provided by the publisher. This novel was released today.