The French Fictional Journal: Fictional Narcissism/Narcissistic Fiction 9781487574567

Citation preview

is a member of the Department of French at the University of British Columbia.

VALERIE RAOUL

Unlike other forms of fictional first-person narrative such as the memoir or epistolary novel, the French fictional journal or diarynovel has received inadequate critical attention. This is the first full-length analysis devoted to its particular features. Valerie Raoul bases her study on the premise that the interest of the fictional journal lies in its subjugation of one set of conventions, those of the diary, to another set, those of the novel, and the interference of each of those 'codes' in the functioning of the other. In this context she discusses more than fifty novels or short stories wholly or partly in diary form and written in France between 1.800 and the present. In the first part of the book she deals with the fictivity of the diary-novel. Philippe Lejeune's work on the functioning of autobiography serves as a point of comparison to elucidate the distinctive reading pact involved in this aspect of first-person fiction. The second part analyses the internal communication model: on this intradiegetic level the fictional diarist is narrator, actor, and narratee. In the third part, an abstract model is developed to illustrate the functioning of the fictional journal as a bi-textual form of communication, in which the internal communication process is a mise en abyme of the external one between author, character, and reader. The personal narcissism of the 'intimiste' is seen to give way in the fictional 'journal intime' to narcissistic fiction, since diary-novels are always the narration of the production of a 'recit.' This book is an important investigation into the very nature of fiction and the meaning of the activity of writing. It not only fills an important gap in the appreciation of French prose, but also adds to the comprehension of personal narrative in particular and narrative discourse in general.

The French Fictional Journal: Fictional Narcissism / Narcissistic Fiction

Valerie Raoul

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS TORONTO BUFFALO LONDON

© University of Toronto Press 1980 Toronto Buffalo London Printed in Canada Reprinted in 2018 ISBN 0-8020-5497-8 ISBN 978-1-4875-8522-8 (paper)

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Raoul, Valerie, 1941The French fictional journal (University of Toronto romance series ; 40 ISSN 0082-5336) Bibliography: p. Includes index. ISBN 0-8020-5497-8 French fiction - History and criticism. French diaries - History and criticism. 3. Fiction, Autobiographic- History and criticism. 4. Narcissism in literature. 1. Title. 11 . Series: University of Toronto. University of Toronto romance series; 40. 1. 2.

This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, and a grant from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation to the University of Toronto Press

Contents

Introduction / vii Acknowledgements/ xi PART 1

THE JOURNAL AND THE NOVEL

1

Fact, Fake, and Fiction/ 3

2

Fictivity: Structure and Code/

12

3 Fictivity: The Fictional 'lntimiste' / 26 PART 2

THE JOURNAL IN THE NOVEL

4 'Dedoublement': I, Me, to Myself/ 35 5 The Chronograph: Time/ 46 6 The .Chronograph: Writing/ 60 PART

3

THE NOVEL IN THE JOURNAL

7 The Model / 71 8 The Archetype: Chardonne's Eva I 77 9 Variants/ 91 Conclusion / 103

vi / Contents

Appendixes 1

Previous Critical Comment on the Fictional Journal/ 105

2

French Fictional Journals in Chronological Order/ 114

Notes I 117 Bibliography / 144 Indexes Author Index/ 155 Subject Index / 15 9

Introduction

Unlike other forms of fictional first-person narration such as the memoir or epistolary novel, the fictional journal or diary-novel has not been the object of much critical attention. In fact, no full-length study devoted to its particular features has yet been published. References to this form in works on the real journal tend to see it as an inferior offshoot or imitation of the latter and studies of the diachronic devdopment of the novel neglect it. Even analyses of technique often treat it as a sub-genre of the epistolary novel. Reaction to individual novels in journal form and to authors who show an inclination for this type of narration has frequently been pejorative or even hostile. The fictional journal has been derided on the one hand as a poor substitute for the real thing, on the other as a facile form for second-rate writers of fiction , producing novels hardly worthy of the name. 1 These reactions stem from divergent views regarding the nature of the real diary, or of the novel, and the relationship between them in the fictional journal. However, this study is based on the premise thatthe interest of this particular form lies precisely in its subjugation of one set of conventions, those of the diary, to another set, those of the novel, and the interference of each of these 'codes' in the functioning of the other. I found only one article devoted exclusively to the fictional journal - by Gerald Prince, entitled: 'The Diary Novel: Notes for the Definition of a Sub-genre.' As the title suggests, the author proffers ideas, rather· than developing them. His tentative conclusion is that the diary-novel is primarily concerned with writing. 2 Beatrice Didier, in a study of real diaries, approaches the latter from the same point of view. 3 I propose to examine the functioning of a form in which writing is present on two levels: that of the author, who actually produces a written text over a period of time - the novel - and that of the fictional narrator, who is depicted as performing a similar activity, but producing a different type of text - a journal. In this dual perspective, the fictional journal is considered from two

viii / Introduction

viewpoints. The first is the hermeneutic one, concerned with the novel and its reception by a reader. From this point of view the text is seen as the concrete means of communication between author and reader. This aspect is treated in Part 1, 'The Journal and the Novel.' Under this heading the fictivity of the works in question is examined - their ontological status and relationship to real journals. The comparison is based on the reader's initial assumptions about the message he is to decode, and the ways in which these and the subsequent decoding process are controlled by the encoder, that is, the author. Part 2 focuses on the internal functioning of the text, 'The Journal in the Novel.' This is confined to what Genette terms 'intradiegetic' elements. On this level the narrative situation within the fiction is considered, and the elements which combine to form the 'recit.' Problems of terminology inevitably arise when dealing with expressions such as 'fiction' or 'recit,' which are used with different meanings by various French literary theoreticians, and the problems are compounded when English equivalents are sought. Recit is used in Genette's sense of the textual record before us, and his use of 'histoire' is retained for the raw material on which the recit is based (called by some critics, notably Bremond, 'recit'). 4 I have avoided Ricardou' s use of 'fiction' in this sense, as that term is needed to define the ontological status of the characters and events in question . 'Narration' may refer to the process of enunciation on both extra- and intra-diegetic levels. However, 'narrator' designates the fictional diarist, as distinct from the author. French terms are retained throughout, and precise meanings are indicated in notes where necessary. The hermenutic and structural perspectives may be seen as complementary, rather than contradictory. They are both aspects of 'poetics,' if the latter is defined as 'une theorie de la structure et du fonctionnement du discours litteraire.' 5 Production and reception are equally essential. Extraliterary elements, such as the author's biography or neuroses, the society to which he belongs, or the ideology he espouses, are not considered here. The approach is also synchronic, although texts used as examples are from different periods. No bibllography of novels in diary form has been established for French or any other literature. Examples, apart from the most well known, are therefore not easily located, especially as titles often bear no reference to the journal form, while' journal de ... ' frequently denotes a work of non-fiction. The corpus of novels wholly or partly in journal form used here is not exhaustive, but as many examples as could be located were examined for possible variations of the form . The limitation to French examples is arbitrary, since this form exists in many languages. 6 It has the important effect of weighting the balance in favour of the 'journal intime,' as opposed to the chronicle-like diary or 'journal externe' associated more with English litera-

ix / Introduction

ture. 7 I have used the term 'journal' rather than 'diary' because of these connotations. However, I revert to 'diarist' or 'intimiste' in preference to 'journalist' because of the common use of the latter to designate a very different kind of writer. The definition of 'in time' in this context is not easy in spite of all that has been written on the subject. 8 Here it implies that the journal is mainly concerned with the narrator's personal, everyday life, and that it is initially written in private and for his own benefit, rather than for publication or for a particular addressee. Other types of journal have not been excluded a priori from consideration, but it is clear that the majority of diary-novels in French are modelled on the 'journal intime.' 9 The 'journal' side is easier to define. Although the narration may not be invariably 'diurnal,' it must be divided into frequent and relatively regular entries written soon after the events related, that is, the narrator must be in medias res All the examples used are written accounts. Krapp' s Last Tape is excluded only because it is a work of drama rather than fiction. As Didier points out, a new generation of 'intimistes' may resort to cassettes to record their reflections. 10 This possibility, which would necessitate a different kind of study of the role of writing, has not yet been realized in the novel, so we have no fictional point of comparison . Beckett's trilogy also bears some similarities to the journal form, but the chronological relationship between histoire and narration was not considered clear enough for it to be included in the fictional journal category. 11 Certain other works have been excluded because, although they depict an imaginary narrator making notes' au jour le jour,' there is no narrative thread running through his reflections. The account does not constitute a story composed of successive transformations perceived as causal and therefore forming a 'plot.' 12 Such is the case of Mirbeau's La 628-EB or Les vingt et un fours d'un neurasthenique. No restriction as to length was taken into account. Short stories such as Maupassant's 'Le Horla' or 'Fou,' Paul Adam's 'L'Ineluctable,' or Michel Tournier' s 'Amandine' are therefore included for consideration. The term fictional journal is consequently more appropriate than diary-novel. Novels containing a journal or excerpts, rather than wholly or mainly in diary form, have also been considered, although the latter are treated as the norm. From the perusal of a fairly large body of texts, seen from the two perspectives previously described, there emerges an image of the archetypal, hypothetical fictional journal. Part 3 constructs from its essential elements an abstract model for the functioning of the form . Adrian Marino suggests that such a model is provided by Rousset in his Narcisse romancier. 13 However, although Rousset's remarks on L'Emploi du temps are pertinent, such a model is not in fact developed by him. 14 In spite of the pitfalls of literary models, as indicated by Marino, and the limitations of linguistic terminology and methods when applied to literature, the model is based on

x / Introduction

grammatical concepts. 15 Of the novels considered, Jacques Chardonne' s Eva appeared to best represent the hypothetical archetype. This novel is analysed in detail, to show how the various elements of the model combine in a particular situation and context, before examining the effects of modification of the model in the final chapter. In the fictional journal the act of communication constituted by the novel embraces the intradiegetic act of communication represented by the journal. Each forms a commentary on the other, the fictional journal thus providing a unique illustration of the shifts between what Benveniste calls 'recit' and 'discours. ' 16 The diary-novel illuminates not only the personal narcissism of the journal form, but also the functioning of fiction, since there exists a dialectical relationship between the 'journal in the novel' and the 'novel in the journal.'

Acknowledgements

I wish to express my appreciation for the contribution of Andrew Oliver to this book's successful completion. His constant encouragement led me to develop several ideas which would otherwise have remained embryonic, and his judicious criticism of the manuscript was invaluable. I am also grateful to Brian Fitch for the time spent in fruitful dialogue on these and other issues, to Peter Nesselroth for my initiation into structuralism, and to other friends at the University of Toronto who were kind enough never to lose interest. This study is dedicated to Alain and Stephanie, in the hope that they have not suffered from being conceived and produced in competition with it, and to Yvon, without whom none of the three would have been possible. VR

1

Fact, Fake, and Fiction

IDENTIFYING FEATURES OF THE FICTIONAL JOURNAL

It is obvious that a form like the fictional journal does not exist in isolation, that it must be defined in relation to the 'real' journal, or to other types of fiction. Three main features of the real journal in time may be distinguished. The narrator writes in the first person, mainly about himself and primarily for himself. He writes 'au jour le jour,' that is, his account is concerned mainly with the recent past and the 'present' of narration, the future is unknown to him as he writes. He produces a written account, the journal. These three elements are also found in the fictional journal, on the intradiegetic level. The fictional narrator appears to perform the same activity as a real 'intimiste' in a similar situation. However, he does not actually produce the text which is before the reader. The three elements are also present, in different form, on the extradiegetic level. The author writes in someone else's name about that person, and always with the reader in mind. He produces a structured account, covering a limited period of time, dealing with an 'histoire' of which he has an overall view. He produces a written text, a novel. It is the intradiegetic narrative situation which distinguishes the fictional journal from other types of first-person fiction, and the extradiegetic one which differentiates it from the real journal. Its position may be clearly presented, paradigmatically. The first distinction {fiction/non-fiction) represents a difference of premise, on the initial vertical axis of selection. The other defining elements combine on the syntagmatic or horizontal axis to provide the complete paradigm of possibilities open to first-person fiction; the fictional journal emerges as one particular permutation. In the memoir or confession novel the narrator writes or speaks about himself, but with a retrospective viewpoint and an audience in mind. In the epistolary novel, the letter writers may talk about themselves, au jour le

4 / The French Fictional Journal

jour, but the narration is addressed to a particular reader. In the chronicle or 'journal externe' and the frame-story recounted by an 'I-witness,' the narrator may write in medias res, but he is neither the main protagonist nor the addressee. In the monologue interieur there is no narration on the intradiegetic level, since the protagonist ostensibly thinks for himself alone and produces no account of these thoughts, written or oral.

'I'

write

'in medias res'

+

+

+

(+)

epistolary novel

+

+

+

chronicle, frame-story

+

+

(+)

monologue interieur

+

fictional journal

+

real journal memoir novel, confession

+

+

about myself

+

+

for myself

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

( ) = often, but not always, the case The three intradiegetic structural components of the fictional journal - the narrator's divided self, time, and writing - are analysed in Part 2 . I will deal with the extradiegetic communication situation first, since the fictional context determines the ontological status, structure, and code of the works in question. PROBLEMS OF DEFINING FICTIVITY

The difference between fiction and non-fiction cannot be reduced to a simple true or false dichotomy. On the one hand, it has been claimed that all so-called 'autobiographical' writings are actually fiction; on the other, that all narration in the first person must be treated as 'real. ' Both these extreme positions need to be considered in relation to the diary form before attempting to establish a definition of 'fictivity' appropriate in this context. In the first place, one must concede that all autobiographical writings are composed of truth and fiction ('Dichtung und Wahrheit,' as Goethe entitled

5 I Fact, Fake, and Fiction

his autobiography). 'Fiction' in this sense implies a departure from the exact reproduction of reality, first because of the limitations of the form taken by the account. Obviously, 'II n'est pas possible de raconter une vie (inadequation des techniques narratives a leur objet).' 1 In addition to the initial limitations of the form adopted, the author is often ignorant of certain facts, suffers from illusions, or is incapable of comprehension even when he is as 'sincere' as possible. He may deceive or distort, consciously or not, in his attempt to create a self-image which tends to become, as many analysts of autobiography have established, a 'mythe personnel nevrotique,' a 'pseudo-double,' or 'selective Self,' ultimately an 'etre imaginaire compose avec des elements vivants empruntes a la nature et al' experience de l' auteur. ' 2 In addition to selectivity and deformation of the truth, the retrospective viewpoint of autobiography or memoirs allows the imposition of an overall perspective which may produce a text resembling a novel. Lejeune even claims at one point that autobiography is 'un cas particulier du roman et non pas quelque chose d' exterieur a lui. ' 3 It reflects in a written form the tendency we all have to make contingent incidents into 'adventures' or 'stories,' to introduce surreptitiously into our lives 'des procedes que justifient seules les lois de combinaison artistiques. ' 4 Whether one adopts the point of view that the tendency to narrate precedes its artistic expression, or the opposing one, that narrative qualities are transferred from art to life, this 'chicken-and-egg' situation is undeniably illustrated by autobiographical writings. 5 The limitations of this argument are brought out, however, if one considers it specifically in relation to real diaries. The real diary is necessarily unpredictable. It is a work to be dipped into, of varying interest: 'aucune page n' est indispensable,' it has no 'logique in terne' or overall composition. 6 It is a collection of more or less random notes which is never finally concluded unless the author is dead. It is bound to be repetitious at times, bogged down in 'la vie quotidienne,' just as it inevitably presents gaps which are enigmatic to any reader other than the author. 7 It may even be in code, or full of private allusions and personal language, if not intended for publication. 8 Editing, by the author or someone else, is bound to be necessary. Aesthetic achievement is usually possible only in individual entries or as the result of montage or collage effects. 9 The narrator-protagonist's character and the events recounted are arbitrarily determined by the hazards of real life and he is genuinely in medias res as he writes, the future unknown. The text generally bears little resemblance to a novel. One has only to compare the real and fictional journals of authors who have produced both (Gide, Mauriac and Julien Green, to name but a few) to be struck by the most obvious differences between the two, notably of length and time-span, as

6 I The French Fictional Journal

well as the degree of unity within the text. Chronology and continuity in the journal do not produce the effects of causality and coherence which characterize the novel. The same obvious differences may be used to argue against the opposing view, that fictional autobiographical writings cannot be distinguished from non-fiction, and therefore should not be classified as novels. Philippe Lejeune subscribed to this view when he wrote:

Si I' on reste sur le plan de I' analyse interne du texte ... Tous /es procedes que I' autobiographie emploie pour nous convaincre de I' authenticite de son re cit, le roman peut les imiter. 10 Jean Starobinski also maintains that the fictional 'I' is indistinguishable from the author. 11 This assumption is at the root of Kate Hamburger's attempt to establish that there is absolutely no distinction between the two, since they have the same 'I Origo. ' 12 Her analysis of the etymology of the words 'fiction,' 'fictiv,' and 'fictif' and their close relationship to 'feigned,' 'feint,' and 'fingiert' leads her to exclude sustained first-person narration from the category of the novel (which she calls 'epic fiction') and to redefine apparent first-person fiction as 'feigned reality statement.' 13 This claim is untenable, since actual examples of feigned reality statement exist alongside fictional first-person narration, and the two are patently not the same. The example ofthe journal (real, fake, and fictional) is conclusive. Gustav Hocke, in his work on the European diary, includes a section on fraudulent journals published for scandal and money, or used as evidence in law courts. 14 These belong to the realm of 'supercherie,' of deception. They claim to be true and are not, whereas a work of fiction makes no such claim and cannot be judged by this criterion. The position of fraudulent imitation journals which are neither fact nor fiction pinpoints the decisive factors in a positive definition of 'fictivity' in this context. These are the ontological status of the world evoked, and the 'pact' or 'contract' established with the reader. These two factors determine the textual characteristics (structure and code) which provide internal confirmation of the fictional status of the fictional journals which concern us here. THE ONTOLOGICAL STATUS OF FICTION

The real journal gives an account of people who exist or existed, of places marked on a map, of events which can be corroborated by external evidence. It claims to be true, and the facts may be verified. The narrator-protagonist existed before the journal was written and continued to exist after it was finished. Even if he is dead, the reader may visit his grave. Information on him is available in addition to what is contained in the journal. Although the

7 I Fact, Fake, and Fiction

narrating self is conceived as a persona and the narrated self emerges as a character, there is a point of comparison for both of these, outside the journal. The fake journal also deals with real people, places, and events. The author pretends to be someone else, who exists, and he imitates this person. He states facts which claim to be true. The latter are verifiable by external evidence and can be proved to be false. The text must resemble a real journal in all respects and any failure to do so impedes the attempt to deceive. The structure and code are those of the real journal, not those of the novel. The fictional journal, on the other hand, makes no claim to truth (except within the fiction, an aspect examined later). The characters, places, and events evoked do not correspond precisely to anything existing in the real world. It has been argued that the words used to evoke this world have no referent at all, that they are pure signs. 15 They do, however, have an imaginary referent, which exists on a different plane from reality, and is transferred from the author's mind to that of the reader by means of the text. 16 Fiction is 'form without reality'; it exists only through the text. 17 The fictional I-narrator does not exist outside the text; he is created by language, which asserts in this case a performative function, not a representational or informative one. 18 Questions of truth or falsehood are therefore irrelevant, fiction being precisely that which is neither true nor false, but which exists on a different plane from the verifiable. 19 THE READING

1

PACT 1 OR 'CONTRACT'

Lejeune, who initially subscribed to the view that autobiography is a form of fiction, refutes it in his more recent work on 'le pacte autobiographique,' basing his conclusions on the 'reading contract' involved. 20 Similarly, Holland, who appears to share the view that all first-person narration must be treated as 'real,' since the pronoun I does not reveal whether its referent is real or fictive, nevertheless admits that there is a difference based on the reader's expectations and response. 21 The latter depend on the generic category to which the reader assigns the text. This decision is determined initially by a factor external to the text itself: the relationship between author and narrator. If both bear the same proper name, they are assumed to be the same person, one who exists outside the book. 22 Only one I is involved, although it fulfils two roles, designating both the narrating persona and the narrated protagonist. In this case the autobiographical pact is invoked. The reader assumes that the narrator tells the truth, that what is narrated did happen. He accepts the author-narrator as existing or having existed in the same sense that he does himself. The writer's subsequent fate may be known in advance and influence the reading

8 / The French Fictional Journal

of the journal at the outset, as in the case of victims of early death such as Anne Frank or Marie Bashkirtseff. Factors which would be considered weaknesses in a novel (repetition, gaps, contradictions) are accepted as evidence of authenticity. Since the work deals with real life, people, and places, and time as experienced in life, the reader situates these factors in relation to his own life experience. His interest in the narrator is personal, and it is this interest which sustains his reading. On the the other hand, when non-identity between author and narrator is announced at the outset, as in the case of a fiction, the reader's attitude is totally different. The fictional I is perceived as a 'he,' his words are in implied quotation marks. 23 Within the fiction there is an interplay between narrating and narrated I, as in a real journal, but this is on a secondary level within the larger communication situation of the novel. Whereas in a real journal there in only one 'enonciation' producing one 'enonce,' in the fictional journal there are two, one encompassing the other. This dual communication situation has been resumed schematically by Andre Targe, with reference to a fictional journal, Maupassant's 'Le Horla. ' 24 Enonciation

1:

JE

Enonce

1:

Enonce 2

Je (ii) je (ii)

JE Enonciation

2

The dual function of the I in real autobiography (je : narrator, je-il: actor) is present on the intradiegetic level (enonciation and enonce 2), that is, within the fiction. However, it is also present on the extradiegetic level (enonciation and enonce 1), since the implied I of the author-as-narrator incorporates the je-il of the narrating fictional character - a shift which is more precisely 'je-il-je.' The effect of the dual communication process is that the reader operates simultaneously on two levels. While the real world (to which the author also belongs) continues to exist around him, he suspends disbelief to enter another, closed world in which the natural laws of the real world need no longer apply. 25 The characters of the fictional world are confined to the limits of the text, and it is meaningless to imagine how they would behave outside it. 26 The 'narrator' exists because of the narration, not vice versa. The reader no longer asks whether what he is told is true, but whether it is 'vraisemblable,' within the expectations produced by the text itself. Textual elements accepted as normal in a real journal are construed as

9 I Fact, Fake, and Fiction

weaknesses in the fictional journal if they affect its value as a novel. On the other hand, 'novelistic' elements which would be considered breaches of the autobiographical pact in a real journal are accepted in a fictional one because of the suspension of disbelief. BORDERLINE CASES

It is usually clear whether an autobiographical account establishes the autobiographical or the fictional pact. However, some ambiguous cases do arise, especially prior to the nineteenth century, when pseudonyms, pseudomemoirs, and anonymous texts proliferated. 27 When no external evidence is available to determine the status of a text, internal factors have to be relied on. In the case of the Lettres d'une religieuse portugaise, for example, the structure accords with the expectations of fiction, and in the absence of definite evidence to the contrary this work is assumed to be a novel. 28 The Diary of Anne Frank also displays elements characteristic of the novel (and correspondingly rare in real journals), but in this case external evidence corroborates its claim to truth. 29 Fran\ois Jost has raised the interesting question as to whether Les Liaisons dangereuses would be eliminated from the list of great French novels, should the letters be discovered to be genuine. 30 He maintains that it would not. According to the present definition of fiction, however, it would have to be, although this would not necessarily detract from its literary value. Internal evidence of fictivity makes the occurrence extremely unlikely. It would be a case of reality masquerading as fiction, rather than the reverse. Among more recent works of less obvious literary merit, Go Ask Alice, the anonymous journal of a teen-age drug addict, is a questionable case. 31 While claiming to be true, it exhibits several characteristics of the novel and provides a useful polemical tool, to the extent that its authenticity may be doubted by the reader. In the absence of other evidence, judgement must be based on internal factors, which tend to bring into play the fictional rather than the autobiographical pact between text and reader. Lejeune claims that anonymity in itself suggests the fictional pact: 'Pour n'importe quel,lecteur, un texte aallure autobiographique qui n' est assume par personne ressemble comme deux gouttes d'eau aune fiction.' 32 This is supported by Didier's surprising discovery that apparently no real journal intime has ever been published anonymously, although this would seem to be a logical development from the communication situation involved. 33 The journal in time is inseparably linked to the identity of its author. The author of a fictional journal, on the other hand, may well use a nom de plume, since it is only his 'self as author' which is involved in the novel, not his 'self as person.' 34 In his most recent work on' Autobiography in the Third Person,' Lejeune

10

I The French Fictional Journal

discusses a further borderline case, which might seem to be half-way between autobiography and the novel: the use within autobiographical writings of a 'fictive fiction' representing 'the idea the autobiographer has of someone else's idea of him. ' 35 This fiction is not sustained to the point where it dominates the narration and converts the pact to a fictional one. It is rare, and does not alter the autobiographical status of the works in question. These cases of ambiguity are the exceptions that prove the rule. Most fictional journals are distinct from real ones, they are only apparent imitations, and their reception depends on the reader's recognition of this fact. FORMAL MIMETICS

'Formal mimetics' is the term used by Michal Glowinski to designate 'a certain kind of tension or play between different types of expression, such as that between a novel and an intimate diary to whose structural rules the novel refers' - precisely the relationship which has been discussed. 36 The novel does not in fact imitate the diary. It cannot reproduce the real diarywriting situation, and it does not need to reproduce its effects, since it is not a fake. Rather, it subjugates the diary conventions to those of the novel. As Glowinski puts it, 'the form performing the "imitation" plays an active part, for under the guise of more or less total reproduction, it introduces the "imitated" elements into the limits of the rules peculiar to itself.' The diary code must be present only sufficiently for the reader to recognize the model to which reference is made, since 'detecting the model is the indispensable condition of understanding the narration which refers to the model.' The reader must detect the model, but also the dominant code of the novel. It is because he knows he is reading a novel that he will seek a 'global meaning,' which he would not expect in a real journal. 37 This global meaning will be found, even if it turns out to be 'expressed in parodying the expected meaning.' Thus, even if a writer casts a work in the form of a fictional journal in order to show something about the' standard' novel by contrast, as Sartre did in La Nausee, he will nevertheless be perceived as having produced a novel with a global meaning. In this study I have related the particular type of formal mimetics exemplified by the fictional journal to Benveniste's distinction between discours and recit. 38 This distinction may be used first to reformulate the main arguments presented so far in this preliminary discussion of fictivity. The real journal intime is primarily a form of discours, that is, an act of communication in which a' je' speaks 'in its own name' (subject of the enonce and subject of the enonciation coincide), in a dialogue situation located in an actual present. Emitter and receiver may be the same individual; the former nevertheless intends to influence the latter, albeit reflexively. The deictics

11

I Fact, Fake, and Fiction

and tenses associated with discours predominate, and refer to an actual situation in time and space; the I refers to an existing being. However, as the narrator writes about himself he tends progressively (more or less consciously) to see himself-as-actor as a 'he,' and to perceive the contingent incidents of his daily life, as they recede into the past, as a story or recit. The narration, which functions as discours at the time of writing, emerges as recit as the diary becomes a book. This transformation is dependent on a reader's perception. The diarist, while the diary is in progress, is always relatively in a dialogue situation, that is, involved in the discours. Once the diary is 'finished,' he may, conceivably, espouse the outside reader's position. The shift from discours to recit accounts for the arguments in favour of autobiography as fiction. On the other hand, in the fictional journal the narration is perceived as recit from the outset, if author and reader are agreed that the text is a novel. The narrating I is initially defined as a he, and the events are located in the fictive past. These preliminary assumptions provide a frame for the apparent discours evoked within the fiction . The shift is in reverse, from recit to discours, as the reader becomes temporarily involved, through the suspension of disbelief, in a simulated dialogue situation. Only the complete eclipse of the initial premise can produce a confusion between 'real' and fictive first-person narration. Martine Maisani-Leonard claims that all texts are actually both recit and discours simultaneously. 39 Her study of Gide's recits indicates that there are differences between those which take the form of journals and the others. These differences are clarified by the present analysis of the discours and recit in the fictional journal. The real journal provides a running commentary on the development from discours to recit as it occurs. The fictional journal provides a self-conscious represention of this process. As such it belongs, unlike autobiography, to the realm of 'process literature,' which imitates 'the creative process enacting itself.' 40 A real journal is based on personal narcissism and is the attempt by an individual to seize certain aspects of himself and his life and to fix them in a written image. The fictional journal, on the other hand, depicts the production of a particular type of text: it reveals something about narration, rather than something about a particular self. It is a form of narcissistic literature, whose fictivity is ultimately flaunted rather than concealed. 41

2

Fictivity: Structure and Code

Having established that the fictional journal bears only a superficial resemblance to the real one, and is above all a novel, we shall now consider how the novel subjugates the journal code to its own code of fiction in the corpus of French fictional journals on which this book is based. The tension between the two codes, and the corresponding relationship between recit and discours, is clarified by an examination of the techniques of 'vraisemblance' and their counteraction by self-conscious signs of fictivity . CONTROL OF THE READER'S EXPECTATIONS

The correct decoding of the 'formal mimetic' procedure adopted in the diary novel depends on the reader's recognition of both the model (the diary form) and the fictional status of the imitation. The reader's expectations conerning any specific narrative text and his classification of it as non-fiction or fiction are very often determined prior to actual contact with the text itself. Knowledge of the author's reputation and of his previous works, publicity for the text in question if it is new, previous criticism of it if it is not, all provide preliminary information which influences his initial approach. The circumstances of encounter (a course on the novel, choice of section in the library or bookstore) may also control the perception of the type of text and determine its definition. The context, which depends on the reader's motivation, usually determines whether the work is fiction or not. In the unlikely case that the potential reader is entirely ignorant of the work and its author, having come on it by chance, innumerable clues as to its status are provided at first glance. Publisher and series are indicative to the initiated, comments on the cover or first page are usually specific, as is the word 'roman' when present on the title-page. In the absence of these signs the list of other works by the same author usually reveals his preference as far as fiction or autobiography are concerned., In the case of

13 / Fictivity: Structure and Code

diaries, doubts as to their authenticity do not usually survive the pre- or epi-text. As pointed out, the fact that author and narrator are not identical is decisive in the fictional journal. The presence of two different names on the title-page - in fact, on the cover - is the most obvious determining factor. It indicates that the I of the diary is really a he and that the discours is to be perceived in a more or less explicit frame of recit. The title of a real diary is usually simply Journal, followed by the author's name and the dates of the period covered, or Journal de ... , including the name in the title and making any further reference to the author superfluous. 1 Occasionally, alternatives for 'journal' may be used in the title which allow slightly more freedom to departfrom a strictly diurnal account (eg, 'Cahiers,' 'Carnets,' 'bloc-notes'), or the author may incorporate a certain degree of representivity, as in Jean Guehenno's Journal d'un homme de 4oans. This type of title, or those which indicate a particular historical or geographical focus (eg, war years, travel diaries) are more ambiguous as far as fictivity is concerned. The author defines himself as if the I were a he. He indicates a desire on his part to focus the reading of his diary on a particular aspect, a manipulative rhetorical procedure which belongs rather to fiction since it presupposes a reader. The limitation of the journal to a particular period emphasizes the pastness and unity of recit. A glance at the list of novels in journal form co11sidered in this book (Appendix :1) reveals the title formats preferred for the diary-novel. They fall into five categories : (:1) Those which refer to the narrator by name: for example, Eugene de Rothelin, Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard, Jocelyn .2 If the name is that of previously established figure, such as 'Hercule' or 'le Bon Dieu', who cannot reasonably be supposed to have kept a diary, the parodic intention is evident. 3 If the character has already appeared in previous works of fiction his status is also pre-established (eg. Salavin, the diaries of Antoine Thibault, Drieu La Rochelle's Gilles, or 'Romains' Jallez). 4 The non-identity of the author's name and the one in the title, particularly striking if the sex is different, not only immediately evokes the fictional pact, but enables the reader to deduce initial information regarding the diarist from this first reference and definition. His nationality and social status may already be indicated, and linguistic or literary associations implied, as in the names cited above or' Andre Walter,' a cross between Andre Gide and Werther. The name is never arbitrary, as it may be in real life. Whereas a real person may claim to have been influenced by his name, a fictional name is chosen to suit the character created. s (2) The narrator may be described by a generic definition rather than by a proper name, as in the case of most fictional journals in which the narrator is

14 / The French Fictional Journal

a woman (Journal d'une jeune fille, Le Journal d'une jeune femme, Le Journal d'une femme, Journal d'une femme de chambre , Journal d'une bourgeoise, La Femme rompue, Journal d'une femme en blanc) .6 The fact that no two of these titles coincide exactly, while several bear considerable resemblance, reflects the evolution of a literary convention based on implied reference to preceding works . The sex of the narrator-protagonist is made central from the outset, predetermining the reader's attitude to these texts . The profession of the narrator, indicated in the title, may have a similar effect of predisposition on the reader. The title Journal d' un cure de campagne, for example, arouses certain expectations. Titles which proclaim the 'life and works' of a fictional character point directly to literary activity (Joseph Delorme, Andre Walter, A.O. Barnabooth , Sally Mara)and therefore situate the novel concerned in the 'Kiinstler-roman' category, dealing with art and the artist. 7 (3) The definition of the narrator included in the title may not be an objective assessment of age, sex, profession, or social class, but imply a value judgement (eg, Journal d'un imprudent, Journal d'un homme trompe, Journal d' un salaud) .8 This judgement may be delivered by the author or the narrator, be justified, mistaken, or ironic. Its propriety is revealed only through the text itself, but its initial presence influences the decoding process right from the start. Similarly, definitions based on the actions or fate of the diarist (Memoires d' un fou , Memoires d' un suicide) reveal information at the outset which colours the reader's reception of the text. 9 (4) The title occasionally uses a proper name which is not that of the diarist, or a generic definition which may be more appropriate to another character (Gladys , Eva, Un beau tenebreux). 10 Such a procedure diverts attention away from the narrator in isolation to his relationship with someone else. He must, however, finally dominate the text if it is in diary form, as a closer look at the relationship between narrator and text will show. (5) The fifth type of title does not emphasize the journal aspect of the work in question, nor the identity of the central character. Rather, it seeks to resume the essential situation or focus of the text, in the manner typical of the novel. 'Le Horla' and 'L'Ineluctable' are suitably mysterious, La Symphonie pastorale or L' Ecole des femmes make explicit reference to other literary or artistic works which throw light on the one concerned, La N ausee or Le Nceud de viperes provide concrete images for an abstract situation. 11 These attention-getting titles not only arouse interest but also contribute to the process of decoding; the whole text will be approached in the light of this initial encoding device. 12 In the nineteenth century the author often sought to extend his overt control on decoding from the outset by means of a subtitle indicating the desired moral effect, or an 'avertissement' excusing - or disclaiming - the

15 / Ficrivity: Structure and Code

work's fictivity on the grounds of moral rectitude. 13 In more recent works authorial comment is still occasionally directly presented in the epi-text, as in the judgement expressed at the beginning of Le Nreud de viperes or the detachment from the implied moral values claimed at the opening of Journal d' un salaud. 14 It is more frequently present in the subtler form of an epigraph. The quotations at the beginning of La Nausee or Un beau tenebreux are enigmatic. 15 They suggest possible interpretations rather than indicate a precise meaning, or establish an intertextual context for the work. However, even the explicit reference to possible polysemy of the author's comment in Paludes represents a steering of the reader in a certain direction, an influence on his reading before the main text is even properly begun. 16 While not impossible in nonfiction, this king of mancruvre tends to emphasize the 'litterarite' of the text, to expose the authorial control associated with fiction. Authorial commentary in the form of prefaces to editions other than the first is not usually regarded as an intrinsic part of the text, although it may influence the reader (as in the case of Le Peintre de Salzbourg or Les Cahiers d' Andre Walter) . 17 A preface or post-face incorporated after the title in the first edition is, however, necessarily part of the text. 18 Here the divergence between the epi-text of the real journal and that of the fictional version is most apparent. A real diary inevitably requires editing. Its publication, whether by the author or someone else, almost invariably necessitates introduction and explanation, especially if the author is not well known. If the diary was genuinely written only for the author himself, footnotes are needed to fill gaps or explain references. If the author is well known the critical apparatus surrounding the text itself tends to become even more voluminous, as the journal's place in the public person's life or relationship to his other works is defined and estimated. If, as in the case of Anne Frank, a diary may be considered able to 'speak for itself,' it is still completed by the addition of corroborative information and details on the author's subsequent fate. 19 FICTIONAL EDITORIAL FRAME

In the case of the fictional journal the diarist obviously cannot be well known (parody excepted). One would expect an imitation of the editorial frame necessary for real diaries, if the author were aiming to imitate them. This type of frame was, of course, current also in seventeenth and eighteenthcentury memoir and epistolary novels, and so provides a literary tradition in fiction. 20 It is therefore surprising to note that of the thirty-odd novels or short stories wholly or mainly in journal form that I consulted, half have no editorial frame at all. Of those remaining, only six present the convention of

1.6 I The French Fictional Journal

a serious fictional editor claiming to have found, or otherwise come by, 'this interesting manuscript.' In Jocelyn (a borderline case since it is in verse) the 'editor' recounts at length the circumstances in which the journal was discovered, discarded in an attic afterthe narrator's death. 21 The 'V. L.' of the preface to A.O. Barnabooth draws the reader into the fiction by 'assuming' that he already knows of the famous narrator. 22 In L'Ecole des femmes, the fictional editor does not name himself, but it is implied that the 'Monsieur' to whom Genevieve's letter is addressed is Gide himself. Her name is partly suppressed, an unnecessary precaution since she states herself that it is not her real one. Even the title is attributed to her, representing a pseudodisinvolvement on the part of the author in contradiction with the title-page. The diary in Maupassant's 'Mes 25 jours' is 'found' in a hotel room. The brief frame emphasizes the non-identity of the anonymous narrator and the diarist, whose experiences in the same place are different. In 'Fou,' Maupassant attributes to a lawyer the finding of the mansucript, on the diarist's death, and adds a postscript of a 'scientific' nature. The other examples, in 'L'Ineluctable' and La Nausee, are also brief, not to say laconic. The first provides a standard' explanation' of the source of the text, which (in contrast to the diary) is conspicuous by its banality. 23 The second is a self-conscious echo of the literary convention which raises questions rather than answering them. 24 In fact, this device was already self-conscious by the time the diary novel appeared in France and was used ironically even earlier by Rousseau and Laclos. The ambiguity of the editorial prefaces to La Nouvelle Heloise and Les Liaisons dangereuses established a secondary literary tradition which is exploited in the prefaces of four of the French diary-novels and one novel containing a journal. In these the opportunity is seized to play on a Pirandellian relationship between life and fiction, and to make fun of the earnest claims to authenticity of earlier works. 25 The editor in Arnould Fremy's Journal d' une jeune fille of 1853, who bears the initials 'A.F.,' begins by posing the question as to whether this journal was really written by a young girl 'entierement etrangere ala litterature, bien entendu,' and proceeds to beg it by claiming that the contemporary public is 'beaucoup trop occupe et surtout trop profondement blase pour prendre le moindre interet a une question semblable.' Therefore, he continues, though he 'could' prove the manuscript's authenticity,

aquoi hon? Les quelques lecteurs qui veulent bien s'informer encore du

caractere et de l' origine d' un ouvrage decideront eux-memes si ces souvenirs et ces confidences partent varaiment de la main d' une femme et si un homme aurait ete capable, je ne dis pas de les inventer, mais meme de les rediger. 26 The feminist views expressed in the text do raise the question in the mind of the reader whether 'Arnould Fremy' might not be the nom de plume of a

17 I Fictivity: Structure and Code

woman writer; the text leaves no doubt, however, as to its fictivity, since numerous novelistic conventions are brought into play. The editor comments that the names and places used appear to be 'supposes,' yet suppresses them in part. While he accepts responsibility for the title, chapter divisions, and expurgation of 'longueurs,' he conveniently blames the negligent style on the narrator. A similar ironic ambiguity is maintained by Feuillet in the preface to Le Journal d'une femme of 1854. Signed 'O.F.,' it begins: 'Celui qui signe ces pages n' en est, a proprement parler, que l' editeur ... ' He goes on to maintain that if the reader is interested in this 'autobiographie' he will be too engrossed to wonder where it was found and why it was published - and if he is not interested, he will not care anyway. Evidently the author is playing a sophisticated game of which he supposes the reader to know the rules. Maxime du Camp, in his Memoires d'un suicide of the previous year, establishes a similar ambiguity and prolongs the intrusion of the author into the fiction, pretending to have known the protagonist quite well, and recounting at length their meeting. Here, though using his own name, he becomes a fictional character even more obviously than the 'editors' previously mentioned who bore the author's initials. 27 Mirbeau, in the Journal d' une femme de chambre at the turn of the century, adopts a similar pretence of having himself met the diarist, whose name is partly suppressed (this convention obviously, by this time, indicates fictivity rather than the reverse) . Like Fremy he claims responsibility for the title, but as far as the style is concerned he 'confesses' that he was wrong 'en ajoutant ~a et la, quelques accents ace livre,' blaming himself for having 'remplace par la simple litterature ce qu'il y avait dans ces pages d' emotion et de vie. ' 28 He is less confident than Fremy that he has consistently rendered the tones appropriate to his fictional narrator. The conspicuous absence of any 'prise de position,' in view of the dubious career of the heroine, serves here as a further indication of fiction, as does the touch of houmour conveyed by the reference to her good looks, which decided him to edit the journal. 29 The tendency to ironic mockery of the claim to authenticity is carried to its limit by Raymond Queneau, in the Journal intime de Sally Mara. Here there is not only reference to a questionably existent work of erudition to be consulted, but a parodic reversal of the looking glass : the fictional author, Sally Mara, vituperates in her own preface against the imposter, Queneau, who is being credited with her performance. 30 This review of the fictional editorial prefaces present in the diary novels consulted clearly illustrates the shift from a ' naive' claim to truth , ostensibly imitating the introduction to a real autobiographical text, to the sophisticated and self-conscious use of a literary convention associated with fiction rather than nonfiction. The irony of a 'claim to truth,' placed at the beginning of a text which has just declared itself to be fiction on the title-page,

18 / The French Fictional Journal

becomes increasingly pronounced, until it reaches the point of parody. The device, rather than contributing to 'vraisemblance,' has its artificiality underlined. This applies also to the extension of the editorial intrusion into the main part of the text, in the form of 'footnotes.' This technique may provide a means of 'naturalization,' if it emphasizes the 'script' aspect of the imaginary journal (remarks on illegibility, gaps, erasures, and so on, as in Journal d'un cure de campagne), but frequently the information conveyed is purely gratuitous, the convention is exposed as a convention, the fictivity of the text is proclaimed rather than disclaimed. Martine Maisani-Leonard has resumed the function of the editorial preface (which she calls the 'preambule'), in her study of Gide's 'recits': 'La fonction du preambule est de souligner le caractere clos du recit, et en meme temps d'annoncer qu'il vase presenter comme un discours (passage du il au je) .' 31 This description, while accurate, applies equally well to the real editorial preface of a real autobiographical account. In the case of the fictional journal, the role of the fictional editor is also to establish the fictivity of the text, by underlining the diarist's non-identity with the author, that is, the first shift from the I of the author to the (je-il) of a character. The narration is relayed, emphasizing the distance established between the external and internal communication situations, with the 'editor' often occupying a bridge position, especially if he bears the author's name. In the absence of such a frame, the recitis established only through the quotation marks implied by the presence of the author's name. In the case of an anonymous diarist some ambiguity may remain, if the reader knows nothing of the author. However, the absence of an editorial frame is a sign of fiction in itself, since real journals usually have one. To quote the same critic once more: 'le preambule apparait comme une forme d'introduction necessaire au recit-dont l' absence est done significative- le je du narrateur a besoin d'etre presente comme un il avant que le recit s'instaure.' 32 PROBLEMS OF EXPOSITION AND POINT OF VIEW

The fictional editor may be situated outside the journal, professing no personal knowledge of the diarist (as in 'L'Ineluctable') or he may be homodiegetic, part of the same fictional microcosm as the diarist. In Le Nreud de viperes and journal d'un cure de campagne, letters from such secondary homodiegetic narrators convey details of the diarist's death, a function performed by the editor in a footnote in Andre Walter. The 'complementary' homodiegetic narrator frequently makes a more extensive contribution, providing information not easily conveyed by the diarist, as in Le Peintre de Salzbourg or Un beau tenebreux. The logical conclusion of this technique is the composite novel, such as La Porte etroite, where the two

19 I Fictivity: Structure and Code

narratives carry more or less equal weight, or the addition of other points of view as in the final triptych of L'Ecole des femmes, where the diary is eventually reduced to an element which no longer predominates. Alternatively, the diarist may himself complete the journal by a retrospective account or explanation of varying length, appended later (Le Journal d'une femme, Journal d'une femme de chambre, Journal d'un imprudent), which may also take the form of a letter (Robes rouges). 33 This type of combination of different kinds of narration is alien to the real diary and typical of the novel. It tends to be produced as a result of the problems of exposition and point of view created by the circular internal communication model which characterizes the journal form. Whereas signs of fictivity at the level of title-page, epi-text, and editorial frame are shared by the fictional journal and other types of fictional first-person narration, the novel wholly in journal form and with little or no editorial intervention tends to present particular internal marks of fictivity arising from the necessity of conveying information obliquely. For example, the narrator of a confession or a letter can plausibly introduce himself, with details of his name, age, social setting, and so on. Such a self-portrait is harder to justify in a journal. If it occurs, the narrator's self-examination tells us more about him than the simple facts conveyed, since the communication of these facts cannot (within the fiction) be its primary motivation. The self-contemplation in the looking glass indulged in by many fictional diarists provides a parallel to their narcissistic self-contemplation in the journal. It also conveniently describes them, fulfilling a function performed in real diaries by photographs of the author. 34 Evidence to enable the reader to decide on the diarist's degree of reliability is also harder to convey in the fictional journal than in the epistolary novel. There, several points of view are present in the 'polyphonic' version and even in the 'monodie epistolaire' the narrator often expresses himself to more than one narrateee, with corresponding shifts in presentation. 35 This technique may be carried over into the journal, if the narrator is (really or in his imagination) addressing his narration to someone specific. It is necessary to be more subtle, however, to show how the diarist attempts to convince or deceive himself. The writer's words may be belied by his actions, or his opinions vary in different entries. The degree of blindness, naivete, or 'mauvaise foi' revealed depends for its effect on the alternate identification and detachment, adoption of inside (diarist's) and outside (novel reader's) viewpoints by the receiver, which is an essential aspect of the fictivity of the journal. The reader has to function on two levels, aware of the dual enunciation involved. The irony which is characteristic of so many fictional journals is largely dependent on this alternation. Suspension of disbelief is also necessary for the acceptance of some of the

20 /

The French Fictional Journal

more 'invraisemblable' conventions for conveying other points of view in the course of the narration, such as the inclusion of letters which are frequently 'copied' in to the text. 36 Here the fictional convention overrides the desire for plausibility. Directly reported dialogue, depending on another fictional convention, that of perfect memory, is another device used extensively in the fictional journal and sparsely in the real one. When conversations several pages long are quoted verbatim, as by Bernanos' 'cure de campagne,' the code of the journal is subjugated to that of the novel. 37 The same phenomenon occurs with the lapses into monologue interieur in the journal of A .O. Barnabooth or in La Nausee, where a running commentary is provided in situations in which the diarist obviously cannot be jotting everything down as it happens. 38 This may be seen as an extension of the historic present, frequently used in the fictional journal to convey immediacy, to render the narration in the form of 'scene' rather than 'summary.' It provides a counterpart to the equally novelistic tendency to relate in the passe simple, when the passe compose would be more likely in a real journal. The tension between the two codes, as far as point of view is concerned, arises from the assumption on the 'diary' level that the narrator is writing for himself alone, and the certitude on the 'novel' level that the text is destined for a reader who cannot know anything about the diarist apart from what the diary tells him, directly or indirectly. When information can be provided or interest sustained only at the expense of 'vraisemblance,' it is the latter which is sacrificed. THE DIARY ENTRIES

Once the initial illusion of the journal form is established in a fiction the conventions of the diary may be more or less abandoned or at least attenuated with little effect on the reader's complicity. The entry headings are the most immediate signal of' diary form,' and often are not maintained beyond their initial usefulness for concise indication of period and place, as well as of the model. The degree of precision which they have in the fictional journal varies enormously. The only essential is that an impression of more or less regular and fragmentary recording be conveyed. There may be no entry headings giving date or location at all, only a gradual initiation into the setting and indications now and then as to the rate at which the entries are produced (as in Journal d' un cure de campagne ). The entries may be numbered rather than dated (as in Journal d'une jeune fille). Eva provides no dates, but the narrator indicates that the entries are made regularly on Sundays, until circumstances change. The degree of precision may vary within the text, from nothing to a precise hour (often midnight in the nineteenth century, as in the Journal d' une jeune fille or Andre Walter).

21 /

Fictivity: Structure and Code

The dates may be precise, but with no indication of the year (Journal d' une femme en blanc) or only a vague '18-' or '19- (Journal d'une femme de chambre, A .O. Barnabooth). This enables a consistent internal chronology to be established, but may lead the author into discrepancies. Jocelyn offers 1

the most extreme example of chronological incongruity. According to the journal, the year 1794 happened twice; Jocelyn spends seventeen years in the seminary (although he died aged only thirty-three); it takes seven days to travel from Grenoble to the Alps; the burned-down family home reappears intact; the 'vieux patre' of 1793 is still vigorous in 1830; wheat is ripe in April, grapes in July; and Jocelyn manages to read Paul et Virginie (published in 1788) in 1786. As H. Guillemin puts it, 'Lamartine pousse le dedain de la chronologie jusqu'a une sorte d'insolence. ' 39 Jocelyn illustrates the irrelevance of this kind of 'verification' in a fiction. Nor is Lamartine the only author of a fictional journal to err: Blond's journal d'un imprudent misses out a year, and Bourget in Le Fantome varies the time since Antoinette's death from ten to eight years. 40 Even in La Nausee, Roquentin cannot be going to see Anny 'd'aujourd'hui en huit,' written on a Thursday, since the day he does see her is to be a Saturday. 41 Such chronological discrepancies would be disturbing in a real journal, but may be accepted in a fiction. The place is often indicated only vaguely, or by a 'suppressed' name (for example the port of Bxxx in Robes rouges, identified nevertheless as a naval base in Brittany). The geographical location, real or invented, may be important for the 'ambiance' of the fictional universe (Bou ville, Bleston, the Switzerland of La Symphonie pastorale, the Marseilles of Journal d'un salaud, Sally Mara's Dublin), but precise details of changes oflocation are of primary interest only when the travels or investigations of the narrator are essential to the narrative logic of the recit, as in 'Le Horla,' A.O. Barnabooth, L'Emploi du temps, or Tournier's Vendredi. 42 In the French fictional journal, time is usually more important than space, reflecting the predominance of the journal intime over the journal externe, more often asociated with travel and closer in this respect to the picaresque novel. Time in the fictional journal intime is always of subjective rather than historical importance. In very few of the examples do political or hist9rical events disturb the lives of the narrators to any extent. The exiled emigre Charles Munster, the 'Peintre de Strasbourg,' is a victim of his times in more ways than one, Gerard of Un beau tenebreux dwells once or twice on his wartime memories, but the only one of these fictional intimistes situated in a time of crisis is Queffelec' s 'salaud,' in the occupied France of 1940. Here the war situation reveals the narrator's character, not vice versa. Malraux's Les Conquerants is an example of a chronicle-type narration in which the reverse is true. It is surely for this reason that, as Gerald Prince has pointed out, this work is not generally regarded as a diary-novel, in spite of its first-person

22 /

The French Fictional Journal

narrator and dated entries. 43 The fictional journal tends to neglect completely one of the major interest-arousing elements of the real journal, even when 'intime,' that is, the interplay of individual and group destinies. While topical issues of the time of publication may be incorporated (especially feminist concerns in recent works, and abortion specifically in Soubiran's Journal d'une femme en blanc), these are always condensed in the dilemma of one individual narrator-protagonist, who may be representative of a group, but is never actually actively involved in group militancy. This type of involvement would preclude the solitary soul-searching associated with the stereotype of the intimiste. The subjective conception of time may be concretely expressed by the entry headings in the case of a fictional diarist who is going mad. Gogol's madman becomes, as his malady progresses, incapable of conventional recording of dates; he continues the convention of dating, however, using wildly subjective signs of no meaning to anyone else. 44 A similar technique is used by Boris Vian in L' Arrache Creur, a novel divided into dated entries although not in the first person, to show the disintegration of a conventional universe into one of fantasy. 45 This device is not found in any of the French diary-novels consulted, but does illustrate a novelistic possibility open to the fictional journal. UNITY AND DIVISIONS OF THE TEXT: COMPOSITION

The diary-novel may, like any conventional work of fiction, be divided into chapters (Journal d'une jeune fille) or sections with titles (Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard) . This is further evidence of authorial control, of the imposition of unity and symmetry on the supposedly' formless' diary. While the journal appears to allow great freedom it actually imposes additional constraints on the novelist as far as chronology is concerned. The action must, to begin with, take more than one day. The novel had not yet been produced in which the narrator expresses or analyses his feelings or relates a series of events in writing at half-hour intervals. 46 Such an account, should it be possible, would belie the term 'journal.' On the other hand a diary covering a whole lifetime, while existing in genuine cases, would be voluminous and an extended novel in this form is difficult to imagine. Even real diaries of great length are usually published in reduced, edited versions. The actual examples reveal that fictional journals are rarely as long as real ones, and the time-span covered is usually much less. Paludes covers just one week, Le Journal d'une jeune femme exactly ten days. At least fourteen of the other examples represent periods between two and six months, and four others not more than a year. Some which provide no precise dates make it difficult to calculate except by reference to passing seasons, but only two

23 / Fictivity: Structure and Code

definitely deal with an extended period (Anatole France's Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard and Chardonne's Eva), and both do so by means of long gaps, even of several years. L' Ecole des femmes gives the impression of a

lifetime by the use of two diaries with twenty years between; but the actual periods covered in writing are of two months and one month, respectively. Andre Walter extends the period recounted by the interweaving of journals from different years. As mentioned previously, other texts provide information from a time beyond that of the journal proper by an appended retrospective account. Only the parodic Journal in timed' Hercule makes any attempt to cover more or less a whole life, but this is possible only by infrequent recording and concentration on certain periods. The evidence points to the justification of remarks by teachers of creative writing that the journal form is better suited to shorter fiction. 47 Dostoievsky switched from the journal form for Crime and Punishment, Maupassant to it for the second version of 'Le Horla.' The respective lengths of these works may well have influenced their decisions. It is certainly undeniable that whereas the real journal usually covers at length long periods of the author's life, the fictional journal more often deals relatively concisely with short periods. The reason lies in the essential differences between the novel and the journal which have already been discussed. The fictional text must create the illusion of the autobiographical pact, while actually conforming to that of fiction . At the level of what is narrated, the reader of a novel knows that everything is important, that nothing is superfluous as in a real journal. His expectations must be borne out by the text. An enigmatic remark, the introduction of a new character, a change in situation, a dream, are always followed up-or, if they are not, another reason fortheir presence is sought. Evidence of fictivity accumulates as pattern emerges, especially at a second reading. Secondary recits prefigure or echo the structure of the main one. Parallels, antitheses, 'mises en abyme' are techniques of patterning which can be incorporated obviously or discreetly into an overall development which may be more or less rigorously constructed. Other possibilities are the use of a leitmotif, obsessive imagery, or recurring objective correlatives. The obvious and ubiquitous presence of such devices may destroy rather than maintain the illusion, discourage rather than strengthen the suspension of disbelief, but the novel can never become bogged down in tedious and repetitive details about the weather, the narrator's health, and so on, as do many real diaries. l'he author always has a responsibility to arouse and sustain 'l' interet romanesque without which the reader will not continue to read, and the novel (unlike the diary) will have failed in its 'raison d'etre. ' 48 To this end conventions are used that belong very definitely to the realm of recit, of story-telling, rather than to that of personal discourse which JI

24 / The French Fictional Journal

characterizes the real journal. Some of the most obvious examples proliferate in the earlier fictional journals and are by no means absent even in the most modern ones, to an extent that could only be considered extraordinary in a real journal- coincidence, chance meetings, eavesdropping. revelation of identity. Effects of suspense and what Barthes calls 'leurres' are favoured by the temporal aspects of the journal form, and the exploitation of these and other techniques dependent on the time-writing relationship are analysed in the section (pp 48-57) dealing with this aspect. Two other flagrantly 'invraisemblable' occurrences depend on this relationship: entries which are too long for the time available to produce them, and ones which are produced in incredible circumstances. The most blatant case of the latter is probably Fremy's young girl's final lines: wielding her pen with her last breath, she explains that if she does not continue it will be because she will have ceased to exist. 49 1

THE 'THRESHOLD OF BELIEF'

The novels consulted for this study date from different periods and indicate clearly the way in which readers' expectations have changed. This diachronic development is striking if one compares, for example, Le Peintre de Salzbourg with La Nausee or L' Emploi du temps. The twentieth-century reader may be disturbed by the code of monasteries, tombs, storms, and suicide accepted in 1803, yet he accepts passages of monologue interieur or patterns of repetition which would surely have surprised Nodier's contemporaries. The metamorphosis is most striking when one considers the degree of irony introduced in reference to previous texts. Nodier' s Le Peintre can make explicit and implicit reference to Werther, espousing fully the same values, and this was still true (to a lesser degree) for Andre Walter, but the twentieth-century text is conscious of the conventions of the 'intimate' novel, to the extent that it can no longer imitate them without irony. The fictional journal illustrates clearly the inherent tendency of the formally mimetic text to parody its model. It also illustrates how a stereotype of the imitation emerges, which is parodied in its turn. Both codes, that of the journal in time and that of the first-person novel, are self-consciously underlined. The conventions are exaggerated or distorted so that there are parodic elements even in diary novels which do not conform to the overall code of parody. These contribute to the metanarrative commentary, which becomes an essential part of the text in which discours and recit are simultaneously present. The degree of deliberate parody involved determines the reader's threshold of belief, or the point at which departures from vraisemblance, as far as the model (the diary) is concerned, are construed as beyond the licence

25 / Fictivity: Structure and Code

permitted by the dominant fictional code. Where the self-conscious parodic element is minimal, small discrepancies may disturb the illusion projected. Where artifice is apparent rather than concealed, 'mistakes' (in chronology, for example) may be accepted as part of the metanarrative. When parody openly prevails, fantasy replaces vraisemblance and ultimately produces a caricature rather than an imitation of the model. Signs of fictivity predominate over signs of 'truth to life.' The reader's reaction is determined by the extent to which either the recit or the discours element is more apparent. When the emphasis is on the illusory discours verisimilitude is necessary to sustain the 'pact.' When, on the other hand, the 'story' component openly prevails (with its premise of fictivity) the code of everyday life, which applies to the journal, may be waived. The characters and events are consciously perceived by the reader as the product, not the source of the narration.

3

Fictivity: The Fictional 'Intimiste'

THE STEREOTYPE: PREREQUISITES

The degree of parody of the real journal in time present in the fictional journal is closely related to the identity of the fictional intimiste. If the latter is not human, or is supposed to have lived before the journal intime existed, or for some other reason would be unable to produce a journal, obviously the fictivity of the works in question is underlined. The conventions and rhetoric of the journal intime are inseparable from the image of the intimiste. This stereotype must be taken into account in the fictional journal, whether it is confirmed, modified, or reversed. In certain respects the fictional intimiste must resemble a real one, unless a parodic effect is sought. On the other hand, in several fundamental respects he cannot be compared to a real intimiste. The balance between vraisemblance and suspension of disbelief applies above all to the functioning of the central narrator-protagonist. The stereotype of the intimiste with which the reader may be assumed to be familiar is not hard to establish. The impression which is left by studies of real French diarists, such as the major ones by Michele Leleu, Alain Girard, and Beatrice Didier, or by an anthology of their writings such as the one edited by Maurice Chapelan, is summed up by Romberg, with reference to fictional journals: 'the commonest type of diary narrator is the lonely, unhappy human being who cannot attain contact with others and turns inwards upon himself. ' 1 Leleu divides the real nineteenth-century intimistes into various categories: 'sentimentaux,' 'nerveux,' 'passionnes,' and 'actifs.' The latter are, not surprisingly, a minority, since successful men of action usually tend to recollect their emotions in tranquility, after the events are ove.r . Their journals are confined to interim periods of failure and depression. Generally speaking, a review of the best-known journaux in times leaves one agreeing with Chapelan that 'ii n' en existe point ou triomphe la joie de vivre. ' 2 A certain tone of melancholy is shared by these introverted and

27 / Fictivity: The Fictional 'lntimiste'

lonely individuals, who if not actually adolescents or women tend to exhibit characteristics associated with these two groups, notably hypersensitivity and metaphysical anguish, often accompanied by actual physical weakness or ill health. 3 These characteristics are reflected in the fictional journal, since they are the logical outcome of the 'basic prerequisites' for keeping a diary: the ability to write, time in which to do so, and personal motivation which makes the effort seem worthwhile. Fictional diarists may diverge to varying degrees from the stereotype. They are invariably defined in relation to it, however, and refer in their journals to these three aspects of their activity. The author of a fictional diary is inevitably aware of the need to establish reasons for the beginning, continuation, and ending of the text, and this functional motivation is linked to the three aspects of the implicit definition of the intimiste. THE ABILITY TO WRITE

First, he must have the ability to write. It may seem superfluous to remark that a diarist is usually therefore human. There is, however, at least one example of an equine narrator, the horse of Claire Goll's 'Journal d'un cheval,' and two other fictional journals are attributed to superhuman narrators: Hercule and 'Le Bon Dieu.' 4 In these cases, the narrator's identity underlines the fictivity of the diaries in question and their parodic, humorous, or polemic intentions. Their effect is dependent precisely on a contrast with the norm, a reversal of the reader' s expectations. Comic effects may be produced by similar means in the case of illiterate or semi-literate diarists. In English, there is at least one genuine example of a real diary produced by such a narrator, and the possibilities were exploited in fiction by Thackeray. 5 As far as the French are concerned, the diarist appears to be invariably literate, indeed self-consciously so. A foreigner supposed to be writing in French may be granted some licence (Sally Mara), but is more often expected to conform to a native writer's level of competence (A.O . Barnabooth, Hercule). 6 Mirbeau' s maid, Celestine, is the only French narrator whose prose exhibits occasional peculiarities, and her style is conveyed with constant implied or explicit reference to the standard model which is not only literate but literary. 7 The majority of narrators in the novels consulted belong to the category of 'intellectual heroes' in French literature. Many are actually engaged in creative or academic writing as a career or hobby-from Sainte-Beuve's Joseph Delorme to Sally Mara, via Charles Demailly, Sylvestre Bonnard, Andre Walter, the narrator of Paludes, A.O. Barnabooth, Edouard (Les Faux- Monnayeurs), Bernard (Eva), Romains' Jallez, the authoress in Part 3 of Green's Varouna, Gerard in Un beau tenebreux, and Roquentin in La

28

I The French Fictional Journal

Nausee. 8 Even those who have other occupations are aware of the literary precedents for keeping a journal. Nodier's 'Peintre de Salzbourg' models himself on Werther, who kept a diary, Gide's Pastor refers to Amiel, Antoine Thibault to Vigny' s journal. 10 Being an intimiste assumes a level of cultural awareness which regards this activity as a possibility, even though it may be initially condemned as by Jallez. 11 All active readers, if not necessarily of diaries of other books, these narrators share a literary penchant which makes writing a natural next step. The urge to put pen to paper is as necessary to the fictional diarist as is 'enough introspective acumen to serve ... as the narrators of their fiction' - the intellectual requirement which Henri Peyre attributes to the heroes of Gide's recits. 12 The fictional diarists' 'bovarysme' takes a form opposed to that of Emma Bovary. 13 They certainly cannot generally be accused of the mental inferiority of which Henry James found the latter guilty. TIME TO WRITE

These narrators who write for a living or for pleasure have no trouble fitting a diary into their schedule. They share with most of the other fictional diarists the second predisposition to diary writing: time to spare. Priests and pastors also have a relatively flexible timetable, as do lawyers, even when they are not, like Louis in Le Nceud de viperes, retired and sick. 14 Another group is well represented among French fictional intimistes : under-occupied upper class women . Like Eugene de Rothelin, a masculine counterpart, they tend to be inspired in the nineteenth century by social rather than literary models. Eugene refers to a well-known society lady who relates her daily life, producing a record which serves as a social weapon as well as a means to self-improvement. 15 Fremy' s Louise tells us that it was a current fashion for young ladies to keep a diary. 16 Feuillet' s heroine is presented by her grandmother with a 'livre aserrure' for this purpose, a sure sign that this was established by then as a socially accepted habit for young girls, in spite of the qualms expressed that a diary will encourage her to be 'romanesque.' 17 Roquentin, in announcing that he is about to abandon an activity more appropriate for '!es petites filles' is referring to one aspect of the stereotype, built up by the publication of several real journals kept by young girls in the previous century, well before Anne Frank's adolescent account appeared to popularize even further this sub-type. 18 In more recent times the dilemma of the desreuvree middle class matron seeking to redefine her role is the explicit theme of at least three French fictional journals: Gide's L' Ecole des femmes, Genevieve Gennari's Journal d'une bourgeoise, and Simone de Beauvoir's

La Femme rompue.

Very few fictional intimistes are engaged in jobs which require regular

29 I Fictivity: The Fictional 'Intimiste'

hours of physical work: among the nineteenth-century examples, only Celestine, the 'femme de chambre.' In the twentieth-century French diarynovels there appears a modification of the writer-hero, which tends to become parodic (a la Bouvard et Pecuchet) - the modest clerk already represented in earlier Russian diary-novels as the typical 'superfluous man. ' 19 Salavin, Georges Blond's 'imprudent,' and Jacques Revel of L'Emploi du temps fall into this category. For the latter, the problematic relationship between time and writing becomes explicit and central to his journal. MOTIVATION

These two initial requirements of the fictional journalist- the ability and the time to write - are essential but not sufficient alone to motivate the keeping of a journal. A narrator disposing of both could still choose to remain silent, to confide orally in someone else, to write letters, or compose a retrospective account of his life. A further condition imposes itself: the narrator must be in a situation where he has something to say which he feels a pressing need to express, although he cannot immediately convey it to someone else. The inability to communicate with another person may be found on two levels : that of physical isolation, and that of psychological alienation . The first is absolute in the case of Robinson Crusoe. 20 It is sufficient cause for a journal to replace letters in cases of temporary inability to communicate with one's companion, as for Richardson's Pamela or Madame de Kriidener's Gustave. 21 In this situation contact is delayed, but not impossible. Relative isolation may be experienced during travel (A.O . Barnabooth) or temporary domicile abroad, especially if there is a language barrier (Jacques Revel). However, the isolation of the fictional diarist is rarely physically enforced. More often he is surrounded by people with whom he cannot identify (Salavin, Roquentin), whom he does not yet know (Bernanos' priest, the narrator of Adam's Robes rouges), whom he considers hostile (Le Nceud de viperes) or whom he despises (Queffelec's Journal d'un salaud). Not surprisingly, the majority of the fictional narrators in question are single. Of eleven who are married only Jeanne, the authoress in Julien Green's Varouna, could be considered 'happy' in any conventional sense. Analysts of real diaries have pointed out the incompatibility of journal-keeping with a satisfactory intimate relationship with another person. 22 It is for this reason that in Eva one questions Bernard's protestations of closeness to his wife, from the beginning of his account, and Gide's pastor's judgement of Amelie. Several fictional journals are started precisely because of the break-up of a relationship (Le Peintre de Salzbourg, La Femme rompue) or are abandoned as soon as one is established (A.O . Barnabooth, Eugene de Rothelin, Journal

30 / The French Fictional Journal

d' une femme de chambre, Journal d' une femme) . Both aspects are illustrated in L' Ecole des femmes, where Eveline abandons her journal on her marriage to Robert, to take it up again twenty years later when she is disillusioned with him. The narrator may be further prevented from communicating his experience to someone else, owing to its inadmissible nature. Secrecy may be necessary because a crime, or at least a reprehensible activity, is concerned (murder in 'L'Ineluctable' or 'Fou,' complicity in Journal d'une femme de chambre, seduction and swindling in Journal d' un salaud) or one which might be considered presumptuous, ridiculous, or mad (Salavin' s attempt to become a lay saint). The narrator may also have doubts about his own sanity, which he wishes to clarify without sharing them ('Le Horla,' Andre Walter,

La Nausee).

The crisis type of situation common in the fictional diary is, as was established previously, relatively rare in the real journal intime, which tends to deal with a much longer period at much greater length. The central preoccupation of the fictional intimiste is, however, as for his model, himself. The immediate situation brings to a head an identity crisis which is invariably revealed as a function of his relationship with others but ultimately concerns a conflict within himself. The ontological insecurity associated with self-discovery or self-definition is, as has been mentioned before, often seen as an adolescent phase. In fact, most of the fictional narrators concerned here are young. Only one is actually a 'petite fille' {Michel Tournier's Amandine), but several are young girls, at least at the beginning of their journal {the narrators created by Fremy, Second, and Feuillet, Gide's Eveline and Alissa, Soubiran' s medical student). 23 Of the male narrators at least a dozen are in their early twenties, several falling clearly into the suicidal 'Werther' category {Charles Munster in Le Peintre, Gustave in Valerie, Joseph Delorme, Du Camp's 'suicide,' Andre Walter), while others are just beginning a new phase in life {Eugene de Rothelin, the diarist of Robes rouges, A.O. Barnabooth, the 'cure,' Blond's 'imprudent,' Queffelec's 'salaud,' Butor's Jacques Revel). However, the crisis may also come in middle age, when an established way of life and set of values are brought into question, as for Sylvestre Bonnard, Salavin, the pastor, Roquentin, or the middle-aged women already mentioned. Facing death may also finally trigger off a 'prise de conscience,' as in the case of Antoine Thibault and Louis in Le Nreud de viperes. REAL

1

INTIMISTE 1 AND FICTIONAL

1

INTIMISTE 1

In the case of a real journal intime the diarist's identity crisis precedes the diary and is the reason for its inception . Both the narrator as person and his life as histoire exceed the bounds of the recit. The crisis need not be resolved

31 / Fictivity: The Fictional 'lntimiste'

in the journal, which may continue indefinitely, as in the case of Amie!, becoming an instrument of perpetuation of doubt, rather than a means to its resolution. In a fictional journal, narrator and histoire do not exist beyond the recit, both are brought into being by the narration. The identity crisis must be resolved within the bounds of the recit, the development must be condensed, not diffuse. The type of plot tends to be closely related to the narrator's identity crisis, which in its turn is inseparable from the journal form. The' action' in the fictional journal takes place mostly inside the narrator; conflict is present mainly in the form of divergent images of the diarist. Initally, the autobiographical pact is established, within the fiction, in imitation of the real diary. That is, the reader assumes that since the narrator is depicted as writing for himself alone, he may be assumed to be 'sincere,' to be telling the truth as he sees it. In real diaries the diarist is often exceptionally lucid and perceptive; in any case, his view is only contradicted if external conflicting evidence is available, beyond the bounds of the journal. His day-by-day account is less subject to failures of memory than a retrospective one, and less liable than letters to be distorted by a desire to please, impress, or convince. He is, of course, faced with genuine problems of perception and expression, of which he may be more or less aware. In a fiction, on the other hand, there is no perception involved, and problems of expression are the author's concern. References by the narrator to either are self-conscious imitation of the diary model: mimesis and diegesis are used to evoke problems of mimesis and diegesis. This initial image of the stereotype of the intimiste earnestly seeking after truth, is not, however, the only one in the fictional journal. Two images have to be projected: the one he himself is depicted as producing, and one of the producing agent, which may be very different. Already in early examples madness is exploited as a means to show' insincerity' or' unreliability' on the part of the narrator, that is, to convey two conflicting images of him. In more modern examples the self-conscious narrator is depicted as 'de mauvaise foi,' deceiving himself, consciously or not. The ironic effects typical of the modern diary-novel are based on the discrepancy between the narra.tor's view of himself (or the one he wishes to project) and the image which the reader receives. 24 THE 'CONFESSIONAL INCREMENT'

The fictional journal, like all forms of first-person narration, is dependent for this effect on what David Goldknopf has termed the 'confessional increment' : 'Everything an I-narrator tells us has a certain characterizing significance over and above its data value, by virtue of the fact that he is telling it to us.' 25 Once 'unreliability' is established as the norm, everything the diarist writes

32 / The French Fictional Journal

is suspect. 26 However, in the case of the discontinuous day-by-day narration of the journal, what he does not tell us is equally important. The diary is composed of gaps as well as entries, and lacunae are as significant as apparent redundancies, where a fiction is concerned. Romberg maintains that the diary form, 'extending as it does over an infinite range of expressive variations, from laconic memoranda to lyrical reflection, is naturally the form which most completely reveals the narrator, and in this respect presents him in greatest detail.' 27 It is true that the reader may be provided with a wealth of details about the narrator and his life, but these details have to be integrated into a whole picture, and parts are usually missing. The fragmentary nature of the journal produces an imbalance of knowledge and ignorance, as far as our perception of the fictional diarist is concerned. 'Public' information such as name, age, sex, profession (what Goldknopf calls the 'credit rating' we expect from a first-person narrator), may well be withheld for some time, since it must be conveyed obliquely. 28 Private or 'intimate' reflections, on the other hand, are exposed. Whereas in the real journal the 'inner self' is revealed to complete an already existing image of the outer self, in the novel it is the narrator's 'outer self' which has to be gradually constructed by implication from between the lines of the journal. The real intimiste seeks to establish his identity, and in so doing may create a new one for himself. In the fictional journal the author creates an identity for his narrator through the journal, and the reader recreates it by his activity of reading. FICTIONAL NARCISSISM

It has been remarked that the author of a diary seeks to 'se connaitre,' while the author of memoirs aims to 'se faire connaitre.' 29 The fictional journal combines both aims, but from different perspectives. On the intradiegetic level, which functions as discours, the narrator establishes and contemplates an image of himself, in his attempt to se connaitre. On the extradiegetic level of recit, the author seeks to faire connaitre the narrator, by establishing two conflicting images of him for the reader's contemplation. The actions of projection, reflection, and contemplation are in their turn depicted in a second mirror stage. The next chapter shows that the fictional journal is a 'recit speculaire,' in Dallenbach' s sense, not only because it always illustrates what he terms 'la narration mise au jour,' but because the reading or hermeneutic process is also incorporated into the recit. 30 A fictional character cannot have a 'psychology,' as may a real diarist. One is constructed for him, however, based on the motivation necessary to produce a journal and the 'dedoublement' essential to the activity of diary-writing, in which the diarist is author, actor, and reader.

4

'Dedoublement': I, Me, to Myself

THE INTERNAL COMMUNICATION MODEL

The importance of the fictional context and frame to the mode of existence, structure, and reception of the fictional journal must be constantly kept in mind in considering the functioning of the texts at the intradiegetic level. On the extradiegetic level the communication takes place between author and reader, by means of the novel, and concerns the fictional intimiste, who functions as a third person. On the intradiegetic level, the emitter is the fictional character, who functions as an 'I,' and the means of communication is the journal. The distinguishing features of the journal at this level (compared to other types of first-person narration) have already been established as: (1) the narrator's concern for himself, as object of his narration; (2) the absence (at least initially) of any narratee apart from himself; (3) the 'intercalated' relationship of 'histoire' and narration (to use Genette's terms), and (4) the written form of the account. The last two aspects will be dealt with separately. They are, however, inextricably entwined with the narrator's 'dedoublement,' on which the first two depend. Andre Targe's schema of the dual communication process involved in fictional first-person narration showed the shift from 'je' to 'je-il' on the intradiegetic level, when the narrator speaks of himself as actor. 1 It does not mention the third element in the communication process, the 'tu,' or addressee, implied in any form of discours. The subject-object dedoublement is shared by all 'homodiegetic' and 'autodiegetic' narrators (Genette's terms, once more), that is to say, those who recount their own story in the first person. In the fictional journal, however, this dedoublement is extended to include the self also as indirect object or 'narratee.' By means of the journal, the narrator may be said to 's'ecrire' in two senses. He writes his life, for himself. He thus projects himself into three grammatical functions nominative, accusative, and dative - while the journal itself assumes an ablative role, being the instrument of communication with the self.

36 / The French Fictional Journal (nominative) Subject of the narration

(accusative) Object of the narration

(dative) Receiver of the narration

It is the time element which permits the distinction between the different selves involved, and it is the written form of the journal which allows and reveals their interaction. The role of the self as narratee is a unique feature of the journal form, but a closer look at the subject-object relationship, which is shared with other autobiographical forms, shows that even with regard to this 'shift' the journal form favours particular effects. SUBJECT AND OBJECT: HOMODIEGETIC, AUTODIEGETIC

F. Stanzel makes the following claim regarding novels related in the first person: 'Im kh-Roman versucht sich ein Mensch selbst zu begreifen, sich zu definieren, von seiner Um~elt abzugrenzen. ' 2 This is certainly not true of all types of first-person novel, since the homodiegetic narrator does not have to be also autodiegetic. The 'I' may be witness rather than protagonist, telling someone else's story rather than his own. This applies even to the diarynovel, if it is not a journal intime, as the example of Wuthering Heights illustrates. Here the diarist is narratee to another narrator and this other narrator is herself recounting events involving others rather than herself. Les Conquerants provides another example of an impersonal type of diary, concerned mainly with events in which the narrator's involvement is peripheral. However, the French diary-novel is generally modelled on the journal intime, and its essential requirements are therefore that it should be about and for the self. The fictional diarist may occasionally include in his journal a secondary recit told by another narrator, whether oral or written (for example, the story of Cordelia in Le Peintre de Salzbourg, or the biography of Allan in Un beau tenebreux, as resumed in Gregory's letter). 3 However, this abdication of the narrating role is usually fleeting, and closer

37 I 'Dedoublement': I, Me, to Myself

examination of the material narrated reveals that it always bears a relationship to the main recit involving the diarist. It usually forms a mise en abyme providing a contrast or parallel, and is part of the mirror play typical of the French journal form. Information about others, in the journal, is always (more or less directly) information about the narrator - by analogy, or because he must have a reason for including it (the confessional increment discussed previously). In Gladys, for example, the emphasis on another character implied by the title is illusory. Gladys represents the diarist's dream and is a creation of his imagination . Like Eva, the novel is not about the ideal woman, but a particular man's ideal of love. Similarly, in La Symphonie pastorale the initial account of the education of a blind girl gives way to the revelation of the narrator's blindness, it is his way of seeing which becomes the focus of the novel. Un beau tenebreux illustrates an even more subtle use of another character as a foil to the narrator. Whereas the title, enigmatic for some time, appears after a while to refer to Allan, by the end of Gerard's journal it is clear that the diarist is also a 'beau tenebreux,' having remained almost completely silent regarding his own love for Dolores and his consequent involvement as the fourth participant in the equation: Allan to Christel is as Dolores to?. Allan's role is primarily that of a double for Gerard, whom the latter may or may not imitate, a concrete realization of the split between the observing, narrating self and the self as protagonist, or projected image. 4 Axthelm has shown that the use of a double is typical of what he calls the 'confessional' novel. 5 It is certainly frequent in the French fictional journal. It is the logical development of the other as reflection of the self. As well as providing effects of patterning, parallel, and contrast, one other character often plays the part of 'twin soul' in the narrator's attempt at self-ddinition, representing one pole of his own duality. 6 An ambiguous relationship of repulsion and attraction may culminate in possession of the self by the other, as in the case of Celestine and Joseph, 7 or in loss of the other and subsequent self-destruction, as in Andre Walter's relationship with Em. A.O. Barnabooth attempts to identify with each of the three other main characters who appear in his diary, but rejects each possibility in turn to emerge finally as an autonomous individual in his own right. 8 Other characters in the diary-novel tend always to be reflectors whose role is to reveal different aspects of the narrator. They may reinforce the latter's point of view, confirming the reader's assumption of his reliability. Increasingly, however (from a diachronic standpoint), they contradict his point of view and underline his naivete or 'mauvaise foi,' providing evidence of unreliability. The narrator may show inconsistency by a discrepancy between what he says and what he does, revealing his own duplicity directly; doubts may also be aroused by quotation from others, or inference from their

38 / The French Fictional Journal

actions, which contradict what he has led the reader to expect. The narrator is revealed indirectly as incapable of seeing others as they are, or himself as they see him. Imprisoned in his 'nynegocentrism' ('moi-ici-maintenant') he fails not only to see himself objectively, as he might in retrospect, but also to see others except as images deformed by his perception. MIRRORS: PERCEPTION, PROJECTION, REFRACTION

Mirror reflections are central to the journal form. More than a useful device to describe the narrator's personal appearance, as mentioned previously, they function on several levels, including essential structural transformations . Like Narcissus, the diarist contemplates himself - though not always favourably . He projects an image of himself in words, but the role of projection and reflection does not end there. He not only sees himself, but is conscious also ofothers watching him, of watching others, and ultimately of watching himself watching. Like Monsieur Teste (himself the keeper of a 'log-book'), the diarist can say: 'Je suis etant, et me voyant; me voyant me voir, et ainsi de suite .... ' 9 Further, in spite of the never-ending series of reflections (and his analysis of them, reflection in the other sense), the image of himself he seeks is elusive, indeed unattainable from his own point of view, as it is constantly changing or deformed by shifts in focus. The diarist attempts to establish who he is, but the 'real' self is revealed as an illusion. The discrepancy between being and seeming ('etre et paraitre') is, not surprisingly, pervasive. When suddenly confronted with an objective image of himself, the diarist may fail to identify with it, as does A.O . Barnabooth, when he sees his picture in the paper, or Andre Walter on seeing himself in the mirror. 10 He may try to forget this physical image - Salavin turns the mirror to the wall - or seek reassurance as to its effect, as when Louise, contemplating her reflection, asks her mother if she is beautiful. 11 This question is also put by Gertrude to the pastor. 12 In her blindness she has to rely on his judgement, needing a portrait in words. Conversely, as long as she is blind she provides him with a satisfying self-image, which is destroyed when she regains her sight and reveals that it is Jacques' face that she imagined. 13 References to blindness abound in other fictional journals, as well as this one in which everything pivots around the actual state of Gertrude and the Pastor's moral and psychological obtuseness. Even in the earliest examples the narrators become aware of the false image system. Charles Munster exclaims: 'Je m'etonne moi-meme des irresolutions demon creur et de l' aveugle facilite avec laquelle j' embrasse tousles jours d' autres chimeres. ' 14 Eugene de Rothelin admits: 'Je m'attache atout ce qui peut m'aveugler,'

39 / ' Dedoublement': I, Me, to Myself

Louise also: 'II est vrai, je me suis aveuglee, je me suis perdue comme une insendee.' 15 Most of the modern fictional diarists have at least fleeting insights into their own attempts at self-deception, however naive or subtly persuasive they may be most of the time. 16 The danger of dedoublement is that the schizoid tendencies common to most diary writers should develop into a psychotic state of schizophrenia. It has been emphasized that fictional characters can have no real 'psychology' or 'subconscious.' The pattern of the internal communication model in the fictional journal is, however, inextricably tied up with the workings of split personality, and in several of the examples the narrator is depicted as illustrating in his behaviour the logical development of the communication pattern. The narrator of ' Le Hoda' becomes possessed by another self who even blocks out his image in the mirror and takes over his will. 17 He finally destroys himself, in order to destroy the 'Hoda' ('Hors-la,' as Andre Targe has pointed out). 18 The hero of 'L'Ineluctable' similarly complains of his dedoublement d'ame' and says Tai cree un etre ... hors de moi ii agit et me commande. ' 19 Andre Walter confuses himself with his fictional double, Allain, and the last part of his journal develops into a race between the two, as to who will go mad or die first, the 'je' becoming an ambiguous 'ii. ' 20 Even Mirbeau' s Celestine feels that she has 'lost' her identity and no longer knows who she is. 21 The narrator may succeed in seeing himself as if from the outside, and this may even become hallucinatory, as for Salavin, who sees his 'Doppelganger' in the street : 'Je viens de me voir hors de moi. ' 22 This double, like 'le vieux Salavin' becomes 'l'ennemi.' 23 Like Celestine, Salavin asks 'Que suis-je ?' 24 While observing the old woman with her load, or the other solitary man in his room, he also is observed, or imagines that he is. 25 A.O. Barnabooth, like Salavin, feels followed, so does the narrator of 'Le Hoda. ' 26 Several of the diarists refer to playing 'a role' or to a sense of alienation from their bodies. 27 Salavin and Roquentin both perceive their hand as not belonging to them. 28 Several French fictional intimistes inflict wounds on themselves, as part of an attempt at detachment from their body (Salavin, Roquentin, the Cure, Lafcadio). The Protestant minister informs Salavin that he is schizoid. 29 Certainly, he represents one of the most advanced cases of a tendency present in many of these narrators, who exhibit to a remarkable degree the characteristics typical of this neurosis. 30 In the case of the fictional intimiste, these characteristics are evoked by the text. The text is not, like a real journal, the result of their prior existence. Whereas in the case of the stereotyped real intimiste a schizoid identity crisis produces a journal, in the fictional journal the internal communication model posits and produces a' divided narrator.' The intimiste speaks of himself, and as Benveniste says with reference to psychoanalysis: I

40 / The French Fictional Journal

Du seul fait de l' allocution, celui qui parle de lui-meme installe l' autre en soi et par lase saisit lui-meme, se confronte, s' instaure tel qu' il aspire a l'etre, et finalement s' historise en cette histoire incomplete et falsifiee. 31 The situation is further complicated in the case of the journal intime, since the addressee is also 'none other than the self.' For the diarist, 'Je est un autre,' and this, to quote Benveniste once more, is 'l' expression typique de ce qui est proprement" l'alienation" mentale, ou le moi est depossede de son identite constitutive. ' 32 The real journal is the instrument of an individual's 'self-searching'; the fictional journal is the depiction of this process. The relationship between selves is a corollary of the grammatical roles implied by the linguistic circuit established. NARRATOR AND NARRATEE

'Narratee,' 'addressee,' 'destinataire' : whichever term is used, it is open to interpretation from two angles, from that of the emitter and from that of the receiver. That is, a message may be addressed to someone who never receives it, and in this case that person is the 'addressee' from the speaker's point of view only; or it n,ay be received by someone to whom it was not addressed, in which case that person is the receiver in fact, although not in intention . 'Addressee' is associated with a dialogue situation (' discours'), in which two people are involved and the roles of 'je' and 'tu' may be reversed. 'Narratee,' on the other hand, implies a conscious narration on the part of the speaker, and the relatively detached attitude associated with the production and reception of a recit. The first term would normally be more appropriate in a journal, which is primarily a form of discours. However, the irreversibility of the roles of speaker and receiver in a situation where the latter is absent tends to emphasize the written nature of the account, the delay in reception, and the ultimate recit status of the diary. Narratee will therefore be used here most of the time, also because it corresponds more closely to 'narrator,' the term used to designate the diarist. References to the narrator as his own narratee, from his point of view as 'locu teur,' occur in almost all the examples of diary-novels. As Gerald Prince has pointed out, any narrator may be his own narratee at the time of narration. 33 However, Prince maintains that a diarist such as Roquentin is not. 34 This is true, in the sense that he does not simultaneously write and read his account. Subsequent diary reading is, however, invariably referred to as 're-reading.' The diarist must 'register' what he writes, and he is the 'addressee' in so far as it is his own reaction which determines the encoding of his account. It is according to his assessment of the effect on himself, if no other actual reader is intended, that a diarist calculates the form of his recit,

41 / 'Dedoublement' : I, Me, to Myself

consciously or not. Metadiegetic comments on the inadequacy of the linguistic means at his disposal to convey the' reality' he is experiencing may be made during the actual attempt, representing the reactions of the self in its dual roles of narrator and receiver, conscious of any 'decalage' between intention and effect. 35 The narrator may claim a superior degree of spontaneity, of absence of searching for effect, precisely because he is writing only for himself. 36 However, this attitude tends to become an end in itself, the writer self-consciously trying to avoid a literary 'style' - but with the ulterior motive, evidently, of appearing more 'sincere,' if only (ostensibly) in his own eyes. 37 Critics have pointed out the superfluity of providing information for oneself which one already knows, or of defending the truth or sincerity of what one says to oneself. 38 Valid at a superficial level, this reproach neglects the role of the narrator's dedoublement. His is usually motivated to begin his journal, as has been seen, by a form of identity crisis. No longer sure who he is, he attempts to redefine himself by a choice between possibilities, of which he himself is not sure that one alone is ' real' or' true.' Consequently he may indeed be trying to convince himself that the more flattering version is stronger - or, in the case of some masochistic diarists, thatthe reverse is the case. 'Confession' usually implies the revelation of something not too much to one's credit, and many fictional diarists attempt to adjust their image in this direction, in the interests of 'authenticity' - their final defence. Others seek to justify themselves in the face of unaccepted accusation. They plead their cause as if before a judge, and their aim to improve their image is more obvious. 39 Whether the diarist initially pleads guilty or not guHty, his effort at self-revelation and self-contemplation is ultimately based on the hope that 'to understand is to forgive.' He is generally seeking reconciliation with himself, if not with someone else, and therefore his apparent sincerity is always suspect. 40 As well as subject and object of his recit the diarist is his own reader or assessor, although conscious of his control over the selection and combination of elements and their presentation. He plays the roles of defendant, prosecutor, and judge - or, to use Butor' s parallel metaphor in L'Emploi du temps, of murderer, victim, and detective. At the time of writing, the dedoublement of the narrator engaged in a dialogue with his current self is reflected by the frequent recurrence of questions addressed to himself, or to no one in particular. These questions may be rhetorical, to the extent that they do not expect an answer, or the required answer is implicit in the question itself. They may also be real, in the sense that they express genuine doubt and uncertainty. 41 The narrator may also address himself as 'tu,' a form which often has self-upbraiding overtones, as Bruce Morrissette claims.42 The diarist reflects, by the adop-

42 / The French Fictional Journal

tion of a form associated with chxldren, the tone of a parent performing the action of reprimanding or encouraging. An attempt is apparent to influence or persuade the (other) self- a necessary element of discours. Several fictional diarists mention that they plan to reread their journal later, and that they expect to gain profit or pleasure by doing so. 43 This avowed intention may be seen also to influence the account. The dialogue with a second current self is modified by the substitution of an unkown future self-as-narratee. The fact that the narrator may actually read his account later (within the fiction), but with an effect different from the one anticipated, underlines the possible discrepancy between intended and actual reception. 44 READING

The occurrence of actual reading of the journal by the narrator, recorded within the journal itself, is common in the diary-novel. The instances of self-reading fall into three main categories: (1) reading of a few lines which have just been written, or of the last entry; (2) reading of a larger section of the journal from a greater distance, usually after a considerable gap and before resuming the journal activity; (3) reading of the whole journal before abandoning it. The first category is closely related to the self as narratee at the time of writing. The roles are temporarily reversed, the character seated at his desk becomes addressee rather than emitter, as the diary speaks to him. This type of reading what was last said may be seen as cheating in the journal situation, an attempt to overcome the inherent discontinuity of a day-by-day account. 45 In fictional journals it generally serves another purpose : to show how, even in a brief space of time, the narrator's perception may vary, and to allow metanarrative comment from the self-as-reader on the effectiveness or ineffectiveness of the self-as-writer, that is, to contribute to the dual image of the narrator. 46 Reading at short distance reinforces the evocation of a discours situation. The second type of reading (of a greater portion, after a gap) is the most noticeable in the novels, since it may affect the plot. Change in the narrator, and especially in his perception of what was recounted, is emphasized to an even greater exent. Andre Walter, on rereading his old journal, contrasts 'then' and 'now'; so does Eveline, in L' Ecole des femmes. 47 The Pastor in La Symphonie pastorale realizes, on reading his first notebook, that his relationship with Gertrude was misrepresented. 48 This type of reading, as well as establishing a non-narrating self, in contrast to the narrating one (albeit revealed by a second, later narrating self) conveys the perception by the

4J I 'Dedoublement': I, Me, to Myself

narrator-as-reader of part of his histoire as recit, of his past self (narrating and narrated) as actor. The relative detachment associated with the je-il of the past allows the self-judgement that could not be achieved at the time of narration. The third type of reading, at the 'end' of the journal, implies an even greater degree of detachment. The story is perceived as over, the recit type of reception is even more pronounced. At this point the narrator may almost espouse the point of view of another reader, as do those who finally decide to publish their journal (A.O. Barnabooth, Bernard in Eva)- that is, to invite other readings. 49 OTHER NARRATEES

A virtual other is always present as a hypothetical narratee, even when the narrator claims to be writing for himself alone. This may remain at the level of an imaginary, unknown reader. 50 However, since a written account may always be found and read by someone else, the reaction of other homodiegetic characters as potential narratees is frequently envisaged. Some diarists fear the discovery of their journal by a particular member of their entourage, to whom they have an ambivalent attitude, claiming that they do not want that person to see their account, although it may seem to be written with that person in mind. 51 The journal may, of course, be intended for someone by whom it is read, actually be read by someone within the recit for whom it was not intended, or be intended for someone who does not read it. 52 It may play an important part in the 'plot' because of the unpredictability of its actual narratee( s) . 53 The fact that the journal exists as a concrete object, written in a language comprehensible to others (a condition of our reading it) means that it always presents a possible way out of the solipsistic model of communication with the self. In certain cases the journal may be specifically addressed to another character who is an absentee narratee, to whom the writer speaks in his imagination. This is often true where the narrator is separated from the object of his affections for physical or psychological reasons. 54 The imaginary narratee may consistently be the same person, or, as in the case of Le Nceud de viperes, there may be a series of potential or 'delayed' narratees involved, as well as the narrator himself. 55 The diarist may even intend to leave his journal after his death for perusal by his children. 56 Whether or not these narratees actually read the journal may be largely irrelevant. What is important is the way the narrator is seen to adapt his selection and presentation - and consequently his self-image - to suit the imagined narratee. While this motivation functions on the level of the diary as discours (homodiegetic

44 / The French Fictional Journal

model) and concerns mainly the narrator's intentions, unforeseen (from the narrator's point of view) shifts in receivers function structurally on the level of recit and are means to overall (usually ironic) effect. A compromise is adopted by several narrators who attempt to depersonalize their experience or opinions and to combine 'I' and 'you' by the use of 'on' or 'nous.' 57 the account, addressed initially to the self alone, may develop into what Lammert calls 'Rede an die Welt' -an appeal to the whole world.58 The narrator may attempt to escape from his isolation by identifying himself with mankind in general. Thus, 'maxime' type general statements are as frequent in the fictional journal as self-questioning. The world in general, or the average typical human being, is called as witness. In this case the narrator refuses to recognize his unicity, the sense of 'difference' which he at other times claims or laments. The self as individual narratee gives way to the image of a hypothetical reader, who may or may not resemble the narrator, defined only by the implied judgement which the latter expects of him. 59 The narratee in the fictional journal frequently takes one other form: that of God. Since, unlike the real intimistes, the majority of French fictional journalists do not believe in the latter, or claim to have serious doubts, this super-reader most often represents a form of super-ego. 60 Schizoid narrators such as Andre Walter or Salavin are overwhelmed by the rift between body and mind (or soul), the actual and ideal, aspiring selves. God, the projection of the super-ego, becomes for them the representative of the ideal other, with whom communication is possible, but ultimately unnecessary, since He is by definition omniscient and all-comprehending. In this He resembles the self, but He is able to provide the resources which the self cannot find within its own boundaries. Realization that this ideal other is unattainable leads to self-love, and, on the discovery that the self is no substitute, to selfdestruction. 61 The individual's only salvation is to accept the 'pis-aller' of a mundane, human other. 62 In this case, the diarist's knowledge that he is heard, however imperfectly, usually leads to abandonment of the journal. The eventual publication of the journal may or may not be woven into the fiction . Some fictional diarists do finally envisage the possible or actual sharing of their journal with an unknown public audience.63 However, this decision is usually towards the end, when the journal is about to be abandoned. Previous intentions to destroy it obviously cannot be fulfilled (except in part) , since we would have nothing before us. 64 The decision to publish, on the part of the narrator, represents a rejection of the journal as an intimate tool for self-knowledge, and an acknowledgement of the elements of the self relevant to all. The 'character' takes over, the roles of narrator and narratee are abandoned. In other cases the 'publication' and involvement of an actual reader is not recognized within the text, except by the 'editors,' when this

4.5 / 'Dedoublement' : I, Me, to Myself

type of frame is present. Even then, the reader implied by the editor's comments may bear little resemblance to the actual reader. 65 The real reader finds himself in the position of a voyeur, an onlooker, or more precisely an 'in-looker,' a 'reader overthe shoulder' or ' extra-locuteur' of the narrator as he writes for himself or reads what he wrote previously. He is forced most of the time to identify with the narrator in one of his roles, though shifting, as does the latter, between them. He may, through a frame effect, read the whole journal through the eyes of another reader, as well as his own. In Charles Demailly and Andre Walter, one reads with the narrator, later; in Le Fantome, with the devoted lover who discovers that he was deceived. 66 In Joseph Delorme the editors almost eclipse the journal by their own comments as readers. 67 The presence of a terminal judgement on the diary, from a reader's point of view (whether it be that of the diarist, as in Eva, of another homodiegetic character, as in Le Peintre or Le Nceud de viperes, or of a heterodiegetic editor, as in Maupassant's 'Fou' or Adam's 'L'Ineluctable') always provides a point of comparison for the reader's own reaction and interpretation. Reading, as well as writing, is incorporated into the text. On the intradiegetic level the diarist alone is present and projects himself into the role of reader. On the extradiegetic level, the reader alone is present and projects himself into the role(s) of the narrator-protagonist.

5

The Journal as Chronograph: Time

TIME AND SPACE

The fragmentation of the 'I' of the intimiste, through his self-projection into various roles usually performed by separate entities, is dependent on his relationship to time and space. The journal is both 'monograph' (a means of exteriorizing the self in writing) and 'chrono-graph,' an illustration of the production of a written record of time, produced in time. 1 Both time and writing are related to the 'identity' of the self and its spatial aspects. Geographical space in the fictional journal tends to be of negative significance. The diarist's surrounding environment is most often dominated by a sense of confinement, due, if not to actual incarceration, to the narrator's inability to escape from himself. Didier comments on the frequency of imagery related to imprisonment in the real journal intime, and relates this to her theory of the diary as a return to the womb, 'la prison matricielle.'2 Many of the fictional intimistes considered are prisoners in some way or another. None is actually locked up, in the French examples, but Robinson Crusoe is a prisoner on his island (Vendredi), Louis in Le N ceud de viperes is confined to his bed, Gide's Pastor is shut in by the snow, as he begins his journal. Roquentin wallows in 'Bouville,' and the narrator of Paludes is bogged down in his marsh. Other narrators are exiles (Charles Munster, A.O . Barnabooth, Jacques Revel). Exile and exclusion, implying an inability to relate to the surrounding environment, are frequent in the fictional journal, and produce the same effect as imprisonment: the intimiste turns in on himself, he takes refuge in his 'monde interieur.' Imprisonment and exile both have punitive associations, as well as ones of refuge. They are both ways of hiding, of not being seen. Cut off from the 'other,' physically or psychologically, the diarist attempts to compensate for his isolation by self-fragmentation into 'other' roles, thus creating an illusion of space (of 'ecart,' or 'distanciation'), within

47 I The Chronograph: Time

the narrow bounds of the self. The sense of an observing other, the judge, is not avoided, however, since the diarist comes to fulfil this role himself, through the journal. The majority of fictional journals do not represent the interaction between an individual and an autonomous external world. Rather, the heterocosm surrounding the fictional intimiste is present as an extension of himself. The governing milieu of many of these narrators is an atmosphere or web of relationships rather than any particular place. A.O. Barnabooth travels around Europe in his attempt to become someone else, but he takes his own physical and psychological space (his body and his mind) with him . Each hotel room seems the same. Bernard, in Eva, unsuccessfully attempts to change his relationship with Eva by two changes of scene. Louis, in Le N reud de viperes, makes a similar unsuccessful move in leaving his home to seek out his illegitimate son . The narrator of 'Le Horla' escapes only fleetingly from his double by means of self-displacement. The backdrop to the events described in some of the novels might easily be changed, provided that the same group of people remain in enforced proximity. The hotel in Un beau tenebreux or country house in Journal d' une femme de chambre are typical of the kind of setting often chosen in drama to produce a' closed' atmosphere. The end of the journal frequently corresponds to the break-up of the group (or couple), which finally allows the narrator to escape from the situation which produced the journal. The fact that diary writing usually takes place in a private room, and most often the same one, contributes to a claustrophobic effect. In the case of L'Emploi du temps, Bleston dominates the novel; but the city represents a labyrinth, with no exit, and is an extension of the maze in Revel's mind, as he attempts to straighten out the paths of time. His journal ends as he leaves Bleston, and simultaneously abandons the attempt to retrieve and record every fragment of his stay there. External space, in this type of novel, is a 'pathetic' reflection of the narrator's state of mind, unchanging, or unable to effect a change in him. Time, on the other hand, is primordial, since the action hinges on conflict and change within the narrator. His identity crisis may be provoked by external events or people and produce dramatic consequences, but the transformations which govern its resolution are internal and take place through the effects of time. The splitting of the self into three roles (subject, object, and narratee )-apparently a spatial phenomenon - is possible only because of the three aspects of time, as seen from a subjective viewpoint-past, present, and future . 3 The narrator can grasp himself as object only in the past; he can be himself only in the present; and he can address himself only in the future. It is the narrator's recognition of the changes in himself, through time, which in many cases motivates the keeping of a journal. By recording the

48 I The French Fictional Journal

present as it turns into the past the diarist exteriorizes part of his subiective consciousness; he preserves the present for the future . He can reassure himself of what he was, however uncertain he may be of what he is or may become. The traditional concept of personal identity was defined by Locke as 'identity of consciousness through duration in time.' 4 The modern novel reflects a fundamental change in this concept. The possibility of 'reconstructing and justifying the notion of a continuous life or identical self' is questioned and superseded by the concept of 'a plurality of successive selves.' 5 Montaigne, in his journal-like writings, expressed the sense of 'becoming' rather than 'being.' This type of narration tends inevitably to make the narrator aware of the problematical relationship between the self and time. Since note-taking cannot be continuous, as is living, it produces a segmentation of experience which tends to mark change rather than continuity. As Roudautputs it, speaking of L'Emploi du temps: 'Vivre le temps d'une maniere discontinue est s'isoler, non seulement des autres mais de soi-meme.' 6 The diarist's inability to be free from himself or others is paralleled by an inability to integrate on both these levels. REPETITION AND CHANGE

As the narrator becomes aware of his own metamorphosis through time, the latter becomes a theme as well as the medium of the recit. All novels are what Eleanor Hutchens terms 'chronomorph,' and Georges Jean 'des machines a explorer le temps.' 7 In a fictional journal the passing of time is marked by dates or references to seasons, anniversaries, or other elements which underline chronology. 8 The time dimension is necessarily explicit. A diary inevitably involves two aspects of time - the punctual (or singulative) and the iterative (or habitual). The diarist is caught between a desire for stability and the danger of stagnation, between a wish for a change (action, adventure) and the fear of ontological insecurity. He records both events which happen regularly and predictably and those which occur once, unexpectedly. The latter disrupt, the former reassure. Elements of both stability and change must be present, for a work to be a novel, while appearing to be a journal. The narrator's regular activities are built up as the background against which the events of the 'plot' are foregrounded. Genette' s analysis of the possible ratios of 'what is recorded' to 'how often it is recorded' includes a possibility which is never realized: an action performed 'n' times, and also recorded 'n' times. 9 This combination would be the logical outcome of a diary which attempted to record everything the narrator did, including those actions which are repeated every day. In fact, this is never carried out, a few repetitions serving to indicate 'routine.' On the other hand an event which occurred only once may be recounted more

49 / The Chronograph: Time

than once, each account or analysis of it forming a separate 'instance de narration,' and revealing, by modification, changes in the narrator's attitude to the event, or comprehension of it. Real diary entries frequently mention the weather, the narrator's state of health, what he had for breakfast, and so on - items which would generally be redundant as far as the action or histoire of a novel is concerned.'They may, however, produce cumulative patterning effects or provide 'reperes,' as do the buses in L'Emploi du temps or the trams in La Nausee. These function on a fixed schedule and represent the part of life which is apparently immutable and predictable. Special effects are possible if such touchstones prove unreliable, since it is the rule which makes the exception stand out. The smallest change in a routine such as Salavin's, for example, becomes significant. The natural lacunae and redundancies of a real journal are imitated in the novel and received by the reader as structural devices forming part of a pattern producing aesthetic coherence, as rhetorical effects to retain his attention, or hermeneutic clues (including what Barthes calls 'leurres') . 10 The 'time' perceived by the reader is, in Genette's terms, 'le temps du rec;it. ' It is composed of the interweaving of 'le temps de l'histoire' and 'le temps de la narration,' that is, the chronological order of events and the order in which they are related. The fact that the reader knows he is reading a novel leads him to impose causality on sequence, to look for meaning in the contrived contingency of the fictional world. STORY AND NARRATION

The journal type of narration makes certain time effects possible, while ruling out others. The narrator's past (ie, the time before he begins writing the journal) may be resumed in expository fashion at the beginning, as in Eugene de Rothe/in , where the first forty-six pages recount the narrator's lif~ story to date. 11 The retrospective may be limited to a certain period, as in L' Emploi du temps. In either case, there is a subsequent shift from a memoir type of narration to that of events which occur closer to the time of writing. Expository information may, alternatively, be dispersed throughout the journal, integrated into the narrative as it proceeds. 12 In this way the narrator's past is seen as part of his subjective consciousness and closely related to the present of the narration by effects of similarity or contrast. In the Journal d' un cure de campagne we learn of the priest's childhood and experiences in the seminary only through occasional references. In Un beau tenebreux we know very little of Gerard's past life, as he relates only some recollections of his wartime experiences. Since it is ostensibly the narrator who provides the information (or withholds it), his selection and presentation illustrate the 'confessional increment.' They contribute to the reader's

50 I The French Fictional Journal

construction of the narrator's character and assessement of his degree of reliability. He may be endowed with a perfect memory, or his memory may be shown to be subjective and fallible. Many fictional diarists comment explicitly on this aspect. 13 In the diary-novel a distinct' slice of time' is represented by that part of the histoire which takes place between the beginning and the end of the journal. This period may cover all major events, except the narrator's death, which must necessarily be situated outside the journal. Between the entries there is a time gap during which events may be supposed to have occurred. If these are narrated au jour le jour, in the next writing session, this produces the interweaving of histoire and narration which Genette terms 'intercalee.' As in an epistolary novel, the two may leap-frog over each other. 14 This interwoven pattern is, however, rarely sustained without variation. Nothing 'noteworthy' may have happened since the last entry, producing a laconic 'rien de nouveau,' as in 'Le Horla' or La Nausee, or prompting the narrator to reminisce about the more distant past, or make conjectures regarding the future. 15 Alternatively, too much may have happened, so that the narration of the immediate past becomes serialized, as in L'Emploi du temps, the backlog necessarily being accumulative, since, as Tristram Shandy discovered, it takes more time to write down everything than to experience it, and time does not stand still while one records it. The effect is compounded, if the narrator also perceives his journal-keeping as an activity to be recorded and analysed along with the rest. The complete diary is obviously an impossible project. Many critics speak of the gain in immediacy of narration in the journal form. 16 Events may be related while, so to speak, still hot off the press. The diarist is still under their impact, he does not have time to' recollect emotion in tranquillity.' This claim is justified, if the journal is considered in relation to the memoir or autobiography. However, compared to the monologue interieur or stream of consciousness techniques, the fact that a journal is a written account implies the' recul' necessary to digest experience sufficiently to be able to reformulate it coherently in words. Valery's idea for a 'simultaneous' biography is as impossible as a 'complete' diary, since any written record involves selection and arrangement, and therefore a time-lag. 17 Several fictional diarists comment on this problem. Bernard (Eva) recognizes the difficulty of expressing an experience which is not yet complete, and Salavin admits that had he delayed longer he would have written something else. 18 The nearest the diary writer comes to recording experience as it happens is when he refers to the actual act of narration -his position, utensils, handwriting, and so on. 19 In this case the time of narration becomes a subject as well as the medium of the recit. In the novels consulted, references to journal writing in relation to time are frequent. Some diarists complain that they do

51 I The Chronograph: Time

not have enough time to write, others that they have too much time, and write to fill it up. 20 The subjectivity of length of time is underlined. For the elderly Sylvestre Bonnard, the years disappear unnoticed; whereas Second' s teen-aged bride, bereft of her husband for two weeks, literally counts every second of his absence. 21 The Narrator provides an account of himself in the past: but he is also actively engaged in planning and shaping the future. He is in medias res as he writes. His projections of the future may take the form of precise resolutions and plans, or vague presentiments. In the case of the former, ironic effects are produced if they are foiled by subsequent events. The latter, on the other hand, are usually fulfilled, and replace the kind of foreshadowing or anticipation ('prolepse' in Genette's terms) not otherwise possible in the diarynovel, where no one, not even the author, is permitted to comment openly ahead of time on what is to come. 22 However, at least one fictional diarist (Second's) consults a fortune-teller. 23 Several have dreams, providing clues for the future. 24 Some are prophetic, in an actual historical way (Taine's M. Graindorge predicts women's liberation, to take place around 1900), or as an echo of biblical eschatology (Flaubert's madman announces the end of the world). 25 POINTS IN TIME AND PERIODS OF TIME

Time in the diary is punctuated by certain specific, well-defined points in the development of the narration which mark the limits of the intervening periods. Those on the intradiegetic level are framed by the two essential extradiegetic points in time without which the text would not exist, that is, the point of production (writing and publication of the novel) and of reception (reading of the novel). Whereas the first of these two extradiegetic points is unique and invariable (different editions excepted), the second is infinitely variable and renewable. On the intradiegetic level there are two series of points in time and periods of time. One is concerned with events (l'histoire), the other with narration. The periods on the level of events may be resumed thus: 1 2

3 4

5

6

The time in the narrator's life before the journal. The time between entries. The accumulative time between the beginning of the journal and the current entry. The time beyond the individual current entry, within the journal (hypothetical). The whole period covered by the journal. The time beyond the journal, within the fiction (optional).

52

I The French Fictional Journal

Whereas (1) is always implied in a journal, it may or may not be specifically recounted or even mentioned. This involves what Genette terms 'analepses' (or flashbacks) whose distance from the time of narration and 'duree' or volume may vary. The whole period may be resumed, or part of it, or certain points of it (particular events) may be singled out for attention. (2) is composed of segments, necessarily important in a journal, although little may be known of them in many cases and they may function as enigmae or 'spaces to be filled in.' (3) is brought into being by the diary. As with the novel, its point of departure is fixed, whereas its point of arrival is variable. It is the sum of a series of (2) at any point in the narration. (4) is constantly pending, but known by both narrator and reader to be imminent. (5) is definite, confined within given entry dates. (6) remains virtual, unless the journal is followed by some other form of narration, and is often limited to information about the narrator's death or the source of the manuscript. The points of time which stand out in these periods are the precise temporal location of specific events, which vary from novel to novel, plus references to the points of time at which the narration takes place, which are common to all diary novels. These are: (a) the time of the beginning of the journal, (b) the time of beginning, writing, and ending each entry, and (c) the time of the end of the journal. One must add that in many cases there is a corresponding series of points of time at which the journal is read, within the fiction, by the diarist or someone else, as discussed in the previous chapter; this might be called a 'meta-narrative series.' It is often a means to underline (3) in the series of events (accumulation of time between the beginning of the journal and a given point in the narration) or (4), the whole period covered by the journal, if the reading takes place at the end. In its turn (b) - the time of beginning, writing, and ending each entry- provides micro-periods of narration (the time taken to produce each entry) which subsequently become part of the 'events' series. The length of these periods is related to the actual length of the entries and ultimately of the journal, in pages, and therefore determines the time of reading. The relationship between the time of the histoire and the time of the narration produces the rhythm of the recit and affects its reception by the reader. Within the fiction, there are also two distinct temporal spheres, if there is an editorial frame. The time of editing precedes the journal in the perspective of the recit (the order of the narrative syntagma, perceived by the reader), but must come after it in the chronological order of events within the fiction (histoire). It is one means of putting the' end' at the beginning, of giving the reader, in advance, information (including the narrator's fate) unknown to the diarist as he writes. 26 In certain novels there is an attempt to equate this level with the level of an actual reading of the novel. For example, at the end of Le Peintre de Salzbourg we are informed that Eulalie is 'now' twenty-

53 I The Chronograph: Time

eight years old; at the end of Andre Walter we learn that Em. is 'still' alive. This device may produce a sense of immediacy, if the reading takes place soon after the publication of the novel, that is, if production and reception are relatively synchronic. If there is an extensive diachronic gap between the two, the non-equivalence is underlined. The histoire may seem to continue beyond the end of the diary, but this extension of the fiction is also firmly anchored in the past, in relationship to the reader, and thus in conflict with the 'presentness' of the fictive past. Not all the elements mentioned are present in all diary-novels, as has been seen. There may be no editorial framework, no reference to the narrator's previous or subsequent existence, no rereading by the narrator, and no mention of his death. However, the focal point within the fiction is always the narrator's present as he writes. It is the importance of the relationship between one entry and the next which is characteristic of the journal form. Philippe Hamon describes the narrative structure of the fictional journal as follows:

un decoupage en sequences quantitativement et qualitativement, chaque sequence elle-meme etant divisee en deux aires, souvent en tension, complementaires et bien differenciees stylistiquement et grammaticalement, celle de l'enonce des fa its passes, celle de I' enonce des fa its presents. 27 This definition supposes a uniformity among diary-novels and entries not reflected in the examples. Elements of both past and present are not always explicitly involved in every entry. In addition, the future plays an important role. In fact, three types of diary-novel emerge, according to which temporal aspect is emphasized. INTERWEAVING OF PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE

Certain novels have a large or essential part of their histoire situated in the 'past,' that is, before the diary begins. The situation at the time of writing is constantly compared unfavourably with an idyllic previous state which cannot be recovered. The developments on the level of the action are the result of the narrator's refusal to accept change. The journal is a 'recherche du temps perdu.' The first French diary-novel, Le Peintre de Salzbourg, exemplifies this type. Charles's journal is strongly marked from the outset by a rhetoric which underlines the antithesis between then and now: 'Hier encore ... et aujourd'hui ... ' 28 His life is a 'sablier renverse,' the future is cancelled, irrevocably, as is attested by his suicide. 29 A similar development occurs in Andre Walter, written much later but similarly based on the Werther model. Unlike Goethe's epistolary novel, in which histoire and

54 / The French Fictional Journal

narration develop in parallel fashion, both these journal versions situate the beginning of the narration after the loss of the loved one. Gide conveys the sense of nostalgia and loss by the interweaving of two diaries from different periods. The narrator reads his old notebook, as he writes the new one. In this case the time pattern becomes even more complicated (at times confusing) , as both diaries have a 'narrative present' and relative past, though one is anterior to the other. The period in between becomes of great significance, since this is where the major change operates. The typical diary' gap between entries' is projected on a larger scale as a 'gap between diaries.' The same is true of the two diaries in L' Ecole des femmes , though these are presented one after the other, in chronological order. The rereading of the first diary by the narrator performs a special function, as it produces a conscious rejection of the previous self, and instigates the beginning of the second diary. A similar process occurs through the division of La Symphonie pastorale into two parts. Although there is only a short time gap between the two notebooks, the Pastor's rereading of the first one during that time has finally enlightened him as to the nature of his relationship with Gertrude. Some of the problems involved in the manipulation of a journal-type time scheme are illustrated by the way in which this recognition is conveyed. Towards the end of the first notebook, on recording a conversation with Amelie whose meaning was not clear to him at the time when it took place, the Pastor mentions that the significance of the conversation subsequently became clear to him: Que signifiait cette insinuation? C est ce que je ne savais, nine voulais chercher asavoir. Les phrases d' Amelie, qui me paraissaient alors si mysterieuses, s' eclairerent pour moi peu ensuite ; je les ai rapportees telles qu' elles m' apparurent d' abord .. . 30

This record is dated ':10 mars.' The second notebook begins on '25 avril ,' and he claims to have reread the first one 'la nuit derniere.' 31 His reaction is: Je m' explique apeine comment certaines paroles d'Amelie, que j' ai rapportees, ont pu me paraftre si mysterieuses ... Je me meprenais encore et encore en transcrivant ces propos ... f' ai rapporte ces conversations non seulement telles qu' elles ont eu lieu, mais encore les ai-je transcrites dans une disposition toute pareille; avrai dire ce n' est qu' en les relisant cette nuit-ci que j' ai compris. 32

Evidently there is a contradiction here, unless one assumes that the Pastor incorporated later remarks in his earlier manuscript, of which there is no indication. This type of anticipation or prolepse is frequent in retrospective first-person narration, in fact typical of the fictional autobiography. It is, however, not possible in a journal where the narrator is supposedly ignorant

55 I The Chronograph: Time

of the future at the time;of writing. We might call this kind of 'anachronie' a 'pro-lapse' on the part of the author. The factthat mostreaders do not notice this inconsistency shows to what extent the establishment of' diary-form' in a novel is a convention which may be waived once suspension of disbelief is at work. Other works exhibit more glaring temporal discrepancies, as has been previously mentioned as a sign of fictivity . La Symphonie pastorale, like several other diary-novels, such as Le Nceud de viperes, begins with an emphasis on the past and shifts to one on the present. The progress of events (histoire) catches up with and almost overtakes the Pastor's narration of them. An effect of acceleration in the rhythm of the recit is achieved by a change in the proportion of past to present. The first notebook covers two years, from the time Gertrude was found to the time six months before the time of writing, with only occasional brief references to the Present, mainly concerning the weather. This notebook is ninety pages long and divided into only seven entires, that is an average of about thirteen pages each. These are written between :10 February and 12 March, roughly a month. There follows a gap of two weeks before the Pastor begins the second notebook, having reread the first one. The second covers a period from two weeks before it starts (ie, the end of the first notebook) on 25 April, to 30 May (about six weeks) and is divided into fifteen entries taking up fifty-four pages, that is, an average of about three and a half pages each. There is only one analepse, referring back to the period before the writing of this second notebook. The change of pace is marked within the second notebook, after the Pastor learns that Gertrude is operable, on 19 May. The last twenty-two pages cover only ten days, recorded in as many entries, several of which are only half a page long. Two entries may occur on the same day (19 May and 28 May, morning and evening), conveying the rapidity of events on the level of histoire. Twice the future dimension becomes predominant, as the Reader waits with the Narrator to discover if the operation is successful, and for Gertrude's return. A countdown builds up to this event, as 'demain' (27 mai) turns into 'ce midi,' and the action interrupts the narration when the Pastor breaks off exclaiming' Ah! les voici !' Effects of suspense of this type are obviously favoured by the journal form . At the end of the journal d'une femme de chambre the reader shares Celestine's anxious wait for Joseph's return, and wonders, with her, whether he will in fact come back. 33 The use of an actual date in the future, which inexorably draws nearer, is particularly effective in Un beau tenebreux, where, like Gerard, the reader anticipates the explanation of the mystery surrounding Allan on the day marked on his calendar. The effect of diminishing time is even more tense in 'L'Ineluctable.' On 5 April the projected murder is set for 30 May. On 26 May the narrator has still not decided whether to go through with his plan. On 29 May he speaks of it as 'what

56 I The French Fictional Journal

might have been' - and yet everything is ready. Finally we learn that he has killed Hasson, and is already planning another crime. 34 The removal of motive (need for money) and excuse (Hasson has reformed) cannot stop the fulfilment of what has become an obsession . An apparently satisfactory conclusion, with conventional moral implications, is converted into a disturbing and amoral non-end, since the 'definitive' crime becomes only the first in a projected series. Fremy's Journal d'une jeune fille provides an even more striking exercise in alternative endings (well before modern versions, such as The French Lieutenant's Woman). Louise first decides to commit suicide: 'Je suis determinee a en finir avec mes peines .. . demain j' aurai cesse d' exister !" 35 The next day she bequeaths her journal to the public, male and female, to be a lesson to them, and the 'end' draws closer: 'Dans un instant j'aurai cesse d' exister ... ' However, she is still with us on the next page, having reread her previous entry in the perspective of a complete transformation of situation. Her lover having reappeared at the opportune moment, they are now to wed and live happily ever after: 'Ainsi je n' ai plus rien a souhaiter; je n' ai plus qu'a transcrire les expressions de mon ravissement. Ces dernieres lignes fugitives me serviront seulement a attendre son retour.' Nevertheless, her story is not over, since we discover her (three pages later) once more apparently abandoned (pregnant, this time) and soon about to pass away: 'Je n' aurai bi en tot plus la force de tenir une plume, je le regrette ... ' Even now the vicissitudes of her fate are not exhausted. The faithless lover proves faithful after all, and is present to hold her up as she records her final moments: 'II est trop tard ... Si je n'ecris plus rien apres ces derniers mots, c'est que j'aurai cesse d'exister!' As nothing follows but the word 'Fin,' the reader assumes that this time one is to believe her. One would hardly be surprised, however, to discover a postscript explaining that she recovered, but gave up diary-writing. Once a diarist expresses the intention or resolve to do something, and the reader subsequently learns that he did not, the reaction to further resolutions on the diarist's part tends to be scepticism. The novel becomes a counterpoint between what the Narrator predicts and what happens, between what the reader comes to expect and its fulfilment or contradiction. Such is the case in the journal of Salavin. Salavin is determined to control the inevitable change in himself: 'Jene prends pas mon parti d'etre Salavin pour l'eternite.' 36 He sets himself time limits in the future, to mark his progress in the attempt to become a lay saint. He looks forward to reading his record of his achievements. However, time shows that his attempts are futile; it produces ironic discrepancies similar to those dependent on shifts in point of view. The reader vacillates between an 'outside' view of Salavin (comic detachment) and an 'inside' one which reveals him as a tragic and noble aspirant to the Ideal. He simultaneously illustrates and refutes the paradox of triumphant

57 I The Chronograph: Time

humility- a kind of Don Quixote. If he succeeded he would indeed no longer be Salavin; but nor would he be if he gave up trying. Paludes provides another particularly interesting example of a similar interplay of past, present, and future, with ironic effect, since the discrepancies are underlined here by the use of two diaries, one inside the other. The 'agenda' records what the narrator plans to do. This future-oriented diary is included in a narration which is in fact a retrospective journal, since the sections are headed by the days of the week and appear to form a written account in the first person by the protagonist. Although only one week is concerned, the juxtaposition of what he plans and what he actually does make this work exemplary of one aspect of the fictional journal. Even when the narrator ostensibly performs what he set out to do (the journey), it turns out to be a parody of his anticipation. The novel becomes a fable of the inability to predict the future, of the gap between the ideal and reality, of the stultifying power of the iterative - the force of habit. Fiction relies on suspense in one form or another to sustain the reader's attention. He may read on in eager anticipation of the next sign in the 'proairetic' code (what happened?), but this motivation is less strong in many diary novels, where nothing, or very little, happens. 37 The emphasis is shifted to the hermeneutic code (what does it mean?), since the narrator, like the reader, is trying to piece the clues together. The 'action' is on the level of his perception and attempts to comprehend, rather than a simple account of facts in the past. For this reason many fictional journals have been accused of being second-rate novels, or 'romans athese'. The fact is that 'timeless' elements may occupy a large proportion of the journal. 'TIMELESS' ELEMENTS

Passages of description, reflection, discussion, or analysis are frequent in most fictional journals, as in real ones . They have one thing in common: they delay, ratherthan advance, the' temps de l'histoire,' the development of the plot. According to Hutchens, these elements are in conflict with the essentially 'chronomorph' character of the novel:

Whatever in a novel escapes from the strict governance of time -for example a passage of exposition, description or dialogue either not located in time or too long sustained to seem subject to the action of time -loses novelistic life, though it might flourish in another genre .. . The weakness of the thesis novel is that its action is felt to be decided by an idea, which is timeless, rather than by time. 38 However, in a fictional journal the Idea may be welded to time by its incorporation in the narrator's awareness of change in himself and his surroundings. The idea of 'contingency' is conveyed in La Nausee by

58 / The French Fictional Journal

Roquentin' s realization of the illusion of history (Rollebon) and' aventures,' both produced by the manipulation of temporal effects (beginning and end, causality from sequence). His final recognition of two temporal orders, that of life (contingent) and that of music, mathematics, and art (coherent and unchanging) is ironically narrated in a diary, purporting to convey the contingency of day-to-day existence, but which is in fact a novel, that is, an art form and therefore 'meaningful.' The time element can in fact never be lost sight of in a journal, fictional or otherwise, since the segmentation of the narration is chronological, even if what is narrated is 'timeless' or difficult to situate. 'Chronos,' as Kermode points out, is closely connected in the novel to 'cairns,' crisis. 39 It was seen previously that the fictional journal, unlike the real one, usually covers a short period which is decisive for the narrator. He may himself underline the lack of action on the level of events, but the transformations necessary to a recit are nevertheless present, in his identity crisis. As Andre Walter sums up his 'story': 'Pas un evenement ... Touts' est joue dans l'ame. ' 40 No events -but something did happen. These timeless or non-narrative elements in the journal, along with habitual actions, form the background against which events, if they do occur, stand out. In contrast with precise recollections or projects they produce a sense of presentness, the dimension which it is impossible to convey directly. Whereas one type of diarist rejects the present (and change) in favour of a lost past, and another type attempts to control change by concentrating on the future, the narrator who is preoccupied by the present is usually confused. His attempt to understand what is happening to him is represented by the narration itself - the diary. TIME AND TENSE

The relationship of the narrated past to the present of narration is indicated mainly by the use of tense. A journal is, as was established earlier, primarily a form of discours. As such, one would expect the tenses associated with this type of speech to predominate: that is, present, future, and, for the past, the passe compose which emphasizes the continuing involvement of the speaker with the past related, the relationship which it has to the present of narration. 41 Yet this is not always the case, as Martine Maisaini-Leonard has shown in her study of Gide's recits. Whereas Andre Walter's notebooks or the journals of Eveline and Alissa do show a predominance of the passe compose, in La Symphonie pastorale the aorist is frequent. She attributes this not only to the relative distance of the events recounted in the first part, but to the Pastor's desire to see his account as Gertrude's story, rather than his own, that is, the depersonalization of his narration of himself in the

59 I The Chronograph: Time

present into the recording of someone else, in the past. 42 As this endeavour proves vain, his use of the passe simple wanes. Similarly, in Paludes, in which the main event is the act of writing, one finds 'j'ecrivis,' where 'j'ai ecrit' would be expected. 43 The tense here acts as a sign of 'litterarite,' an expression of the deliberate intention to produce a recit, thus avoiding the exchange of discours. Generally speaking, as regards the majority of fictional journals in French, the use of the passe simple conveys the perception by the narrator of himself as actor, as a 'je-il,' and is usually more frequent when the narrating self of the present is well separated from the narrated self of the past by a temporal gap. As Benveniste points out: 'L'enonciation historique ... caracterise le recit des evenements passes. Ces trois termes, "recit," "evenement," "passe," sont egalement a souligner.' Normally, according to Benveniste, this mode excludes 'toute forme linguistique autobiographique. L'historien nedira jamais je ni tu, ni ici, ni maintenant.'44 However, the diarist who sees himself as a 'he,' a character in a book, is inclined to use the passe simple, to the extent that he perceives his story as recit. This attitude produces an identification with the 'then' of the past ('le moment de l' evenement') which acquires the 'timeless' presentness, for the reader, of what Kate Hamburger calls the 'epic preterite,' which is for her the sign par excellence of fiction. 45 On the other hand, 'le repere temporel du parfait est le moment du discours,' and the shifts of tense reveal the degree of self-consciousness of the narration, the less literary or 'narrative' form emphasizing (paradoxically) the narrative process over what is narrated. 46 The difference, as Weinrich claims, is one of attitude on the part of emitter and receiver, rather than an automatic conformity to a set of rules regarding the combination of certain pronouns and tenses in oral or written forms of expression. 47 The passe compose is appropriate if the speaker is still actively involved. The passe simple conveys an actual or desired detachment with regard to the past. As long as the diarist is mainly concerned with the present of narration (his role as 'I') and the future dimension, in which he may treat himself as a 'you' to be addressed and influenced, he uses the tenses and deictics of 'nynegocentric' personal discourse. 48 This discours may be perceived by a later self-as-reader, within the fiction, as recit. In this case the shift is dependent on the diarist's change of role from that of emitter to that of receiver. This phenomenon, in its turn, is possible only because of the written nature of the account, which will be considered in the next chapter. It is the written text, the diary, which enables the narrating self to be perceived, at a later stage, as a 'je-il.' The multiple roles of the self and the shift from discours to recit are dependent on the journal as chronograph - a written account of the passing of time.

6

The Journal as Chronograph: Writing

SPECIAL FEATURES OF THE JOURNAL AS A WRITTEN RECORD

By producing a written record the diarist accomplishes a process of selection and combination. The author of a novel performs a similar process. The author of a fictional journal must do so, while giving the impression that it is someone else - the fictional diarist - who is responsible. His task is quite different, for example, from that of the author of a monologue interieur, who must attempt by a process of selection and arrangement for which he is himself obviously responsible; to give the impression of the stream of consciousness preceding any selection. It might appear simpler to imitate something which is already a written document, since, as Jean Ricardou has stated, 'Le fragment ecrit n' est pas fuite, mobilite, disparition; ii est inscription, reference stable.' 1 However, the fictional journal has to show the production of the written _text (the diary), as well as the end product. Whereas the monologue interieur disguises the process of writing involved the fictional journal emphasizes it. 2 It tends inevitably to become 'metagraphic,' about the process of writing itself. This process is seen as not only revealing but in fact constituting a writer, as affecting this writer, and as producing a particular type of text, or more precisely script. The written account allows certain modifications or additions to the confessional increment which are not possible with an oral or unvoiced one. In relationships with real people, one's impression of their character may be influenced by their handwriting. Certainly graphologists claim that one's calligraphy reveals subconscious traits, as well as conscious aspirations. A fictional journal, published in print, obviously cannot exploit this aspect of a real private journal. However, several fictional diarists or editors do refer to handwriting, or to deletions or other signs of 'manuscript. ' 3 Only one of the examples consulted claims to be typewritten. 4 It seems that a journal in time

61 / The Chronograph: Writing

loses some of its intimacy if this impersonal method of recording is adopted. Handwriting may reveal changes in the self. An actor playing Krapp in Beckett's Krapp's Last Tape can achieve a similar effect by changing his voice. Once a diary is printed, however (even a real one), it is no longer the same text as the original manuscript. In the case of a fiction, the manuscript of the diary does not exist. That of the novel reveals the author, and not the diarist. In fact, this provides a further distinguishing feature between fake and fiction . In a fake journal, the actual author would have to disguise his handwriting, whereas a fiction is destined for publication in print. The authorof a fictional journal does, however, usually disguise his style, or at least modify it to suit the fictional narrator he wishes to create. Mirbeau' s Celestine uses a vocabulary and syntax which reveal (or invoke) her modest background. The philologist Sylvestre Bonnard exhibits an appropriate concern for language, Gide's Pastor's narration is steeped in biblical echoes. As we saw before, illiterate diarists are not found in the French diary-novel, since diary writing is associated with literary inclinations. Rather, the fictional narrators reveal their literary models by their style. The construction of a fictional psychology for the 'character' by means of obsessive imagery and association would require a separate study. What to attribute to conscious manipulation on the part of the author, what to unconscious expression of his own complexes and fantasies, would often be difficult to determine, if not impossible. However, in a novel everything one can know about the narrator must be conveyed through his language, the words without which he would not exist. Characteristics such as pomposity, humour, imagination, practicality, perspicacity, or obtuseness are evoked by use of vocabulary, syntax, and imagery which the reader recognizes as signs of these qualities, as much as by the actions or situations recorded . An impression of haste, or a sense of physical weakness, may be produced by the use of note form . 5 This elliptical style is rarely sustained in the novel, since its purpose is usually fulfilled after a few lines. Emotion may be conveyed by unfinished sentences, interjections, liberal use of exclamation marks ; bewilderment or indignation by an accumulation of more or less rhetorical questions. 6 As in any first-person narration, an impression of the narrator is built up by how he writes, as much as by what he writes about, when and where. 1

TO WRITE,' A VERB OF

1

MIDDLE VOICE'

The narrator's writing not only revelas his character and the changes in him, it may produce changes in his situation. The time devoted to writing the journal may play a role in events. Revel, in L'Emploi du temps, for example(

62 I The French Fictional Journal

fails to win either of the sisters, Ann and Rose, partly because of his preoccupation with the journal and his consequent unavailability. 7 In addition the diary itself, when lost, found, or read, may play a role in the action. Variations on this possibility are found in several of Gide's novels. 8 Bernard's wife, Eva, reads his journal, as does Etienne's wife in Bourget's Le Fantome. Celestine sends hers away for safekeeping, thus protecting Joseph from the police, and Blond's 'imprudent' leaves his in a hotel room. 9 Even more important, the activity of writing itself affects and may transform the diarist. In the last chapter the past self was seen to function as an 'ii,' to be passive; the future self, on the other hand, is seen as a 'tu' and is active. The narrating 'je' of the present provides the focal point between the two, engaged in the act of writing, a verb which Barthes has assigned to the third category of i:liathesis, the 'middle' voice. 10 Benveniste defines the latter thus : 'Le sujet est centre en meme temps qu' acteur du proces; ii accomplit quelque chose qui s' accomplit en lui ... II est bien interieur au proces dont it est agent. ' 11 The subject is, so to speak, simultaneously agent and patient, since he produces an effect in himself by his action. This is not to be confused with a reflexive action, because the effect is one which could not be produced by someone else on the person concerned, nor by that person on someone else. 'Je me lave' is reflexive, since 'I' could also wash someone else, or vice versa. 'Jesuis ne' or 'je suis mort' are, on the other hand, 'middle' verbs, since the action is performed by the 'I' and also transforms it. Barthes has claimed that this is precisely the way writing functions: 'The middle voice corresponds exactly to the state of the verb 'to write': Today to write is to make oneself the center of the action of speech ( paroleJ; it is to effect writing in being affected oneself; it is to leave the writer (scripteurJ inside the writing, not as a psychological subject ... but as the agent of the action. 12

It was claimed earlier that one may say of the intimiste that 'ii s' ecrit' in two senses, since he writes about himself (his own story) and to or for himself. One can now add that 'ii s'ecrit' in a third sense; progressively, as he writes, he transforms and reconstitutes his self. The attempt to grasp, or fix, his identity or 'what is happening to him' is therefore ironic, since the action of writing the diary itself contributes to change. Barthes suggests that 'ecrire,' like 'naitre,' 'mourir,' and other verbs of the middle voice, should be conjugated with 'etre' rather than 'avoir' in the passe compose. 13 The diarist could then say 'jesuis ecrit.' This too would be doubly true. An image of the self (object) is produced in the journal, and a new self (subject) is produced 'outside' the journal through the action of writing.

63 / The Chronograph: Writing THE LITERARY SELF-IMAGE

To write a journal is to engage in a specific activity implying the imitation of certain literary figures, of which most fictional diarists are shown to be aware. This activity also projects a self-image which is prone to become literary, because it is the product of writing and exists in a book. Real diarists are often aware of the danger of producing a literary self-image, a kind of 'character' for the self, as in a novel. When fictional diarists echo these fears the effect is paradoxical, since they are characters in a novel. Almost all the examples considered illustrate the narrator's self-conscious awareness of literary precedents and the author's awareness of his novel's place in an intertextual progression. Charles Munster, the Strasbourg artist, is modelled, and models himself, on Werther. 14 The young female diarists of several nineteenth-century novels refer specifically to the 'romanesque' nature of their activity, and want their own love affairs to be like those in novels. 15 Even Celestine compares her lovers to those in books, and on seeing a play performed exclaims, 'C'est presque mon histoire.' 16 Sylvestre Bonnard repeatedly comments on his own unsuitability for the role of hero, the incongruity of adventure in his life, and his inability to narrate as in a novel. 17 The murderer in 'L'Ineluctable' concludes his account with : 'Si j'etais ecrivain, voila qui donnerait matiere a un fameux livre.' 18 The victim of 'Le Horla' protests that he has never read anything like this in a book. 19 Andre Walter and the narrator of Paludes both attempt to transpose their experience in a novel, as well as their journal, as does Edouard in Les Faux-monnayeurs. Bernard and Roquentin plan to do so. A.O. Barnabooth laments the disappointing banality of his journal, as if he were reading a bad novel, and recognizes in one incident the material for a comic story. He is conscious both of creating a 'personnage de roman' for himself, and of living life through the prism of previous literary experience. 20 Modern fictional intimistes continue to exhibit a similar tendency to 'bovarysme.' Roquentin is 'heureux comme un heros de roman,' Jacques Revel becomes so involved with the novel Le Meurtre de Bleston than he can no longer see the line between fact and fiction, and vacillates between the three roles available in the detective story-victim, murderer, or detective. 21 Even those diarists who do not refer directly to fictional models do compare themselves to the heroes of literary works, implicitly if not explicitly. In the case of Gide's Pastor, for example, his role is paralleled in the Dickens story mentioned in the text ('The Cricket on the Hearth'), which thus forms a 'mise en abyme.' 22 His constant claims to act like Christ, as opposed to St Paul, are also an attempt to live like a character in a book, the Bible. Twice Gertrude is referred to as a' statue' which comes to life, suggesting a parallel

64 / The French Fictional Journal

with another literary hero- Pygmalion. 23 Salavin wishes his life to be the story of a saint, a hagiography, and looks for clues to the achievement of his aim in the 'Lives of the Saints.' 24 Whereas his account is parodic in this respect, Bernanos' priest's journal in fact turns into the life of a saint or a Christ figure. The action of the fictional journal generally hinges on the presence of a literary image of the self. The protagonist attempts to conform to (or escape from) the latter, by means of writing his diary. He may succeed or fail, but his attempt acquires literary form in the process. If Souriau's basic roles for drama are accepted as applicable also to the novel, what emerges as exceptional about the diary-novel is that all the roles (six, following the useful resume provided by Bourneuf and Ouellet) may be filled by only two agents, the diarist and the diary. 25 The narrator is obviously 'le meneur du jeu' (1), the principal protagonist or 'actant.' He instigates the action by starting the diary. The 'objet desire ou redoute' (2) is usually an image of himself, to which he attempts to conform - or from which he attempts to escape - and which tends to be or become literary. This 'self as object' is contained in the diary itself, and the book may replace the self as' obj et desire.' The' opposant' (3) may be the 'other,' in the form of a specific person or alien surroundings, but these tend to be extensions of the diarist, who is most often in conflict with himself. He is both the beneficiary (or victim) of any change, and the recipient of the journal, and therefore 'le destinataire' (4). The role of 'adj uvan t' (5) is performed by the journal, which is frequently referred to as an aid. 26 It may also become 'l'arbitre' (6), a role shared by the diarist as reader. It is often called 'temoin' or 'juge.' The 'identity' or 'unicity' of the self is fragmented and projected into the various roles by means of the journal. THE FUNCTIONS OF THE JOURNAL

However, the focus shifts in many diary-novels from the diary as a means to an end (self-knowledge or self-improvement) to the diary as an end in itself. If the diary is considered in relation to Jakobson's model of the functions of communication, it becomes clear why this is so. 27

Addresser (emotive)

Context (referential) Message (poetic) Contact (phatic) Code (metalingual)

Addressee (conative)

65 I The Chronograph: Writing

The roles of addresser and addressee are generally both filled by the diarist, as previously demonstrated. Since he writes mainly about himself, he also provides the context or reference. The other elements- message, contact, and code-are all provided by the diary . The referential function is obviously not predominant, since everything the narrator says is already known to him; he does not write to provide information, unless he is thinking of rereading later when he may have forgotten what happened. The conative or impressive function is also diminished, since he may only influence himself, as long as he remains the sole addressee. Some fictional diarists, like real ones, do see their activity as somehow 'good for them,' but others see it almost as a bad habit. The emotive or expressive function may appear to be of greatest importance-the 'kh-Roman' has been called the' Ach-Roman,' and the implicit 'Dear me' of the journal is ambiguous. However, even in cases where the journal is represented as expressing pentup emotion, the written form which the expression takes tends to divert attention from the emotion concerned to the way in which it is expressed. The phatic function, on the other hand, which is rarely of paramount importance in writing, may well be so in the journal intime. The diarist, often having nothing particular to say, and no one to whom to say it, may write to reassure himself that the channel of communication is still open, that he could convey something to someone, if the opportunity arose. METANARRATIVE

The two remaining functions - the metalinguistic and poetic ones - are usually predominant in the journal form. Fictional diarists tend to dwell on the problems of expression in language and recording in writing. They often claim to experience 'un sentiment non explicable en mots humains.' 28 The ultimate expression of such feelings is the blank page, or gap, leaving everything to the reader's imagination. 29 Deletions or changes of wording also evoke concretely the problems of expression and definition. Since the reader cannot perceive them directly in a non-manuscript, they usually call forth editorial intrusion and comment, a further level of metanarrative. 30 In fact, in a fictional journal any reference to language is a double commentary, since no 'real' problems of expression are referred to, only fictional ones, which are specially constructed. On the one hand, the narrator laments his inability to express in words feelings which he claims to experience but which must therefore remain unknown (ie, in a fictional context, inexistent); on the other, these feelings are indicated by his commentary. The diarist is himself often aware of the power of words to produce or modify feelings. Narrators as different as Feuillet's heroine and Andre Walter make similar remarks : 'Je craignais de donner un corps ades chimeres en les fixant sur ces

66 I The French Fictional Journal

pages ... ,' 'tu pensais peut-etre que le mot entrainerait la chose. ' 31 Salavin is very aware of the effect of naming and recording. He is afraid to write the word 'saint,' using 'St,' 'S.,' or ' touriste' to replace it. 32 He is forced to realize that it is the word 'oxygene' which sells the company's milk, regardless of whether it has any referential value. Puzzled by the saints' use of certain words, he resorts to his dictionary to check their meaning. The purely verbal nature of penance as prescribed by the church (recitation of words) disappoints him. He quarrels with his wife over her pronunciation, and worries about the correct way to address a saint. Writing a letter to the police is perceived by him as a daring - even reckless and noble - action, bound to have the direst consequences, but its repercussions reduce it to a few words on a piece of paper. He realizes that writing a diary affects his perception of himself and his ideas: ' Le fait meme d' ecrire mes pensees leur donne une confirmation, l'authenticite d'un acte. Jene peux plus ne pas les avoir pensees.' 33 Like Bernard in Eva he sees that anything becomes 'notable,' once it has been noted. 34 Salavin' s journal is full of metalinguistic comments on the relationship between 'signifiant' (the perceivable sign), 'signifie' (the concept it signifies), and concrete reference (the actual realization of the concept). For him, the signs tend to take over. He could say, like Sylvestre Bonnard, 'il n' y a pour moi dans le monde que des mots ... ' 35 For a fictional character, this is literally true. Andre Walter's heartrending cry, 'Ils m'ont sorti les phrases,' enigmatic as it is, applies to all fictional diarists. 36 While they are depicted as composing 'les phrases,' the latter compose them. Without them there is nothing, and when they end, so does the narrator. THE BOOK AS AN END IN ITSELF

However, the end of the book is not the end of the book. The narrator continues to exist after his narration is terminated, in the pages formed by the linear succession of phrases, by the juxtaposition and succession of journal entries. Andre Walter echoes the real diarist's desire to leave something behind him, to survive in some form, with however distorted an image. 37 The fictional journal depicts the transformation of the diarist's search for his self into the discovery of the self as writer and the book as end product, and ultimately an end in itself. 38 The metalinguistic function tends to be superseded by the poetic or' stylistic' one, focusing on the message itself (the diary) rather than the code (language). 39 Adopting the role of reader, the diarist begins to criticize himself as writer, and the form of his narration. Andre Walter accuses himself of 'subtilites precieuses,' and at one point blames himself for skipping pages of his old journal, because 'la transition sera trop brusque.' He plans to edit his account later. From proclaiming a desire for spontaneity he shifts to recognition ofthe 'vision de l' reuvre. ' 40 As he abandons his novel, Allain, which was to resemble a theorem, he attempts

67 I The Chronograph: Writing

to impose form on his journal. He is not the only one to perceive his experience as ' une page de ma vie': the expression is used by narrators as disparate as Flaubert's madman and Feuillet' s heroine. 41 The diarist's 'bovarysme,' his attempt to live life as if in a book, in fact produces a book, and a perception of life as life-story. In speaking of the fictional diarist's perception of time, and relationship to it, it was claimed that geographical space is relatively unimportant in the diary-novel. However, space in another sense is important. The journal represents a spatial projection of the unseizable self-in-time. It is an exteriorization of the self, and therefore a form of escape from selfimprisonment. The stream of life is converted into a stream of words fixed immutably on the page. The self is converted to an object which others may see. Thus the private journal is potentially public, the schizoid narrator can envisage a combination of self-exposure and secrecy, a desire which could be realized by the anonymous or posthumous publication of the private diary. 42 However, a divorce is produced between the self and the diary if the narrator decides to abandon his writing and publish the journal before his death. The examples of A.O. Barnabooth and Bernard in Eva illustrate two opposite reasons for deciding to do so. Barnabooth opts for life, rather than literature, and abandons his journal and writing in favour of other forms of activity (marriage, 'engagement' in his own country) . Bernard, like Roquentin in La Nausee, abandons his journal with the intention of producing a superior form of writing- the novel. In both cases, one is left with the impression that the projected work of fiction will not transpire, that the journal (ie, the novel we are reading) makes it superfluous. The ' novel within the novel,' as conceived by Gide or Huxley, is replaced by a variation of 'emboitement' in which the container (the actual novel) coincides with the thing contained. The vertical axis involving the novel and the reader is transferred onto the horizontal one involving the diary and its narrator, as the intimiste adopts the role of 'author' and the real reader becomes the potential addressee of his novel. The fictional journal emerges as a reflection of and a commentary on the production of all fiction. The transposition from ' je' to 'il,' when the author's ' I' becomes the 'I-he' of the narrator, is reversed. The reader sees the fictional, narrating 'I' reconverge with the 'I' of the writer. The latter may even be introduced in his turn as a 'he,' as in the preface to Sally Mara, where Sally refers to Queneau in the third person, or in Gautier's Cher Untel, where 'Untel' is the author himself. THE SELF-CONSCIOUS TEXT

The diary-novel is almost always concerned with writing, and very often with the nature and production of fiction. These elements are inevitably potentially important, although the degree to which they are exploited

68 I The French Fictional Journal

varies. In this sense, it is a forerunner of the modern novel in which, as Ricardou puts it, 'le sujet du livre est toujours en quelque maniere sa propre composition. ' 43 It should therefore not be a matter for surprise that 'modern' novels such as La Nausee or L' Emploi du temps have utilized this apparently traditional and in some respects old-fashioned form. The journal form, because of its three basic elements, the self, time, and writing, illustrates the way in which 'le contenu ne produit pas la forme, ii en est le resultat.' The intrigue may be minimal, but 'une intrigue subsiste ... elle est ... dans le meilleur des cas, le produit integral des developpements d'une ecriture.' 44 The writing in a fictional journal always exists on two planes: that of the journal, and that of the novel. The journal is predominantly a form of discours, as seen earlier, marked by the use of the first-person pronoun and all the deictics and tenses associated with the latter. However, since the reader knows he is reading a novel, this discours is recognized as a quotation within a framework or context of recit or story, implying the third person and 'pastness,' or rather the 'timelessness' characteristic of the fictive past. As the narrator sees his life becoming a book, his role shifts from authornarrator and character-actor to that of reader-narratee: he perceives his own discours in the process of becoming recit. The relationship between the vertical (extradiegetic) and horizontal (homodiegetic) axes is one of mirror reflection. The interaction of the two axes forms a chiasmus. Whereas in the fiction discours becomes recit, outside the fiction recit is presented as dis~urs.

Diary dd~cou~ 1scours

X

Novel

recu recit

The fictional journal is on the one hand a story disguised as commentary, on the other a commentary on fiction-writing, disguised as a story. To use Ricardou' s formula, this type of novel is 'moins I'ecriture d' une aventure que l'aventure d'une ecriture.' 45

7

TheModel

The first part of this study examined the concept of fictivity in regard to the diary-novel: that is, the ontological status, reception, structure, and code of the fictional journal, in contrast with those of the real journal. The second part was devoted to the internal functioning of the journal within the novel, concentrating on three essential aspects: the divided self, time, and writing. It transpires that the comparison between the journal and the novel as types of written text is not only a preliminary to decoding the fictional journal, but also a more or less explicit theme in the novels themselves, and a component in their production. This third and last part of the study demonstrates that the formal mimetic nature of these novels implies a constant rapprochement between the two genres, and consequently a potential commentary not only on the activity of diary writing but on novel production and reception, on the nature of discours and recit and the balance maintained between them. Factors brought out by reference to various examples in the primary texts will now be treated as abstract components in a theoretical model of the functioning of the fictional journal. This model will be what Max Black calls a 'heuristic fiction,' not making any explanatory or hermeneutic claims. 1 It is hoped, however, that it will clarify those characteristics of the fictional journal which make it of particular interest as a type of narcissistic fiction. It was seen in the first chapter that 'correct' reception of the fictional journal is dependent on the reader's knowledge that author and narrator do not coincide, recognition of a shift from 'je' to 'je-il' between the extradiegetic and intradiegetic levels. At the beginning of Part 2 it was seen that a second shift must also be perceived within the fiction, as it is the source of the irony common to most modern diary-novels: that from 'je' to 'je-il' on the part of the narrator who speaks of himself also as protagonist. The fictional intimiste is also depicted as writing primarily for himself, and reading of the journal, by the narrator or someone else, is frequently present on the intradiegetic level. The 'tu' of the reader on the extradiegetic level is also

72 I The French Fictional Journal

mirrored within the fiction. This parallel may be shown as a mise en abyme by placing one triangle representing the journal situation inside another representing that of the novel. 2

Author

Character

Reader

Nominative, accusative, and dative roles, which are diversified in the novel situation, converge in that of the diary on one person, the diarist. As was seen, he may fulfil all the roles in an actantial analysis, except that of 'adjuvant' or instrument, that is, the ablative, which is assumed by the journal. In the case of the novel, a text (the book) also serves as the instrument of communication. If the novel is entirely in journal form, the journal and the novel may coincide exactly, the same text fulfilling the ablative function both within the fiction and outside it. Nominative Author Narrator

Accusative Character Self as object

Dative Reader Narratee

73 / The Model

This ambiguity between functions and levels of communication lies at the root of the formal mimetic procedure. The reception of the text as journal or as novel is dependent on the receiver's attitude, which is determined in its turn by the presence of an epi-text designating the text as a fictional recit. Weinrich's claim that it is the attitude of speaker and receiver which decides the status of the text as discours or recit is corroborated, and MaisaniLeonard' s statement that a fictional first-person narrative is both at once is clarified. 3 This simultaneity is made possible by the exploitation of the remaining grammatical case, the genitive, which may be ambivalent, as Benveniste has shown. 4 The text in question is simultaneously' generated by' the author and 'attributed to' the fictional narrator. The nominative, accusative, and dative triangle is related to the temporal dimension on the intradiegetic level. The narrator's 'present' of the moment of narration is the focal point for the reconstruction of the past, in which he is actor, and the projection of the future, in which he may become the reader of the journal. These three temporal categories have also been seen to correspond to the possibilities of diathesis: active, passive, and middle voice. je present middle voice

je-il je-tu past - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - future passive active

The 'voice' category is related to the 'writing' aspect of the journal, since this activity records the past self (passive), transforms the narrating self (middle), and produces a text (active) which the future self may read. The three intradiegetic triangles (case, tense, and voice) may be combined geometrically with the fourth, extradiegetic one of author-text (character)reader, by means of a four-sided pyramid. This mathematical figure has the advantage of presenting one side on one plane and the three others on another. One may look at the three-dimensional structure in such a way that one sees one side only, or three at once. This phenomenon illustrates the perception of the diary-novel as diary, as novel, and as a combination of the two.

74 / The French Fictional Journal (AUTHOR)

Nominative Present Middle voice

(CHARACTER)

(READER)

Accusative .-:;;..._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _......;.., Dative Future Past Active Passive

The three perpendicular triangles represent the three essential aspects of the journal - self, time, and writing. The three base points mark the convergence of the grammatical functions of case, tense, and voice. The pinnacle is formed by the intradiegetic end product, the journal, while the hidden triangle represents the extradiegetic communication situation reflected in the three other triangles. In the extradiegetic triangle all three key elements are present (author, character, and reader), but in the three other triangles one element is replaced by the journal. On the 'self' base the triangle becomes narratorjournal-narrated self. The present, middle voice activity of writing fixes the past, passive self in the journal, while the future (self as narratee, active) is hypothetical, as far as the present, narrating self is concerned. On the 'writing' base the triangle becomes narrator-journal-narratee. The passive, past self becomes the actor of the journal and is not essential to the activity of writing, which happens in the present and affects the future (middle and active voice). On the 'time' base, the journal becomes the link between the past, passive self recorded in it (including, ultimately, the narrating as well as the original narrated self) and the active, future self-as-reader. The present of the narration also becomes past; it is no longer present except in the text. This model therefore accounts for the central importance of the journal and its relationship to the other elements. To focus now on the extradiegetic triangle, it becomes clear that the co-ordination of the three aspects of self, time, and writing functions also in

75 I The Model

the perspective of the novel. The 'je-il' shift was seen to be common to both novel and journal. The author of the novel may also be considered as his own reader, like the diarist. 5 In both cases the producer of the text is an implied reader at the time of writing, because of his identification with a hypothetical other. The novelist may also read sections of the text or the whole text in retrospect. Like the diarist, he stands in a different relationship to the text, which remains the same, according to the extent of the time lapse between production and reading, and the corresponding change in himself. Writing a novel may, like keeping a diary, both transform the writer and produce a very different text from the one initially envisaged, because of the middle voice effect of the writing activity. Dallenbach, in his study of the 'recit speculaire,' discusses Gide's concept of the mise en abyme as the depiction within a fiction of the effect of writing on the writer. 6 It is not surprising, therefore, that Gide so often had recourse to the fictional journal, where the 'middle voice' transformation of the diarist is programmed into the form chosen, and the eventual production of a recit invites comparison with that of a novel. The various roles of the narrator's 'I' are also a reflection of Gide's concept of his fictional characters as 'possible' selves, and his claim that this ' je' ('je-il') is 'le comble de l' objectivite' which nevertheless allows him to reveal more of himself in his novels than in his autobiographical writings.7 The fictional journal does not, like a real one, provide a mirror image of the author's self-division and transformation, but a reflection, as if from a third mirror, of the process of self-modification and multiplication . Whereas the action of journal writing is primarily one of middle voice, the effect being on the subject and the journal a by-product, the writing of a fictional journal- a novel- is primarily active. The verb 'to write' in this case is transitive, the main aim being to produce a novel. Benveniste points out that 'je danse' is middle voice, but 'je fais danser un autre' is active. 8 In the fictional journal the author 'fait ecrire un autre,' although he simultaneously continues to write himself. The middle voice aspect of writing cannot be eliminated, although it is subjugated to production of an end-product. The need of a reader for a novel to fulfil its aim, and the superfluity of any reader other than the self for a diary, is the corollary of the difference in active/middle emphasis. The difference lies behind the shift from discours to recit in the journal and the reverse in the novel. The recit element in the journal is the sign of the presence of the book; the commentary on novel writing implicit in the diary-novel is the effect of the presence of writing as an activity. The middle voice aspect of writing is not completely eclipsed by the active illusion . The diary-novel tends, because of its structure, to become a novel about diaries and about novels; it may even become the recit of the production of the particular novel in question, in a sense the diary of the novel, as will be

76 I The French Fictional Journal

seen in the last chapter. It may be a defence of the novel as opposed to the diary (Eva) or the reverse (La N ausee) . In any case, the emergence of recit from discours is often recognized on the intradiegetic level, as well as on the extradiegetic one. This shift is related to a grammatical category not yet mentioned: that of mood. A journal belongs initially to the subjunctive mood, it represents a desire to effect a change in the self or one's situation, and a means to this end. As such it is discours and even a performative speech act. 9 However, its ultimate status as recit changes its function. It may become an end in itself, as was seen in discussing the application of Jakobson' s poetic function. It necessarily becomes, in retrospect, a statement (indicative) of what was a conflict. 10 The diary-novel, on the other hand, begins as a statement, a recit about a conflict and the attempt to resolve it in a diary . It turns into a discours, a commentary on the conflict of two forms from which it emerges. It is performative in a different way, since it creates the fictive world. 11 The alternation between discours and recit may be prolonged or reversed ad infinitum. 12 Any number of mirrors may conceivably be added. One particular French fictional journal illustrates particularly well the dialogue of diary and novel: Chardonne's Eva, which will now be examined in detail.

8

The Archetype: Chardonne' s Eva

Chardonne's Eva is exemplary of the structure and functioning of the fictional journal, since the diarist's self-division into writer, actor, and reader, and the interaction of time and writing, are clearly related in this particular novel to their parallel counterparts on the extradiegetic level. 1 The tension between diary and novel is not only implicitly present because of the 'formal mimetic' nature of the genre, but explicitly discussed within the journal, which culminates in the projected production of a novel. SELF AS NARRATOR, NARRATED, AND NARRATEE

The Narrator The diarist, Bernard, remains anonymous for the greater part of his narration . In the absence of any editorial frame or other commentary the reader has initially to accept the narrator's own self-definition. His 'credit application' (approximate age, work, location in space and time, social circle, and family situation) is gradually filled in, to build up a picture dominated by the· aspect he himself emphasizes: 'Je suis un homme heureux. Je possede le seul bonheur qui soit au monde. J'aime la femme avec qui je vis et qui est ma femme' (p 14). 2 The novel is entitled Eva ou le Journal interrompu. At first it seems that Bernard's journal does indeed focus on his wife, Eva, rather than on himself. It soon becomes clear, however, that his concern for her is primarily a concern for himself. He is obsessed with her because she is the main element in his attempt at self-definition. Bernard clings to Eva because he is not sure of his identity apart from her. He begins his journal as an attempt to see himself: 'Je finirai peut-etre par me voir' (p 15). He is aware of the danger of projecting a 'faux visage de moi . .. qui me dupera,' but he asks himself: 'Est-ce que j' existe avec plus de certitude dans les elements insondables de mon etre ?' He rejects the image of himself

78 I The Archetype: Chardonne's Eva

as perceived by others, and his frequent use of the words 'visage,' 'image,' and 'mirage' indicates his awareness of the uncertainty of external appearances. 3 In his journal he attempts to be both subject and object, observer and observed: 'Je voudrais me voir d'un reil si etranger que rien ne m' echappat de moi-meme' (p 187). He wishes to combine inside and outside views, to assume, himself, the role of 'un juge qui m'eclaire' (p 33), a function which can be fulfilled only by a detached reading of the journal. This divided self typical of the fictional intimiste is reinforced by references to other symptoms of schizoid self-perception, as when he claims to have experienced, under anaesthetic, a split between his body and his conscious self ('ce jour-la je m' etais absente ... ,' p 69). 4 Unsure of any 'real' (inner) self, he sees his physical self as if it were someone else, a 'je-il' playing a role : 'On s'adapte instantanement a toutes les conditions. II suffit de changer de costume' (p 15 3); 'je ne sens plus la realite demon personnage comme si j'interpretais un role un peu burlesque' (p 182); 'II se pourrait que je sois devenu un etre tout artificiel ... ' (p 187). His sense of self as 'personnage' is underlined when he speaks of himself as if he were a character in a novel (p 79), using 'ii' and the passe simple. In this passage he has recourse to the 'mirror motif,' found in most fictional journals, which illustrates concretely the two selves, observing and observed. Bernard's self-division is further complicated by a tendency to avoid the use of 'je,' in favour of general subjects such as 'on,' 'l'homme,' 'celui qui,' 'nous.' Statements about himself are presented as applicable to a category of person. 5 Frequently these categories ('l' ecrivain,' 'l' artiste') provide indications of the image he wishes to project, the self he would like to believe in . His epigrammatic style, reminiscent of the seventeenth century, implies a desire to appear perceptive and pungent, as were the 'moralistes.' It also conveys a confusion of self and other(s), the particular and the universal, a generalization of his own experience which is shown by the context to be untenable. Bernard's difficulty in defining himself is accompanied by an inability to see others as different from himself.

Narrated Self, Narrated Other This confusion is most apparent in his relationship with Eva. The attempt to see the self-as-other turns into a false perception of the other (Eva)-as-self, a process which may be represented thus:

Narrator self je

Narrated self-as-other je-il [ other-as-self elle-je

79 I The Archetype: Chardonne's Eva

The 'je-il' is entangled with an 'elle-je.' He remarks: 'Je m'aper\ois que mes reflexions se rapportent toutes a Eva' (p 32). This could be reduced to 'je m'aper\ois ... Eva.' After seeing himself in a shop window, he records: 'Je me regardai clans la glace ... je me vis' (p 18), only to perceive himself as an automaton hurrying home to Eva. He identifies himself with Eva to the extent that he believes he acts, where she is concerned, 'comme si j' eprouvais ses propres reflexes' (p 17) . In fact, Bernard attempts to be Eva, to immerse himself in her, to experience her feelings and reactions. His ultimate inability to do so produces a sense of frustration and exclusion. He would like his 'Eve' to be an extension or projection of himself, like Adam's rib; or he and Eva should form the two halves of a perfect, androgynous whole. The schizoid personality (attributed to the fictional intimiste as the logical extension of the communication model which characterizes the journal form) is joined in the case of Bernard by homosexual tendencies which are also a corollary of the journal activity, of the attempt to combine self and other, subject and object. 6 Bernard's concept of woman as being complimentary to man, as is emotion to intellect (p 38) is brought into question in the interest of his identification with Eva: 'Est-ce que l'homme et la femme sont si differents? On change une poule en un coq par une legere intervention. Il ya clans chaque individu a peu pres de quoi faire un homme ou une femme' (p 158). He retains as typically' feminine' the ability to change personality, a protean quality he elsewhere attributes to himself. Speaking of 'les artistes,' a category in which he would like to include himself, he maintains: 'Il ya des artistes, des hommes fins, qui ont porte beaucoup plus loin l'intelligence feminine' (p 29). Bernard's ' feminine' traits may account for his inability to satisfy Eva sexually : her own preference seems to be for 'strong' men, like her father (pp 141-2) or Germain, to whom Bernard is unfavourably compared in this respect (p 15 2). Bernard's relationship with Eva is a narcissistic search for a 'semblable' (p 50). It is proved vain, since his claim to know Eva as well as he does himself (p 16) is shown to be false. For example, she hates the house which he designs to please her (p 81). He himself is forced to admit: 'j'offre, pour lui plaire, des choses qui me contenteraient .. . ' (p 188) . Her obvious discontent is evidence of Bernard's inability to recognize her autonomy and of his blindness not only in regard to her, but to himself.

Self and Other as Reader Bernard's false perception of himself and of Eva is brought out most strongly by the event which is central to the novel: Eva reads the journal, although 'il ne lui etait pas destine' (p 113). At the beginning Bernard claims to be writing for himself alone: 'si je pensais aun auditoire, elles [ces notes] auraient un autre tour' (p 12). He does, in fact, reread part of the first section at the beginning of Part 2, and later all the first half, in search of self-justification

Bo I The French Fictional Journal (pp 1:16-17). Self-as-narratee and Eva-as-narratee prove to be very different. Their non-identity is confirmed, as the relationship shifts to the third element in the communication triangle: Narrator Bernard