Blythe's Book 7: The Elegance of the Hedgehog

The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery was so bittersweet... and it's funny that I'm compelled to use an oxymoron to describe the novel, because it is about just that-- odd juxtapositions in life, and how they are what we ultimately derive pleasure and meaning from. While the exterior storyline is about a French concierge, Madame Michel, who has barred herself from the judgment of her rich tenants by acting like an unassuming imbecile only to eventually find happiness within her home (I know that's vague, but I don't want to give anything away!), the real essence of this novel is in examining the contradictions in our lives: art and ugliness, beauty and death, movement and stillness, poverty and wealth. As the two main characters, Madame Michel and her young neighbor, Paloma, each struggle to find meaning in their lives, they confront these opposites, only to eventually conclude that perhaps they are entwined in irrefutable ways.

I almost put this book down about 2,000 times. It is a short(er) read-- only 325 pages-- but the first 200 are PAINFUL. Leave it to the French to write a novel that is 75% philosophical babble... I kept thinking, "Must. Have. Storyline somewhere!!" In spite of this, I stuck it out because I just knew it was going to get better. How did I know? Two of my close friends, Pam and Trish, recommended the book and they don't tend to have similar taste, so I figured if they BOTH liked it, then something good had to be around the corner. And it was. Good, challenging, beautiful, heartbreaking. Madame Michel has settled for so little-- has shrunk her life so much because of what she thinks is expected of her-- that when she finally shows the slightest bit of trust, your heart just melts. Cheesy, but true. And I will admit, I even found myself ruminating on one or two of Barbery's philosophical musings-- so the first 200 pages weren't a total wash :)

Some of my favorite passages:

"For the first time, I feel utterly trusting, even though I am not alone. Even with Manuela, to whom I would gladly entrust my life, I do not have this feeling of absolute security that comes when one is sure that understanding is mutual. Entrusting one's life is not the same as opening up one's soul, and although I love Manuela like a sister, I cannot share with her the things that constitute the tiny portion of meaning and emotion that my incongruous existence has stolen from the universe" (224).

"Day after day we pace up and down our life the way we pace up and down a passageway" (232).

"If you have but one friend, make sure you choose her well" (263).