Au nom de mes fils (Biographies, Autobiographies) (French Edition)

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Durand , P. Fischer -R osenthal , W. Floriani , W. Ghiglione , R. Goffman , E. Gumper Z, J. Gupta , K. Hahn , H. African Perspectives , Munster, Lit Verlag. Heinich , N. Kohli , M. Lecadet , C. Leclerc -O live , M. Maitilasso , A. Marie , A. Markiewicz - Lagneau , J. Ndione , B. Passeron , J. Peraldi , M. Portes , A. Pruvost , G. Quiminal , C. Wood ed. Sayad , A. She became fascinated with Robert Garric, a speaker of French Literature trying to bring culture to the lower classes after apparently giving up a promising career at the university, this she felt so strongly about and regularly sat in on some of his talks.

Here Simone fell in with Jean Pradelle and Pierre Cairaut, dedicated left-wingers and a small group was set up to discuss various important matters concerning the social classes, possible war looming, as well as Philosophy. This would eventually lead her to cross paths with Jean-Paul Satre, and possibly the biggest moment in her life.

Taking Simone under his wing, Sarte always said he prefered the friendship with that of women more than men, and it's as if the two where just destined to meet. Something great was building, they could both feel it, a new direction was taking shape, which would lead to the birth of existentialism, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Superbly written, and classed as autobiographical, which it is, but the grandest thing of all is it kind of reads like a coming-of-age novel, and it's so personal and heartfelt, you start to think it's an intellectual story rather than an actual real life, but a real life it is, a courageously defiant account of a woman breaking free, and showing a determination to follow her own path, not one already mapped out for her. View all 8 comments. May 02, Joe Valdez rated it it was amazing Shelves: memoirs. My introduction to the writing of Simone de Beauvoir is the first of several memoirs she wrote.

Published in , Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter takes place during the Great War and the postwar years, with de Beauvoir an intellectually ravenous, morally prudish and eternally questioning teenage daughter of a bourgeois family in Paris. Lit with tremendous desire, but, as a child of privilege, very little drama, I related to her life immediately.

My childhood in suburban Houston of the s was f My introduction to the writing of Simone de Beauvoir is the first of several memoirs she wrote. My childhood in suburban Houston of the s was filled with great anticipation but very little in the way of anything actually happening.

The author relates all of this in writing that is absolutely jeweled. Deceived by outward appearances, she never suspected that inside my immature body nothing was lacking; and I made up my mind that when I was older I would never forget that a five-year-old is a complete individual, a character in his own right. But that was precisely what adults refused to admit, and whenever they treated me with condescension I at once took offence. I was reading about a mermaid who was dying by the sad sea waves; for the love of a handsome prince, she had renounced her immortal soul, and was being changed into sea-foam.

That inner voice which had always told her 'Here I am' had been silenced for ever, and it seemed to me that the entire universe had foundered in the ensuing stillness.

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But--no it couldn't be. God had given me the promise of eternity; I could not ever cease to see, to hear, to talk to myself. Always I should be able to say: 'Here I am. I knew too little of the habits of adults to be able to guess where they were going in such a hurry, or what the hopes and fears were that drove them along. But their faces, their appearance, and the sound of their voices captivated me; I find it hard now to explain what the particular pleasure was that they gave me; but when my parents decided to move to the fifth-floor flat in the rue de Rennes, I remember the despairing cry I gave: 'But I won't be able to see the people in the street any more!

Jacques and his friends read real books and were abreast of all current problems; they lived out in the open; I was confined to the nursery. But I did not give up all hope. I had confidence in my future. Women, by the exercise of talent or knowledge, had carved out a place for themselves in the universe of men. But I felt impatient of the delays I had to endure. When the time came, they would marry a young woman of their own social class; but in the meanwhile it was quite in order for them to amuse themselves with girls from the lowest ranks of society--women of easy virtue, young milliners' assistants, work-girls, sewing-maids, shopgirls.

This custom made me feel sick. It had been driven into me that the lower classes have no morals: the misconduct of a laundry-woman or a flower-girl therefore seemed to me to be so natural that it didn't even shock me; I felt a certain sympathy for those poor young women whom novelists endowed with such touching virtues.

Yet their love was always doomed from the state; one day or other, their lover would throw them over for a well-bred young lady. I was a democrat and a romantic; I found it revolting that, just because he was a man and had money, he should be authorized to play around with a girl's heart. Much of Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter is devoted to Simone de Beauvoir's best friend Elizabeth "Zaza" Mabille, a bookworm whose mother grows to fear that Simone's preference for a ideals will corrupt daughter.

The girls grow closer, pull apart and come together again as they move through college.

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The same goes for Simone's cousin Jacques, who she alternatively detests, loves and decides she'd be grossly incompatible with as a wife. The book is absent of drama and those hoping for a pageant of sex, drugs and rock 'n roll are encouraged to look elsewhere, but de Beauvoir's prism of introspection, intellectual curiosity, virtue, integrity and honesty are an intoxicating read. Translation by James Kirkup.

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View all 28 comments. Be careful of those quiet, nerdy-looking teenage girls, they may grow up to become famous authors. Here's Simone listening to her parents' friends my translation : Ils lisaient et ils parlaient de leurs lectures. They Be careful of those quiet, nerdy-looking teenage girls, they may grow up to become famous authors. They said "It's well-written but a bit boring. By the time she was 17, she'd read every single page they had at home. She removed the paperclips, then put them back in the same place when she was done.

Apparently her mother never noticed. Oh, and did you know that Sartre got her on the rebound? View all 30 comments. May 04, Kristen rated it it was amazing Shelves: biography , favorites , own. I loved this book so much any review will be wholly inadequate. I loved is how she captures the innocence of childhood and the pains her parent took to maintain that innocence far beyond what seems right.

I loved the confusion, despair and vanity of adolescences and how she could feel so strongly about ideals that themselves constantly changed. I loved how her idea of self was in constant flux and the richness of her inner life.

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I love how books meant just so much to her, and all those descripti I loved this book so much any review will be wholly inadequate. I love how books meant just so much to her, and all those descriptions of her spending day after day of her youth reading outdoors in some lovely garden just demands the reader should enjoy this book in the same way. Even the smell of this book was intoxicating. Often I would walk back home. In the Boulevard de la Chapelle, under the steel girders of the elevated railway, women would be waiting for customers; men would come staggering out of brightly lit bistros; the fronts of cinemas would be ablaze with posters.

I could feel life all around me, an enormous, ever-present confusion. I would stride along, feeling it's thick breath blow in my face. And I would say to myself that, after all, life is worth living. It's absolutely beautiful. If, just once, while reading a book I become so enamored that I gasp it to my chest uttering uncontrollable signs; then that, for me, is an automatic five stars. I probably did that a dozen times or more throughout this book; just utterly lost in the ethereal dreaminess of her passions or shattered by her despairs; especially the end, I sat at work for nearly a half hour, completely still, completely moved.

I would weep, because it was so beautiful, and because it was so useless. View all 13 comments. I was reading Simon Schama's Citizens about the French revolution, I had got up to the storming of the Bastille, and I thought I'd step back and take a break by reading de Beauvoir's memoirs of her childhood. Goodness what a shock, Schama paints a picture of France on the eve of revolution in which you might struggle to find a priest who believes in God, where disrespect for the royal family is near universal, the ideas of Rousseau and the classical world as an ideal were on all minds, here de B I was reading Simon Schama's Citizens about the French revolution, I had got up to the storming of the Bastille, and I thought I'd step back and take a break by reading de Beauvoir's memoirs of her childhood.

Goodness what a shock, Schama paints a picture of France on the eve of revolution in which you might struggle to find a priest who believes in God, where disrespect for the royal family is near universal, the ideas of Rousseau and the classical world as an ideal were on all minds, here de Beauvoir pere, while an atheist, is a royalist view spoiler [ admittedly it is far easier to be a royalist once there are no actual kings or emperors and what not to deal with hide spoiler ] , the parents censor de Beauvoir's correspondence until she was almost twenty, her loss of faith is a profound blow to de Beauvoir mere.

While one of de Beauvoir's friends comes of a family were all the daughters either marry men or Christ. Naturally in such constricted circumstances cousin marriage is frequent and Simone herself spends a fair chunk of the book fixated upon cousin Jacques who in time becomes fixated upon the bottle not due to her, his trajectory seems powered by a different dynamic. The dowry is an important instrument for transferring capital between generations and maintaining a bourgeois status. We are introduced to a society which is engaged in fighting a rear guard action against the French Revolution, this you might find reasonable for a memoir from the early days of the nineteenth century, the twist is that de Beauvoir was born at the beginning of the twentieth.

The Rights of Man are along with pesky Bolshevik revolutions destroying the value of de Beauvoir pere's investment in Russian debt the threats to a careful, cloying, controlled, catholic culture. Simone herself the lucky beneficiary of the world changing about her. Memoirs and autobiographies are interesting things - they give the author to shape and transform the raw stuff of their life into a narrative, not that will say anything untrue hopefully but there is always selection and emphasis going on, perhaps subconsciously - what we chose to remember and prefer to forget - as much as consciously.

I can't say that I am quite certain what de Beauvoir's narrative is, towards the middle of her book I felt it was the loss of Eden. The family unit of her self, her younger sister, and their parents is for her stable and complete, at the same time we read that she is growing out of that life.

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Since she is loosing her faith at the same time one feels that Eden is a kind of prison state and for the remainder of the book we see her rattling and fluttering against the cage of values and expectations that she was brought up within. She notices her learnt prudishness when she feels shock when people are pointed out to her who are only romantically interested in the same sex. I felt also that she was engaging with Freud, perhaps not surprising given his intellectual influence during the period of her adult life.

She is careful to point out that she was happy being a girl and saw nothing superior about boys although physically her upbringing was constrained, no swimming, no gymnastics, to the point that when she begins dancing lessons she feels clumsy and awkward, as she is also flushed with certain physical reactions to dancing in couples she gives up dancing lessons view spoiler [ fear of or disquiet at the intensity of ones own physical or emotional reactions is also something of a theme, not just for Simone either by more broadly within her milieux, this was a culture which aimed to set people against themselves, and which sadly to some extent was successful hide spoiler ] and that she wasn't envious of them and indeed as a student rather liked male company in different ways.

A certain tension in their relationship developed as she passes exams and collects diplomas. Although she writes Literature took the place in my life that had once been occupied by religion: it absorbed me entirely, and transfigured my life p. Philosophy had neither opened up the heavens to me nor anchored me to earth I had no fixed ideas of my own, but least I knew that I rejected Aristotle, St Thomas Aquinas, Maritain, and also all empirical and materialist doctrines p.

She seeks for meaning at one stage falling under the influence of a young man who from his experience of comradeship in the first world war was forming a catholic youth movement, this was quite paternalistic in style, for instance de Beauvoir is enrolled to lecture working class men and women on literature. There's an air of searching for a kind of secularised Catholicism at this stage in her life, she likes the ideals of self denial, mortification of the flesh, structure and purpose, so as not to waste her time for a while she gives up on brushing her teeth.

One might see in this too the kinds of inter-war cultural developments for a national culture which unified social classes as a precursor to fascism or communism, indeed de Beauvoir pere approves of Mussolini view spoiler [ from monarchy to Mussolini not such a jump I suppose hide spoiler ]. However young Simone is also moved by the experiences of her friend abroad and of foreigners that she meets, despite her learnt reticence she has a desire for openness both to new experiences including Gin Fizzes and new thinking.

In this regard this is a story of self liberation, a fond farewell, or rediscovery from an adult perspective of her childhood self. There is great feeling for nature, what it was to be like on the small estate her grandfather owned in the spring, the flowers, the colours, the cool of the morning as sh sets out to find a cosy place to read. It is a bizarre thing a book largely about an urban childhood in Paris, in which that city barely features, the Luxembourg Gardens get more mentions than the Louvre, it is a very constrained childhood, one senses the chick pecking at the shell.

It is the kind of childhood which I guess would be very rare in France today. Of course had life panned out as her parents wished it she would have emerged from the shell of childhood in the parental house to the shell of marriage in the husbands, as it was history intervened, slowly, but with decisive effect and we see her building a different kind of life for herself even if she is still at that point in her life herself looking for some grand unifying structure. View all 6 comments. In the family photographs taken the following summer there are ladies in long dresses and ostrich feather hats and gentlemen wearing boaters and panamas, all smiling at a baby: they are my parents, my grandfather, uncles, aunts; and the baby is me.

My father was thirty, my mother twenty-one, and I was their first child. He had a liking for feminine friendships. During the fortnight of the oral examinations we hardly ever left each other except to sleep. I was now beginning to feel that time not spent in his company was time wasted.

Not only did he give me encouragement but he also intended to give me active help in achieving this ambition. View all 9 comments. The other day, I was waiting for my husband to meet me for dinner, and I had plenty of time to kill so, I went to read at a nearby coffee shop. I had been sitting there for a few minutes when it hit me that I was drinking espresso whilst reading Simone de Beauvoir in French!! I felt I was only missing a ber The other day, I was waiting for my husband to meet me for dinner, and I had plenty of time to kill so, I went to read at a nearby coffee shop.

I felt I was only missing a beret and a cigarette, and the picture would have been perfect note to self: carry emergency beret and cigarette in purse, to maximize future poser moments. They are very elegantly written, but show a candor and honesty few people are brave enough to have when looking back at their own lives.

I admit I was surprised to learn how deeply religious she was throughout her childhood and early adult life: considering her intellectual work and the lifestyle she later cultivated, I had not expected her to have contemplated becoming a nun! Since this book covers mostly her childhood, adolescence and early adulthood, it focuses a lot on her family, her childhood friend Zaza, her love of books, her studies The very lucid way she remembers the pangs of puberty, the strange and mysterious agonies of trying to understand oneself and others as you grow up were fascinating and moving.

I felt a certain kinship with Beauvoir as I was reading this: her discovery of the complexity of the adult world and refusal to be treated as a child who did not belong to it, her struggle with the loss of faith and her precocious intellectual interests were things I related to deeply. I loved reading her thoughts about the effect "Little Women" had on her, not only because I also love Jo March, but because she thought Jo's relationship with Professor Bhaer to be more desirable than a more romantic alternative, because they have a greater intellectual connection.

I simply couldn't agree more. In fact, the way she saw her relationships with men was amazing: never could she conceive of being with a man who would not consider her an equal and a partner. That lack of originality inspired nothing but disdain in her, she simply could not abide the mediocrity. Her relationship with Sartre is only just beginning when "Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter" concludes, but she knew he'd always be a part of her life because she felt like she had finally found an intellectual equal, who values her mind and her intelligence.

Can I just say: "YAS!!!! The amazing story of an absolutely amazing woman. I will be looking for the rest of her autobiography! In the early twentieth century, a family of the Parisian middle class, rises Simone. When very small, is rebellious and has sudden onset of irritation. Then when he gives to religious faith, calms and becomes an example of student and daughter. But still young sees the incongruities of the Catholic religion, and his intellectual formation takes another turn. This course culminates in the adoption of existentialist philosophy and involvement in controversial causes like abortion advocacy.

In Memo In the early twentieth century, a family of the Parisian middle class, rises Simone. In Memoirs of a well-behaved girl, we know the children and youth of this the lady who is nothing more or less than Simone de Beauvoir. Owner of a nonconformist and authentic spirit, Simone de Beauvoir shows us in this first autobiographical his religious childhood, the consequent disbelief reporting and subsequent devotion to literature. By reading these memories, we follow the life of this voracious reader always parallel to his literary tastes and your dedication to writing.

And we understand how their relationships were fundamental. A sweet friendship with Zaza, the closeness with his sister and the children's love for Jacques were the joy and peace of her heart. Enthusiastic diarist, Simone published several autobiographical works on certain times of your life. His own style and his constant search for the truth not only reveal a person's life, but shows lived for a time one of its great characters. About Memoirs of a well-behaved girl, Simone de Beauvoir says: "There is a novelistic unity that is not present in the following volumes.

As in the novels of learning, from start to finish time passes with rigor. The most complete. Were equal to one another, we could not think of anything. I had met a woman like the one I was like man. View all 17 comments. It's been a long time since I connected with a book at such a level of visceral sympathy—since I had the feeling "Yes! That's what it's like for me too! So there may be a certain lack of critical distance in this post: I'm declaring myself right up front to be a newly-converted de Beauvoir fangirl, and my only dilemma now is whether to break my book-buying ban and order the second volume La force de l'age right this second, or whether to hold out for a gift-giving holiday or upcoming trip to France.

Beginning with birth and ending with the completion of her secondary schooling, some of the most interesting passages in this book map to what are often the "boring bits" of biography and autobiography: de Beauvoir's early childhood. She is such a keen observer, and obviously so well-accustomed to dissecting the way humans perceive and process the world, that hers becomes an early-childhood story unlike any I've ever read before—and it's especially exciting to read about her development in this regard if the reader has some slight familiarity with her existentialist feminism later in life, since she does a complete about-face on many issues.

She writes, for example, about her early assumption age five or so that language and other signs sprang organically— necessarily and without human intervention—from the things they signify, so that the word "vache" cow was somehow a necessary and organic component of the animal itself. In this mindset she could understand letters as objects an "a," for example but not as building blocks representing sounds that make up words.

It then took me very little time to learn to read. However, my ideas stopped there. I saw in the picture the exact double of the sound corresponding to it: they emanated together from the thing they expressed, so well that the relation between them involved nothing arbitrary. There comes a period in her teenage years when language, the necessity of interpreting language, becomes her enemy for just this reason: when we express our thoughts, feelings, and intentions, there is always a chasm between the thing itself—our interior landscape—and our expression of it; often this chasm is only widened when our words are interpreted by another person.

Despite this semiotic difficulty, however, de Beauvoir herself does an impeccable job of articulating her own interior landscapes at different times in her life, not only as personal experiences, but as ontological states capable of dissection by her as an adult. Another thread that is first woven into the narrative very early is the dread inherent in the realization that we change with time, that our present incarnation is different than the person we will be in the future, and in ways currently dismaying or frightening to us.

That these changes may cease to dismay or frighten us in the future, before or after they happen to us, doesn't change the dread our current selves feel at being left behind, replaced: Je regardais le fauteuil de maman et je pensais: "Je ne pourrai plus m'asseoir sur ses genoux. J'ai pressenti tous les sevrages, les reniements, les abandons et la succession de mes morts. I sensed all the weanings, the renunciations, the abandonments and the whole progression of my deaths. This was one of those jolts of recognition for me: I have a memory very like this, of being at the zoo with my mother and grandmother when I was three or four years old, and overhearing them talk about how unpleasant "teenagers" were.

Mom and Grandma probably didn't actually say this, but I got the impression from their conversation that teenagers hate their parents. And it suddenly dawned on me that one day I would be a teenager: would I hate my parents as well? But I didn't want to hate them; I loved and depended upon my parents. Where would this monstrous teenage-me come from, and how would it eat away at the love I currently felt toward my family?

I remember an awful feeling of dread, and of impotence: I didn't want to become this future self I foresaw, but presumably I could do nothing to stop it: "I"—the "me" looking at the polar bears—would be consumed in teenage-ness and no longer care about "my" toddler-age preferences. Of course the truth was more complicated—I never stopped loving my parents, needless to say—but in a way, my three-year-old self was right: by the time I was a teenager I DID act snotty and unpleasant to them a lot of the time, and I no longer wished luckily to regress into the trusting dependence of toddler-hood.

I had become a stranger, and no longer wanted to go back; the only way was forward. De Beauvoir's delineation of this process is fascinating, and she returns to it several times throughout this volume: the dread that precedes a change, and the ontological break that enables us to be in a completely different emotional space after the change, so that our former dread is no longer relevant.

Raised devoutly Catholic, for example, she realizes sometime in her early teens that she no longer believes in God. At some point before this realization, she thinks to herself that to lose one's faith would be the most horrible thing she can imagine happening to a person; yet when she herself realizes that it has happened to her, it makes no immediate change in her life; she feels little distress.

She had thought that her morality and assumptions about the universe would immediately and drastically be torn asunder, but in fact she retains the tenants of her bourgeois Christian upbringing long after she has stopped believing in God, and only very gradually years, decades later comes to reexamine the aspects of that upbringing that no longer make sense to her. The books I loved became a Bible from which I took advice and comfort; I copied long extracts from them; I learned by heart new hymns and new litanies, psalms, proverbs, prophecies, and I sanctified all the circumstances of my life by reciting these sacred texts.

Her father looms large in this history, as both the object of her childhood and adolescent idolatry, and as a conservative blow-hard who says things like "a wife is what her husband makes her; it's up to him to shape her personality," and bitterly regrets the fact that his loss of money means that his daughters will be earning their own livings, rather than marrying well into good society never mind that they PREFER to earn their own livings; that's not the point.

Her father's betrayal of her—he tells her she will have to educate herself and earn her living, then hates her for being a reminder of his own financial failure—was a formative event in de Beauvoir's life, and a source of real bitterness for her; I was impressed, however, at how impartial she manages to be toward her father himself, while coming to reject the set of values he held. As with all other aspects of the book, her observations on gender relations are detailed and perceptive, and the roots of her feminism run through this volume, from her examination of the sexual double-standard that allowed her parents to entertain men who kept mistresses but not the mistresses themselves; to the assertion of her otherwise avant-garde philospher friends that they "can't respect an unmarried woman"; to the effects of having her reading censored it was considered dangerous for unmarried women to read about sex.

The priest hadn't said that the bad books painted life in false colors: in that case, it would have been easy to brush aside their lies; the tragedy of the girl he had failed to save was that she had prematurely discovered the true face of reality. In any case, I said to myself, one day I'll see it too, face to face, and I won't die. And de Beauvoir does not neglect to notice that men and boys were not considered so delicate as to kill themselves over premature exposure to a tawdry potboiler.

I'll be honest: this is not the memoir for everyone. If you're not interested in philosophy and like a lot to "happen" in your books, it will probably seem hopelessly dry. De Beauvoir's adolescence involves all the arrogance and angst one might expect from a recently-secularized teen who went on to become a preeminent existentialist hint: a lot. But even when she is recalling her most turbulent periods, the adult de Beauvoir maintains her incisive, perceptive, ever-so-faintly-amused voice.

She doesn't take herself too seriously, but neither does she dismiss her experiences or manifest a false modesty. This balanced tone, combined with her stunning intelligence and existentialist insights, makes this volume easily one of my favorite reads of the year, if not of all time. View all 3 comments. Jun 13, M. May 09, Jonfaith rated it really liked it. I would crack between my teeth the candied shell of an artificial fruit, and a burst of light would illuminate my palate with a taste of blackcurrant or pineapple: all the colours, all the lights were mine, the gauzy scarves, the diamonds, the laces; I held the whole party in my mouth.

Living in Indiana, mass transit remains a topic left of center. Sure we have a bus system but nothing further. Such is dreams of those elites who want to undermine something core, something both pure and competiti I would crack between my teeth the candied shell of an artificial fruit, and a burst of light would illuminate my palate with a taste of blackcurrant or pineapple: all the colours, all the lights were mine, the gauzy scarves, the diamonds, the laces; I held the whole party in my mouth.

Such is dreams of those elites who want to undermine something core, something both pure and competitive: something FREE. I have nerded on trains most of my adult life and look forward to every opportunity to indulge such. That was before I was to spend a week commuting at peak times back and forth from Long Island to Penn Station. Thus my spirit has been tempered. I can say with relish that this memoir was definitively transportive. I was impressed with her specificity, the reliable old journal always helps to sort things out.

The dutiful of the title is ironic. Her true obligations weren't filial but to a more harrowing tradition. This is some arrogant reading. My eyes did tend to roll. That said, the candor at times was certainly to be admired. May 30, Ophelia. I have developed a crush on Simone. What an incredible woman. What a brain. Even from early childhood her intelligence shows.

Her courage, her strength. I truly find her so interesting. Also, at times, she made feel like a useless shit. I think of her struggles she had to go through to get her knowledge and independence and I have all of that for free and what have I done with my life? But of course she also inspires a great deal. I didn't know she was so religious actually, that came as a shock. I I have developed a crush on Simone. I loved this book, a slow thinking-book. It will not be for everyone I guess. If you're not interested in philosophy and like a lot "to happen" in your books, it will probably seem a bit boring to you.

For me it was 5 star for sure. And I look forward to read more from her. Well written discourses on growing up are amazing. The clarity with which the author described her years from infancy to childhood and beyond was astonishing; it was as if the babies in Mary Poppins had retained the eloquent speech which they used to discourse with birds and other nonhuman entities. It made for some serious misunderstandings on my part at the beginning though, as I was originally very annoyed with Simone at the beginning of her life. Her tantrums and her taking of her blessed li Well written discourses on growing up are amazing.

Her tantrums and her taking of her blessed life for granted were very frustrating, at least until I realized that the way she was conveying her emotions and thought processes made her seem much older than she actually was. It was easier to forgive her then, and actually made the reasons behind her outbursts as a child fascinating instead of insufferable.

Once my annoyances with her cleared up, her life was one of the more intellectually stimulating autobiographies that I have had the pleasure of reading, to the extent that I will have to find more works by the deep thinkers of the period. I'm especially looking forward to reading Jean-Paul Sartre; the way she describes him makes me wish I had met him, and if given the chance I would gladly give my right arm in order to do so.

Many of the people she interacted with were interesting, but what shone clearest through her time with them is how it was normal for her to quickly fall in with them, discourse for a while, and then fall out just as quickly. This resonated deeply with my own experiences with others, along with the fact that she had multiple periods of stagnancy that overwhelmed her body and soul.

To want for everything, yet be limited to a repeating daily life barred on all sides by both physical walls and ignorant people!

Réussite au travail

There is no greater torture than this. Reading this book doesn't help my own dissatisfaction with my short term goal of settling down to a career, but it was satisfying in my long term goal of figuring out exactly what my existence is supposed to consist of.

I think there's a little too much personal reflection in here. Going back to the book, it was a heady mix of descriptive elegance and intellectual stimulation in a never ending journey of self-discovery, and Simone honed the process of its creation down to a science. Not sure if I'll ever look into any of the books that she devoured in the course of the novel, but as said previously, I definitely need to read Sartre. Someone who was described as always thinking definitely deserves some attention. The feminist text covers so much ground from biology to philosophy, and it's not a book for the weak.

It's a commitment, but one I feel everyone should make at some point in their lives. I've had Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter on my shelf for years, after having picked it up in a used bookstore in Baltimore several moons ago. It's the first book in her autobiographical series and thus covers her early years - her youn A little over a year ago, I read Simone de Beauvoir's tome, The Second Sex.

It's the first book in her autobiographical series and thus covers her early years - her young childhood throughout her late teens or so. It can be difficult to write about ones childhood with much honesty, because we tend to reflect on those early years with the mindset we have today. We like to say things like "I was a good baby" or "I never threw fits in the grocery store like kids do today", and of course that's all bogus.

Maybe we were good babies, relatively speaking, but we all threw tantrums, even if we don't remember them. Beauvoir talks about her childhood as an adult would, but she does not sugarcoat it. She was a brat, as we all were, and there's nothing wrong with admitting it. As Beauvoir unfolds her early story, we discover that her parents were not the warm, fuzzy sorts.

They each had their own issues, and don't forget, we're talking about a time when children did not have warm, fuzzy relationships with their parents. Beauvoir spent many years of her younger days sharing a room with her nanny, and her little sister had a spot out in the hallway. Through the course of her relationship with her parents, and their frequent disagreements, we learn that Beauvoir was always a rather strong female, a force to be reckoned with.

She spent a lot of her time analyzing herself, working on improving herself through her education and her own personal reading, and growing as a person.