Fire in the Blood by Irene Nemirovsky

Last year I read Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky and I thought it was fucking brilliant.  Published only recently, it was a novel about World War II, which she had written during the war.  She never finished it because tragically, she died in a Nazi concentration camp.  Her daughters survived and it was through them that the book ended up being published.

Anyhow, ever since I finished Suite Francaise, I’ve been itching to read another one of her books.  Fire in the Blood is another one of her works that was published only recently.  It’s quite short and it’s believed that Nemirovsky hadn’t finished with it in the state it was found.

Well, regardless, I really enjoyed it.  It’s a story of passion and lies amongst an extended family in the French countryside.  And it’s pretty damn juicy!  A pervasive theme through the book is the passion of youth and how fleeting and destructive it can be.   The narrator is an old solitary bachelor with not much passion left but who possesses a doozy of a secret.  Here, the character describes how he lives as an old man:

And how can I describe the pleasure I find here?  I enjoy simple things, things within reach:  a nice meal, some good wine, the secret, bitter pleasure of writing in this notebook; but, most especially, this divine solitude.  What else do I need?

Uh, I guess it’s official – I’m OLD – because that sounds like a pretty pleasant way to spend the days….

So bottom line, I loved it, but it’s only a little over 100 pages, so I was bummed that it had to end so soon.  Nemirovsky was actually quite a prolific author before her untimely death, so I’m definitely going to check out some more of her work.

L, I think you’d like this one.