132. Le verbe être devrait être banni de l'écriture littéraire. Comme disait Montaigne, je ne peins pas l'être, je peins le passage.
Olivia Rosenthal, Une femme sur le fil.
132. The verb "to be" should be banished from literary writing. As Montaigne said: "I do not depict being, I depict transition." 1
Olivia Rosenthal Une femme sur le fil Zoé's story is a radical literary reflection on language, in which the fragmentation of memory, the principle of repetition, and the impossibility of linear narration make the fragmentation of traumatic experience palpable. Zoé's story is told in numbered, paratactic fragments that often abruptly break the narrative coherence and lack clear narrative continuity. This not only reflects her inner turmoil but also addresses the limitations of language itself: Zoé is a character caught between speechlessness and the search for an expression of her suffering. Abused by her uncle in childhood, she plunges into a life of insecurity and fear. Her daily life is characterized by attempts to escape the oppressive memory by adopting strategies of avoidance: she hopes to be noticed and protected by her teacher, and she searches for figures who might offer her a way out of her inner labyrinth. As Zoé tries to process her past, she reflects on the mechanisms of memory and narration. She recognizes that language offers a limited way to express trauma and moves between fragments of myth, literature, and personal experience. Through repetition and variation of her own story, Zoé attempts to make her trauma narratable.
The novel is constructed as a labyrinthine text in which the protagonist moves between speechlessness and self-assertion, combining poetic concision with a philosophical approach reminiscent of Wittgenstein's critique of language: the narratable world always remains incomplete. Like Ariadne, who guides Theseus through the labyrinth with her thread, the protagonist searches for structure, a path through the chaos of memories, so as not to lose herself: “How does one escape this history of violence and abuse that constantly repeats itself? How can one tell it differently? By soaring to great heights, like the vaulters, acrobats, and trapeze artists (who are often themselves victims of violence) who keep the abyss at bay. This means taking risks and coming close to the fall. Olivia Rosenthal writes in this way, in an unstable but fruitful equilibrium. On a tightrope.” 2 It is precisely in this gap between the sayable and the unsayable that the literary power of the book unfolds, acting as a kind of textual tightrope, creating an aesthetic experience of suspension and uncertainty, and thus engaging the reader in an existential reflection on the conditions of language, identity and trauma.
108. I chose Ariane, the name of this woman who offered her a pelote de fil à devider for the retro-looking woman, before confronting the Minotaur in the labyrinths.
109. Quand la cloche sun, Zoé se crispe. Les other people have their cartable et s'en vont. Mais Zoé, elle, range lentement ses affairs, elle espère que, si son amie chere quitte la classe sans l'attendre, la maîtresse, elle, la remarquera, l'accompagnera jusqu'à l'entrée, la prendra par la main et l'emmènera dans une maison où son oncle n'aura pas l'idée d'aller la chercher.
110. Ariane aimé Thésée and lui a offert la possibilité de sortir du labyrinthe en échange de la promesse qu'il l'épouserait pour la remercier de son aide. Mais Thésée, après avoir tué le Minotaur et être sorti sain et sauf du labyrinthe, ne respecte pas sa promesse et abandonne Ariane sur le rivage de Naxos.
111. Je m'intéresse au fil (pour sortir du dédale), pas à la lâcheté des hommes et à leurs fausses promesses.
112. Encore que. « L'oncle aux mains baladeuses » qui fait planner son ombre malfaisante sur le début de mon récit pourrait peut-être renvoyer à certaines promesses non tenues.
113. Le Minotaure serait l'oncle, Zoé serait Thésée, l'amie chère serait Ariane, une sœur de Zoé ou une sorte de sœur ou une sœur d'âme, une amoureuse, un double ? Et la maîtresse?114. « Ariane, ma sœur! de quel amour blessée / vous mourûtes aux bords où vous fûtes laissée! »
Olivia Rosenthal, Une femme sur le fil.
115. Ce verse m'est venu à l'esprit presque naturellement mais il lui manquait deux syllabes pour qu'il soit complete, and j'ai mis plusieurs heures à les retrouver. I'm sure you know that you don't need to understand the verses in one piece in the context of the story (qui parle et qui).
108. I could choose Ariadne, the name of the woman who offered Theseus a ball of thread to unwind so that he could find his way back through the labyrinth after fighting the Minotaur.
109. When the bell rings, Zoé tenses. The others grab their school bags and leave. She hopes the teacher will notice her, escort her to the entrance, take her by the hand, and bring her to a house where her uncle won't even think of coming to pick her up.
110. Ariadne loved Theseus and offered him the chance to escape the labyrinth in exchange for his promise to marry her in gratitude for her help. But Theseus, after killing the Minotaur and safely leaving the labyrinth, broke his promise and abandoned Ariadne on the coast of Naxos.
111. I am interested in the thread (to get out of the labyrinth), not in the cowardice of people and their false promises.
112. Even if. The “uncle with the hands that grope”, who casts his evil shadow over the beginning of my story, might perhaps point to some broken promises.
113. The Minotaur would be the uncle, Zoé would be Theseus, the dear friend would be Ariadne, a sister of Zoé or some kind of sister or a soul sister, a lover, a doppelganger? And the lover?114. “Ariadne, my sister! Wounded by what love / did you die on the shores where you were left behind!” 3
115. This verse came to me almost spontaneously, but it was missing two syllables to be complete, and it took me several hours to find them. I had forgotten "my sister," which, while not essential for understanding the verse itself, is somewhat necessary for the context of the utterance (who is speaking and to whom).
This excerpt reveals the complex connection between mythology, trauma processing, and poetic reflection: Ariadne, who guides Theseus out of the labyrinth and is herself abandoned, serves as a metaphor for the protagonist Zoé, who searches for a saving thread in her own labyrinthine memory. Jean-Pierre Resche 4 emphasized in his interpretation of these verses from Racine's Phaedra (Ariadne is the sister of Phaedra), that poetry is not only a linguistic form, but opens up a deeper level of perception: In Rosenthal's text these aspects are interwoven, giving Racine's verses a dual function – they refer on the one hand to Ariadne's abandonment and on the other hand to the poetic structure as a means of suggesting the unspeakable.
Rosenthal constructs a dense texture of mythological references, recurring images, and literary allusions that reinforce the central motif of the thread and orientation. Resche argues that verse structures generate a rhythm that carries meaning beyond what is said. This idea is reflected in Rosenthal's narrative technique: through repetition and variation, the literary structure itself becomes a labyrinth that the reader must enter. The allusion to the Ariadne myth, as well as the multiple circling of the same theme, makes it clear that the only way out of this labyrinth is not a simple narrative, but rather an understanding of the structure itself. Thought moves within the boundaries of language—and simultaneously points beyond them. The connection between Zoé, Ariadne, and the Minotaur suggests that the protagonist is not only searching for a way out, but also grappling with the question of what role she herself plays in the narrative. Rosenthal employs an open, ambiguous narrative style; The thread is not merely a symbolic aid, but becomes a problem in itself: What orientation is there in a text characterized by its own interconnectedness? At the end of the novel, the central message is reversed when the repeated line "Une victime est toujours seule" (788, 813, 817, 837) is transformed into "Une victime n'est jamais seule" (991) – proof that the literary structure not only reflects the labyrinth, but also opens up a possibility for liberation.
29. You will learn more about Zoé's history, which is a pseudonym.
30. Zoé n'est pas tranquille. Son uncle a les mains baladeuses. One day we are looking for a student at the school. Elle le voit dans l'encadrement de la porte. Les élèves sont aspirés et siphonnés par ce petit trou clair au bout du couloir mais Zoé, elle, reflue, elle ne se laissera pas empporter. Elle se replie sur elle-même, se laisse bousculer. Elle restera en arrière quitte à passer toute sa vie cachée. Dans l'école elle se retrouve soul. Seule jusqu'à new order. Les maîtres and les surveillants ont quitté les lieux sans la voir. Everything is transparent. Elle se demande si quelqu'un se rendra compte qu'elle manque à l'appelle. What appel d'ailleurs? Il n'y a pas d'appel. Chez elle, sa mère n'aura peut-être même pas remarqué son absence. His son's uncle toured the entrance to the school together with him who was enfermé. Les grilles sont tombées. Il attend encore. C'est lui qui détient le monopole de l'anxiété. L'oncle dont les mains baladeuses tremblent.
31. Zoé, pseudonyme de qui ?
32. Zoé n'est pas tranquille. Son uncle a les mains baladeuses. One day we are looking for a student at the school. Elle prend son élan et se precipite en avant afin de passer entre les mailles du fillet. Mais l'œil de l'oncle et ses muscles sont vifs. Elle sera rattrapée, plaquée, tenue à bout de bras, exposée. Elle criera et criera encore. Nothing passers-by can see anything. Les mains de l'oncle sont censées la maintenir, la calmer, la sauver.33. Zoé a plusieurs noms derrière son nom de fiction mais un nom, à lui tout seul, ne fait pas une personne.
Olivia Rosenthal, Une femme sur le fil.
34. Zoé n'est pas tranquille. Son uncle a les mains baladeuses. One day we are looking for a student at the school. Elle sait qu'elle ne pourra pas lui échapper, il lui manque encore la force physique pour lui résister. Mais son instinct lui dicte les conduites à tenir. Elle demande à son amie la plus chère d'échanger avec elle ses clothes. L'autre ne comprend pas. On n'a pas le temps, les adults attendent la porte. Zoé supplie, the other cède. Elles se faufilent in les toilettes. Zoé passe tous les clothes de son amie chere comme si c'était a new peau, surtout the coat terne à la place de la parka rouge, celle que sa mère lui a offerte. The whole shape is not aimed at anything. The parka is long enough to have a small rouge in the evening light. Elle laisse son amie sortir la première, elle servira d'appât. L'oncle murder. Zoé a le temps de quitter la bouche ouverte de l'entrée avant que l'oncle n'ait pu déplacer son regard verselle. Elle court à toute vitesse, elle devine qu'elle ne pourra pas rentrer chez elle.
35. Entre vous, lecteur, et moi, il ya Zoé, l'oncle, l'amie chère.
36. L'écriture est people de tiers.
29. I would like to tell the story of Zoé, which is a pseudonym.
30. Zoé is not calm. Her uncle has hands that grope. One day, he picks her up at the school exit. She sees him standing in the doorway. The students are sucked and vacuumed through that small, bright hole at the end of the corridor, but Zoé surges back, she refuses to be swept away. She withdraws into herself and lets herself be pushed around. She stays behind, even though she spends her whole life in hiding. At school, she finds herself alone. Alone for the time being. The teachers and guards have left the grounds without seeing her. She has become transparent. She wonders if anyone will notice that she is missing from roll call. What kind of roll call is that anyway? There is no roll call. At home, her mother may not even have noticed her absence. Only her uncle turns away before the school entrance, as if he were the one who is locked up. The gates have fallen down. He is still waiting. He is the one who has a monopoly on fear. The uncle, whose hands, as they grope, are trembling.
31. Zoé, pseudonym of whom?
32. Zoé is not quiet. Her uncle has hands that grope. One day, he picks her up in front of the school. She takes a running start and sprints forward, trying to slip through the mesh of the net. But her uncle's eye and his muscles are sharp. She is caught, tackled, held at arm's length, exposed. She will scream and scream some more. Neither the passersby nor her mother will hear her. Her uncle's hands are meant to hold her, calm her, save her.33. Zoé has several names behind her fictional name, but one name alone does not make a person.
34. Zoé is restless. Her uncle has hands that grope. One day, he picks her up after school. She knows she can't escape him, as she lacks the physical strength to resist him. But her instincts tell her how to act. She asks her best friend to swap clothes with her. The other friend doesn't understand. There's no time; the adults are waiting outside. Zoé begs, and the other friend gives in. They sneak into the bathroom. Zoé slips on all of her beloved friend's clothes like a new skin, especially the dull coat instead of the red parka her mother gave her. She doesn't like it anyway. The parka has to go; she has to escape, a small red stain in the evening light. She lets her friend go out first; she's to serve as bait. The uncle takes the bait. Zoé manages to leave through the open doorway before the uncle can even see her. She runs as fast as she can because she suspects she won't make it home.
35. Between you, reader, and me there is Zoé, the uncle, the dear friend.
36. The script is populated by third parties.
Olivia Rosenthal is among the literary voices in France whose works are characterized by formal innovation and a profound exploration of identity, memory, and language. In her latest novel Une femme sur le fil She continues themes that were already established in earlier works, such as in On n'est pas là pour disparaître (2007) or Mécanismes de survie en hostile milieu (2014), these “hostile” milieus are not only metaphorical but also very concrete: people in difficult living conditions, in crisis, or in transitional states. Here, too, the focus is on the fragility of human existence, on strategies for survival, and the power of language—or rather, its limits. Rosenthal has been exploring existential threats and the experience of otherness in her works since her debut novel. In time (1999), a philosophical novel that reflects on the nature of time and memory, and on how people try to understand their life story and reconcile it with the flow of time. In Que font les rennes après Noël? (2010) Rosenthal explores the tension between animals and humans and questions societal norms through poetic reflections. In Ils not pour rien dans mes larmes (2012) deals with collective memory and guilt: The story follows a woman who is confronted with the loss of a loved one and deals with her grief; the novel addresses the question of responsibility for one's own pain, both in an individual and a social context. On n'est pas là pour disparaître (2007) addresses forgetting and the dissolution of identity through Alzheimer's disease. The novel employs a multi-perspective narrative style, giving voice to various characters who are all confronted in their own way with the theme of "disappearance"—be it through feelings of alienation, loss of orientation, or actual physical absence. These themes of identity loss and narrative fragmentation recur in Une femme sur le fil again. The paratactic structure, the elliptical narrative style, and the central metaphor of tightrope walking condense Rosenthal's long-standing exploration of uncertainty and how narratives construct—or deconstruct—identity.
158. Je me demande si cipher mes phrases ne correspond pas à un désir profond mais réprimé d'écrire un journal.
159. Source horreur. Écrire avec des dates, voir le temps passer.
160. When I read the final text, I rewrite the maize identification and choose a numérotation à rebourse. Cela me thundera l'illusion d'être capable of constructing the fameux arc narratif dont j'ai déjà parlé, que je moque mais qui sans doute m'attire précisément parce que je ne peux pas y accéder. Compter à rebours jusqu'au zero pointé can constitute a solution to the problem, zero marquant une fin dramatiquement annoncée et longuement attendue by the reader.161. L'attente est sans doute ce qui est le plus proche du suspense même si, parfois, elle peut aussi confiner à l'ennui.
Olivia Rosenthal, Une femme sur le fil.
162. Attendre la fin n'apporte aucune excitation particulière, si ?
163. 162. 161. 160. Return en arrière jusqu'à zero.
164. J'ai essayé de passer outre mon propre modèle et la règle que je m'étais fixée. Pour voir si ce petit saut apportait quelque chose à la lecture et à l'écriture, les faisait dérailer et ouvrait a different perspective.
165. Je répète zero juste pour voir.
166. Je ne vois rien.
167. Ce n'est pas bon signe.
168. Zero au milieu du texte n'est pas la good solution. Il faut en trouver une other. Je pourrais essayer de poursuivre ce texte comme s'il avait une ligne grâce à la numérotation, tout en digressant dans all les senses dans l'espoir que lors de l'une de ces digressions un new récit apparaisse.
169. Vous l'avez compris, le récit est le maître, le roi, on cherche désespérément à écrire un récit alors qu'on n'est pas douée pour ça.
170. c
158. I wonder if numbering my sentences doesn't correspond to a deep but suppressed desire to write a diary.
159. What a horror. Writing with dates, watching time pass.
160. I tell myself that when I finish this text, I will rewrite it identically, but choose a reverse numbering system. This will give me the illusion that I am capable of constructing the famous narrative arc I have already spoken of, which I mock, but which probably attracts me precisely because I cannot achieve it. One solution to this problem might be to count backward to the dotted zero, with zero marking a dramatically announced and long-awaited end for the reader.161. Waiting is probably best compared to excitement, even if it can sometimes border on boredom.
162. Waiting for the end doesn't bring any particular excitement, does it?
163. 162. 161. 160. Return to zero.
164. I tried skipping my own template and the rule I had imposed on myself. To see if this small leap would contribute anything to reading and writing, derail it, and open up a different perspective.
165. I repeat zero, just to see.
166. I see nothing.
167. That's not a good sign.
168. zero A solution in the middle of the text is not a good one. We need to find another. I could try to continue this text as if it had a line thanks to the numbering, while I digress in all directions, hoping that a new narrative will emerge during one of these digressions.
169. You have understood, the narrative is the master, the king; one tries desperately to write a narrative even though one is not good at it.
170. It is believed that if one tries hard, one can replace talent with diligence.
Elisabeth Philippe raises in The Obs the special narrative style of Une femme sur le fil The parataxis is striking: “The short paragraphs, sometimes reduced to a simple, axiom-like sentence, are dutifully numbered from 1 to 1000, like the sentences of a giant syllogism. But the resulting text seems to lack logic almost as much as the famous arguments of Ionesco’s characters: ‘All cats are mortal. Socrates is mortal. Therefore, Socrates is a cat.’” 5 This numerical structure is reminiscent of formal experiments such as those by Wittgenstein or Ionesco, which reveal the breakdown of rational relationships through an apparent logic.
The text revolves around central themes such as trauma, memory, identity, and the limits of language, as well as the symptomatic and therapeutic significance of writing. The protagonist, Zoé, serves as a symbolic figure for a person caught on a metaphorical tightrope – between past and future, between silence and language, between invisibility and self-assertion.
694. Zoé! Zoé!
Olivia Rosenthal, Une femme sur le fil.
695. La grotte me renvoie l'écho, this bouche d'ombre où j'ai plongé Zoé pour qu'à la croisée des chemins elle soit dans l'obligation de choisir.
696. L'oncle à droite, à gauche le vertige. À droite l'oncle, à gauche la voltige. À droite l'oncle substitute du père, à gauche la parole et le récit. At the end of the silence, the promesse and the exercise, the abandonment, the confidence, the reversal of the corps and the double salto. À droite le père, à gauche le Saint-Esprit. À droite le père et le Saint-Esprit, à gauche le corps et rien que lui. Zoé hésite.
697. Pour voler, il faut oublier que tu es en train de tomber et te concentrer sur la technique, m'explique M. Ton corps occupe une place centrale, tu le reposes, tu l'entraînes, tu le nourris, tu te cantonnes à la pratique, tu t'éloignes de toute considération Intellectuelle, you confront yourself au vivant, au présent, sound approach se simplifie.
694. Zoé! Zoé!
695. The cave throws back the echo to me, this shadowy abyss into which I plunged Zoé so that she would have to choose at the crossroads of paths.
696. On the right, the uncle; on the left, the vertigo. On the right, the uncle; on the left, the vertigo. On the right, the uncle as a father figure; on the left, the word and the narrative. On the right, silence, the promise, and the choice; on the left, devotion, trust, the inversion of the body, and the double somersault. On the right, the father; on the left, the Holy Spirit. On the right, the father and the Holy Spirit; on the left, the body and nothing but him. Zoé hesitates.
697. To fly, you must forget that you are falling and concentrate on the technique, M. explains to me. Your body takes center stage; you rest it, you train it, you nourish it, you focus on practice, you distance yourself from all intellectual considerations, you confront the living, the present, your approach becomes simpler.
The novel deliberately employs repetition and variation to reflect the effects of trauma: scenes reappear in altered form, often with only minor shifts in wording, thereby intensifying the feeling of inescapability. The structure thus resembles the uncontrollable mechanisms of recurring traumatic memories.
389. Sur une affiche, du temps où j'étais en résidence avec un ami plasticien à Bobigny et où nous allions coller des texts un peu à la sauvage sur les murs de la ville, j'ai écrit: « J'invente ce que vous ne dites pas, j'extrapole. »
Olivia Rosenthal, Une femme sur le fil.
390. Du temps où Est une expression que j'ai déjà employée plus haut (3.): du temps où les bêtes parlaient.
391. Décidément je me répète. If you march in the forest and the tree, you will be able to ressemble it into another tree that will give you more than one hour.
392. Me suis-je perdue ?
393. Je ne sais quel bénéfice tirer de la répétition mais j'ai le sentiment qu'il faudrait que je passe de la déploration à la revendication.
394. Rien jamais ne se répète.
395. L'aspect définitif d'une telle phrase me console. J'adhère à l'idée philosophique que tout est toujours dissemblable.
396. Voir 227. Je rumine toujours les mêmes phrases ("La ressemblance ne fait pas tant un comme la différence fait autre. Nature s'est obligée à ne rien faire other, qui ne fût dissemblable.")
389. On a poster from the time when I lived in Bobigny with a friend, a visual artist, and we were sticking texts somewhat haphazardly on the walls of the town, I wrote: “I invent what you don’t say, I extrapolate.”
390. From the time when, that is an expression I have already used above (3.): from the time when animals could speak.
391. I repeat myself emphatically. I walk through the forest and the tree I see bears a striking resemblance to another tree I saw over an hour ago.
392. Am I lost?
393. I don't know what benefit I'm supposed to derive from repetition, but I feel I should move from complaining to demanding.
394. Nothing ever repeats itself.
395. The ultimate aspect of such a statement comforts me. I subscribe to the philosophical idea that everything is always dissimilar.
396. See 227. I am still chewing on the same sentences (“Similarity does not make one so much as difference makes another. Nature has committed herself to making nothing other than dissimilar.”).
The fragmentation undermines any possibility of a linear narrative and instead creates a network of fragmented memories, which, in their incompleteness, reflect the reality of traumatized individuals. Thus, the novel's structure generates a tension between apparent order and content-related chaos, as Philippe's review puts it: "You feel like you're losing the thread as Olivia Rosenthal unravels it, untangles and unwinds the knot, a tight knot of secrets, shame, and fears." 6 The protagonist attempts to tell her own story, while the narrative style deliberately questions this possibility. The text's structure, with its short, numbered paragraphs, is reminiscent of Wittgenstein's Tractatus logical-philosophicus and its attempt to contain language into clear structures – an order that ultimately leads to its own failure: “5.6 The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.” 7 Wittgenstein argues that language structures and simultaneously limits our thinking. Olivia Rosenthal makes the inadequacy of language tangible through fragmentation and repetition. The novel shows that trauma eludes direct narration and is instead suggested through circumlocutions and repetitions.
671. What rôle is assigned to the reader of the lors qu'un other distribution in the place of the clefs ouvrant to the serrures?
Olivia Rosenthal, Une femme sur le fil.
672. Pas de vérité absolute, seulement des tentatives, des ellipses, des blancs, des trous, des vides. À travers la fiction, on cherche moins des solutions que des questions et des hypotheses.
673. Le lecteur peut contourner certaines pièces, entrer dans tel cagibi, allumer ou non la lumière, dérober les clefs, forcer l'entrée, laisser telle porte fermée, ouvrir celle-là qui résiste. À lui de décider ce qu'il veut (ou non) voir.
674. Do you want to try?
675. No.
676. There is no mountain on the trees or on the fil, there is no saute on the parachute, there is no plunge on the first step, there is no pratique on the double salto arrière. L'écriture vaut comme activité substitutive plutôt que comme description.
677. J'écoute, j'imagine, je fouille les silences, je scrute les failles, je leur donne des noms. Au risque de la froisser, je parle à la place de Zoé.
678. Do you want to try?
679. No.
680. En exergue de Ils not pour rien dans mes larmes, un livre où j'explorais le rôle du cinéma dans nos vies, j'ai écrit: « On peut vivre par procuration des choses incroyablement douloureuses. »
671. What role is assigned to the reader if someone else distributes all the keys that open all the locks on his behalf?
672. There is no absolute truth, only attempts, ellipses, white spaces, holes, and gaps. Fiction is used less for solutions than for questions and hypotheses.
673. The reader can bypass certain rooms, go into a storage room, turn on the light or not, steal the keys, gain access, leave one door closed, open another that resists. It is up to him to decide what he wants to see (or not see).
674. Do you want to try it?
675. No.
676. I don't climb trees or ropes, I don't parachute, I don't dive headfirst into the depths, I don't practice double backflips. Writing is considered more of a vicarious activity than a description.
677. I listen, I imagine, I search the silence, I scan the cracks, I give them names. At the risk of offending her, I speak for Zoé.
678. Do you want to try it?
679. No.
680. In the preface to They have nothing to do with my tears.In a book in which I explored the role of cinema in our lives, I wrote: "You can experience incredibly painful things vicariously."
The tightrope walk and the abuse are intertwined in a multifaceted way. Zoé employs the strategies of a tightrope walker—concentration, body control, and evasive maneuvers—to escape the assaults. This act is both an attempt at liberation and an indication of the loneliness Zoé feels on her metaphorical tightrope. The novel repeatedly emphasizes that these balancing acts offer no solution, but merely ensure survival. The "balance" thus becomes a tragic state: stable, yet static and isolated. Zoé's inner world is a mixture of real experiences and imaginative escapes. She often retreats into fantasies expressed through metaphorical language and imagery, such as the idea of tightrope walking or space travel. These imaginative sequences reveal how Zoé tries to escape the weight of her reality. Formally, these passages are often highlighted by more intense imagery and longer sentences, which contrast with the matter-of-fact descriptions of her actual experiences. This creates a contrast between flight and confrontation, emphasizing the duality of their psychological state.
Rosenthal repeatedly circles the unspeakable in this book, addressing it through linguistic variations and ruptures. In this way, she succeeds with Une femme sur le fil A literary reflection on trauma, identity, and the limits of language, similar to yet distinct from Wittgenstein's dictum: "Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent." Through the metaphor of tightrope walking, Rosenthal creates a striking image of both strength and fragility that accompanies the reader until the very end. Zoé's story remains open, but therein lies the novel's strength: it challenges us to step onto the wire ourselves and to reflect on the—perhaps saving—power of literature.
403. T. me raconte que quand elle est sur le fil, il lui faut combler le vide entre elle et le sol, cela lui permet de faire disparaître le vertige.
Olivia Rosenthal, Une femme sur le fil.
404. Nous summers au cœur d'un village des Cévennes qui porte le nom prédestiné de Sauve, un nom tout à fait adapté au travail funambulique.
405. Comment comble-t-on le vide ?
406. On le remplit.
407. Nous avons commencé notre entretien dehors, au milieu des hangars et des roulottes, où T. prepare ses spectacles. When the heat of the soleil is a good one, nous two summers are installed in a small car parked on the parking and avons parlé derrière le pare-brise côte à côte comme si nous allions prendre ensemble la route.
408. T. conduisait, j'occupais la place du mort.
409. Je construis mon sol, m'a dit T. Je le tisse à mesure grâce à mon histoire, à celle du lieu où je me trouve, j'utilise mentalement l'image de l'arbre dont les branches partent ver le ciel comme moi mais dont le tronc est ancré dans la terre, je visualizes ma manière de Relier and d'être reliée et ainsi la vie s'insinue partout, this is a spiritual technique for faire du plein avec du vide.
403. T. tells me that when she is on the tightrope, she has to close the gap between herself and the ground, and that makes the dizziness disappear.
404. We are in the heart of a village in the Cevennes, which bears the aptly named name Sauve [German: “Save”], a name that is very suitable for working on the tightrope.
405. How do you bridge the void?
406. You fill them out.
407. We began our conversation outside, amidst hangars and caravans where T. prepared for his performances. As the heat of the sun subsided, we sat in a small truck parked in the lot and spoke side by side behind the windshield, as if we were going out onto the street together.
408. T. drove, I took the dead man's place.
409. “I create a foundation for myself,” said T. “I weave it to measure, thanks to my history, the history of the place where I am. I mentally use the image of the tree whose branches, like me, grow towards the sky, but whose trunk is anchored in the earth. I visualize my way of connecting and being connected, and so life penetrates everywhere. It is a spiritual technique to make fullness out of emptiness.”
This article is written in German and can be found at https://rentree.de. Automatic translations into English and French are available. English, French.
Notes- Trials, Livre III, chapter II, "Du repentir": "Les autres forment l'homme; je le récite et en représente un particulier bien mal formé, et lequel, si j'avais à façonner de new, je ferais vraiment bien autre qu'il n'est. Méshui, c'est fait. Or les traits de ma Peinture ne fourvoient point, quoiqu'ils se changent et diversifient. Le monde n'est qu'une branloire perenne. Toutes choses y branlent sans cesse: la terre, les rochers du Caucase, les pyramides d'Egypte, et du branle public et du leur branle plus languid. Je ne puis assurer mon object. There is trouble and opportunity, a natural phenomenon. Je le prends en ce point, comme il est, en l'instant que je m'amuse à lui. Je ne peins pas l'être. Je peins le passage: not a passage d'âge en autre, ou, comme dit the people, de sept en sept ans, mais de jour en jour, de minute en minute. Il faut accommoder mon histoire à l'heure. Je pourrai tantôt changer, non de fortune seulement, mais aussi d'intention. This is a control of various accidents and possible accidents and imaginations, and when it is heard, contraires ; soit que je sois autre moi-même, soit que je saisisse les subjects par other circonstances et considérations. If you agree with me in the adventure, the vérité may be true, even if you don't know the point. If I can't wait to be pied, I don't read anything, I remember it; Elle is always in training and practice.”>>>
- "Comment sortir de this histoire de violence et d'abus qui se répète sans cesse? Comment la raconter autrement? En prenant de la hauteur, comme les voltigeurs, les acrobates et les trapézistes (souvent eux-mêmes victims de violences), qui tiennent l'abîme en respect. Cela implique de prendre des risques, de tutoyer la chute. C'est ainsi qu'Olivia Rosenthal pratique l'écriture, dans un équilibre unstable mais fécond.” Elisabeth Philippe, ““Une femme sur le fil”, par Olivia Rosenthal: à tomber”, The Obs, January 21, 2025.>>>
- In Schiller's words: "O Ariadne, sister! What fate / Has love prepared for you on the desolate shore!">>>
- Jean-Pierre Resche, “Comment parlent les verses”, Expressions 14 (1999), 47–70.>>>
- "Les paragraphes courts, parfois réduits à a simple phrase aux allures d'axiome, s'enchaînent dument numérotés de 1 à 1000, telles les propositions d'un syllogisme géant: « Tous les chats sont mortels. Socrate est mortel. Donc Socrate est un chat. »" The Obs, January 21, 2025.>>>
- “On a l'impression de perdre le fil alors qu'Olivia Rosenthal le déroule, démêle et dévide la pelote, nœud serré de secrets, de honte et de peurs.” Ibid>>>
- Wittgenstein Tractatus logical-philosophicus.>>>
