FREDERIC BEIGBEDER LOVE LASTS THREE YEARS PDF

Mern The catalogue belongs to the library service and accessibility cannot be guaranteed. Thank you for registering which Whichbook. Yewrs 27, Justin rated it really liked it. Nargizzz rated it did not like it Feb 13, Return to Book Page. Both frightening and funny, the book reads like a diary: For all their spume and bile and fight, both books turn out to be surprisingly touching. Jul 31, Vicky rated it liked it.

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Its true! Its plain and clear! You have to tell it like it is. Youre in love, and then youre not. Prface Frdric Beigbeder est crivain, critique littraire, et ralisateur franais. Il a obtenu en le prix Interailli pour Windows on the World et en , le prix Renaudot pour son livre Un roman franais. Lamour dure trois ans est avant tout lhistoire dun homme qui, tel un Sisyphe romantique, sefforce de donner du sens lune des motions les plus profondes de notre existence, quand les donnes biochimiques et statistiques indiquent que lamour nest quun combat perdu davance.

Ce qui est le plus tonnant dans ce livre, cest sa sincrit. Les relations amoureuses ont tendance faire ressortir le meilleur ainsi que le pire, et Beigbeder excelle tout dcrire dans un style aussi sardonique que lyrique. Rien nest interdit dans luvre de Beigbedersexe, drogues, tentatives de suicide, misre, extase ; et le gnie de Beigbeder consiste en sa capacit capturer ces moments quen gnral on ne partage jamais: moments de honte insupportable, de joie viscrale, de confusion totale.

Marc Marronnier, lalter ego de Beigbeder, est peut-tre une caricature de soi-mme, mais il reprsente aussi une caricature de lhomme htro ais au 21e sicle. Bien lev, instruit, connu ; il se marie, puis vite se dcide quil ne veut rien avoir avec le mariagejuste avant de se rendre compte que sennuyer avec quelquun, cest peut-tre mieux que de se trouver tout seul.

Notre gnration est si habitue la vitesse, la nouveaut, quon oublie parfois comment rester amoureux. Lamour dure trois ans est dans le fond lhistoire dun homme qui apprend, petit petit, que lamourmalgr les statistiques, la biochimie, la phenethylaminedurera. At first, everything is beautiful, even you.

Youre amazed by how in love you are. Each day brings its own gentle delivery of miracles. Nobody on earth has ever known the passion you share. Happiness exists, and its simpleits a face. The entire universe is smiling.

For a year, life consists of one sun-bathed morning after anothereven in the afternoon when it snows. You write whole books about it. You get married, as soon as possiblewhy think twice if youre happy? Thinking will only bring you down; life will prevail in the end. The second year, things begin to change. Youve grown complacently affectionate. Youre proud of the bond youve established. You know what your wife will say before she opens her mouthhow kind of you to save her the trouble.

In the street, people mistake your wife for your sister; you find this flattering, but it starts to wear on you. You make love less and less often but think its no big deal. You believe each day solidifies your love when in fact the end is nigh. You defend marriage to your single friends, who dont recognize you anymore.

Are you sure you even recognize yourself when you recite the lesson you know by heart, as you try not to look at the beautiful young women that light up the street? The third year, youve stopped trying not to look at the beautiful young women that light up the street. Youve stopped talking to your wife. You spend hours with her at a restaurant listening to what the people at the table over are discussing. You go out more and more often: this gives you an excuse not to fuck.

Before long you cant tolerate your spouse another second, because youve fallen in love with someone else. There was one thing about which you werent mistaken: life does indeed prevail in the end.

The third year, theres good news and bad news. The good news: disgusted, your wife leaves you. The bad news: youve started to write a new book. Marc Marronnier clutches the throttle which has the effect of increasing the speed of his moped.

He totters between the cars. They flash their lights and honk when he skims past them, like at a country bumpkin wedding. Its sort of ironic: Marronnier happens to be celebrating his divorce. Tonight, hes doing the Double-5 tour and he mustnt waste time: five clubs in one night Castel-Buddha-Bus-Cabaret-Queen is arduous as is, so imagine the Double 5 which, as its name suggests, is carried out twice in one night. He often goes out alone.

Socialites are solitary people lost in a sea of vague acquaintances. They comfort themselves with handshakes. Each new kiss on the cheek is a trophy. They make themselves feel important by greeting famous people, while in fact they themselves are utterly useless.

They make sure only to visit noisy places so as not to have to talk. God gave mankind parties so they could hide their feelings. Few know as many people as Marc, and few are as lonely. This party isnt like the others. Its his divorce party. He starts by buying a bottle at each club. It seems hes made quite a dent in each, too. Marc Marronnier, youre the King of the Night, everybody adores you, wherever you go the club managers kiss you on the lips, you get to cut to the front of the line, you get the best tables, you know everybodys last name, you laugh at all their jokes especially the least funny ones , people give you drugs for free, you show up in photos everywhere for no apparent reason, its incredible how popular youve become after a few years in the gossip columns!

Youre a social mogul! A socialite extraordinaire! Wait, why is it your wife ran off, anyway? We split up due to a mutual disagreement, mutters Marc as he enters The Bus. Then he adds: I married Anne because she was an angeland thats precisely why were getting divorced. I thought I was looking for love up until the moment I realized that all I wanted was to flee it. Awkward silence. He changes the subject. Fuck, the girls here look decent! I should have brushed my teeth before coming.

Mademoiselle, youre as cute as button. May I please take off your clothes? Thats the way he is, Marc Marronnier: he pretends to be despicable beneath his slick velvet suit simply because hes too ashamed to be sweet. Hes just turned the bastard age when youre too old to be young, and too young to be old.

He does everything to live up to this reputation, so as not to disappoint anyone. Hes spent so long just trying to expand his pressbook that little by little hes become a caricature of himself. He finds it exhausting to prove hes nice or profound, so he takes to behaving like this superficial idiot, erratic and disgraceful.

So he has no one to blame but himself if, when he yells out on the dance floor Hooray! Im divorceddd! The laser beams pierce his heart like swords. Before long, just putting one foot in front of the other becomes a difficult task. He staggers back onto his scooter. Its freezing out. Jolting forward, Marc feels tears streaming down his face. Surely its just the wind. His eyes are impassive. Hes not wearing a helmet. La Dolce Vita? What Dolce Vita? What happened to it?

There are too many memories, too much to forget, its not easy erasing all that, youd have to relive so many perfect moments to replace the beauty of before. He meets up with some friends at the Baron, on Avenue Marceau. The champagne isnt cheap and neither are the girls. You dont even get a bulk discount. The girls only take cash; Marc gets money out of an ATM with his credit card; they lead him to a hotel, strip in the taxi, suck him off together, he presses on their heads; in the hotel room they cover themselves in scented lotion, he fucks one of them while she licks the other; after a while, unable to come, he fakes an orgasm then rushes into the bathroom to discreetly throw away the empty condom.

He takes the cab back as the sun starts to come up, and hears a song on the radio: 10 Lalcool a un got amer Le jour ctait hier Et lorchestre dans un habit Un peu pass Joue le vide de ma vie Dsintgre.

Alcohol has a bitter taste The day was yesterday And a band wearing sharp suits Just out of style Plays the silence of my life Deserted a while. Welcome to my brain please excuse me for intruding.

No more cheating: Ive decided to be my own protagonist.

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