A Poignantly Incomplete Story: “Suite Française” by Irène Némirovsky

Wow. I am completely moved. I just finished reading “Suite Française” by Irène Némirovsky, and now I just don’t know what to do with myself other than sit here and think about the circumstances of this work.

I first picked up the work about a year ago, in the midst of graduate work, in hopes that I could squeeze in some pleasure reading during meals, since that was my only real free time with all my school obligations hanging over me. I got a few chapters in, but never really got hooked because I wasn’t able to keep track of characters or concentrate on the story, since I had so little time to devote to it. I renewed it once or twice, but when it became clear that I was getting nowhere with it, I returned it to the library unfinished.

I recently picked it up again, vowing to finish what I’d started. The author, Némirovsky, had Jewish roots, though she and her family had converted to Catholicism in the early stages of the Second World War, and was living in France. She penned the first two books of a series of five in the midst of growing political unease and chaos. She made notes and plans for five parts to the whole story, modeled on Beethoven’s Fifth, but only managed to complete “Storm in June” and “Dolce” before she was arrested and deported. Heartbroken, her husband, Michel Epstein, wrote letters begging various people to do what they could first to bring news of her fate, and then to release her. He cited her health, made delicate by asthma, the brilliance of her writing, her Catholic faith, and her lack of political affiliation with or loyalty to the Russians (with whom the Germans were fighting). He even begged for the opportunity to take her place in captivity and allow her to return to her children, whom she’d placed with a friend; this fact is especially poignant when one considers the fact that she’d already died at Auschwitz. Nevertheless, Michel’s pleas went unanswered and he, too, was arrested and deported to Auschwitz, where he was immediately killed in the gas chambers. Their children remained in the care of Julie Dumont, who received financial help but still had to keep on the run. The children, Denise and Elisabeth, were pursued by the police, who sought to subject them to a similar fate as their parents. With the aid of nuns at a Catholic boarding school and various families in Bordeaux, they managed to stay far enough ahead of the French police and were never captured. In the midst of all the chaos, Denise kept with her a suitcase filled with her mother’s notebooks. It wasn’t until years later that she had the stomach to look at them and realized what they contained – not just notes, but a manuscript. And so, “Suite Française” was born.

It was this story that attracted me to the book, though I didn’t learn many of the details until reading the appendices at the conclusion of the novel. I was somewhat reluctant, however, due to lingering feelings of tedium left over from my first attempt at reading it. Fortunately, this time around I was able to devote significant time to the story and became immediately hooked. The characterization was brilliant, the links between the stories subtle but significant, the sense of injustice and inequality realistic and unsettling. It is both a cutting commentary and an accurate portrayal of history. “Storm in June” and “Dolce” both read as independent and self-sufficient novels, and yet they are inherently and subtly tied together.

Némirovsky’s personal notes about the story, including the three unwritten books, and its characters evoke a sense of tragic loss. Her arrest cut short a brilliant creative process that might have constructed an even more monumental manuscript. In the end though, we are left with a sense of what might have been, as well as wonder that the first two books even survived the war. The quality of “Suite Française,” written under extraordinary conditions, is itself extraordinary.