The Bathroom (1985)

There is a 27-year-old man who loves to stay in the bathtub and ponder over life for the whole afternoon every day. He does not have a mental problem, yet, he is a mere reflection of our anxiety in this 21st-century modern bustling world. He represents the helpless and desperate attitude towards life yet no one can resist such desperation.

He is not a loser, instead, he is somehow a thinker or a philosopher. One day, he took a book someone left in the cafe in Venice. The book was the English version of "Pensées" written by Blaise Pascal. He was fascinated by the quotation about death and desperation. From my point of view, all of his mentality and actions throughout the whole novel actually represent us, as modern citizens in this modern world, as well as our deepest fear: what are we exactly doing in our lives while we are all going to die one day? What to do with our short and desperate lives that are doomed? We cannot change anything because we are so small.

This little book may be plotless, yet it contains a lot of meanings and philosophy. There are few times that the narrator comes really close to offering the reader a reason for his bathroom behaviour. However, he can never be able to complete the sentence. This is because he does not, and will not, and cannot know the answer. He is hopeless. I think Toussaint is trying to reveal our fear of death and uncertainty by using a very relaxing, slow and peaceful tone. He talks about life and death without fear. Also, he mentions a little about love as well by including Edmondsson in the story. I strongly recommend you this beautiful little book. ( )

The narrator is a researcher who decides that he will live in his bathroom in a Parisian flat. He moves everything (clothes, books, etc.) there, and sits in his tub all day, contemplating his toenails. His girlfriend and his mother visit him and are amazingly tolerant of his foibles. The book consists of short, self-absorbed entries, such as this one:

9. The bathroom walls were light green, the paint blistered in spots. After turning the key in the door I took off my underpants and hung them on the doorknob. I took a shower in the tub, dried myself, and went back to my room shivering, towel around my shoulders. The new underwear was on the table. Using my teeth, I separated the socks, which were tied together with a thread. The wool was soft, smelled good. I put on clean socks, new underpants. I was feeling good. In that state, I hung around the room for a while, pulling on the elastic of my underpants, reading the notices thumbtacked to the door: safety instructions, prices of rooms, breakfast. Turning back to the table, I pulled on my trousers and put on my dirty shirt, which stank under the armpits.

I'm amazed that I made it through almost 50 pages, and is recommended only if you want a reason to visit a psychotherapist. ( )