“In the beginning was nothing, and this nothing had neither form not substance –it was nothing other than what it was.” I read the opening sentence of Amélie Nothomb’s, The Character of Rain (Métaphysique des Tubes), and was hooked. I was not disappointed. Using the belief that children are gods in Japan until age 2 at which time they fall and become human Nothomb constructs a brilliant study of infancy. Deeply autobiographical, like all her work, and deeply philosophical, like all her work, what amazed me most was how completely she captured or imagined the self-preoccupation that is early childhood. Any child will believe it is the center of the universe (and why not an infant must be watched and waited on), and yet the same child will experience “the fall,” the recognition that he or she is not a god, is not the center of the universe. Nothomb’s ability to recognize this essential problem of being a child and tease out of her own experience the joys and pains of existence in a way that is as imminently and entertainingly readable as it is philosophical is where her genius lies. I haven’t read anything like it. ( )

Despite not having read French literature for quite some time, I took up Nothomb’s sardonic and bittersweet quasi-autobiography in the fall and quickly delved into Nothomb’s self-deprecating and delightfully raw stroll down memory lane. In fact, the quasi-fictional heroine’s experiences were reminiscent of my own childhood. Indeed, I was a late bloomer and did not speak well after my third birthday. . . one might say that I was plagued by similar crises of conscience and precocious worry and the mischievous protagonist has reminded me of my introvert younger self. Indeed, such vacuous memories have not visited in so long that it felt so wickedly comforting and full of yearning to share in the tube’s trials and tribulations ( )

(nederlandse versie onder de engelse)

We’re in the head of Amélie, the daughter of a belgian consul in Japan. Little Amelie is extremely intelligent and a true original.
Actually, we’re not completely in the head of small Amélie. The story is told by grown-up Amélie, who sometimes comments on her former self, especially on her first two years when she didn’t react to anything and was regarded by her parents as a kind of plant. This, together with other peculiarities, renders the book a surreal atmosphere.
The book is written in a fresh and brisk style, but seemed a bit smug sometimes. Like: oh my god I am so intelligent and so adorably original.
Amélie’s emotions are often strange, and her overly smart aphorism-like sentences were emotionally not strong enough to get these peculiar feelings across. Alas, not for me.
So, a charming book (and interesting on some Japanese cultural features), but not very engaging.

Een beetje een opschepperig boek (oh hoe ongeëvenaard intelligent was Amélie wel niet). Maar met zijn heldere, aforisme-achtige stijl houdt het de aandacht wel vast. Ook boeiend, de Japanse context, bv de no-zanglessen van haar vader en de oud-Japanse adelijke onverzoenbaarheid van een van de dienst-“meisjes”.
Kort het verhaal: de eerste drie levensjaren van Amélie, die met haar Belgische ouders en broer en zus in Japan woont, waar haar vader consul is. Er is een surreëel element, omdat Amélie de eerste maanden van haar leven nergens op reageert en alleen lijkt te vegeteren; om vervolgens een paar maanden als een woest beest te brullen en te tieren. Daarna wordt ze abrupt redelijk normaal, zij het dat ze ogenblikkelijk vloeiend Japans spreekt en zich een soort kleine godin voelt, aanbeden door haar kindermeisje.
Hoe onderhoudend de fris-wrange, heldere zinnetjes ook zijn, ze hebben ook iets oppervlakkigs. De rare kronkels van Amélie’s gevoelsleven worden zo parmantig slimmig gebracht, dat het de lezer (althans deze lezer) niet echt engageert. ( )

Her writing style fascinates me to no end. I don't think I have ever felt so many things while reading a book (except for Murakami's), so I don't know if I'm giving the rating because the books are good or because they create in me strong and indescribable feelings. The only thing I know for sure is that I am addicted and I can't stop reading her books. Addicted, I tell you. It's as if I'd known Amélie my whole life. ( )

This novel blew me away. From concept to execution to the numerous references to ancient philosophy (for which I, admittedly, have quite the soft spot), it is close to perfect. The beginning is funny and thought-provoking, the awakening kitschy and adorable, the middle autobiographical chapters superbly done, the ending positively heartbreaking. ( )