Sarraute is considered to be part of the nouveau roman movement in France of the 1950s. These writers did away with literary conventions such as plot and characters in favor of experimenting with new literary forms. Having come across a reference to Sarraute I wanted to read her, and The Golden Fruits was the only novel of hers in my library.

The Golden Fruits has no characters. It has voices of various people, stripped of any individual traits or context. It doesn't have a plot, it has a subject: how works of art, in this case a novel, are established as worthy of adulation by august critics and those who follow them and then how they fall. It has little dialogue; it mostly consists of the interior thoughts of certain persons over time.

At a social gathering a new book, The Golden Fruits, is discussed. The wise elders proclaim its self-evident greatness. The confused sheep follow, eager to be told what to think of it so they can share the same opinion.

It has been said that what people dislike most, is to be accused of singing off key. I believe that to be suspected of having no taste is more painful. [p.172]

These taste setters use indecipherable jargon and a veil of resistance to challenge to play their tricks. Not everyone plays along however, and those who resist received critical opinion to stand by their own judgement are those who are able to recognize evil when they see it. It is strong language, to be sure.

They should go away. This befuddled flock should be disbanded. And the culprit brought to me. That man over there, yes, you. You are arrested. Handcuff him. Hold out your wrists. I've been watching you for a long time, I've been collecting evidence against you. This time I've got you. You're caught in the act. Let's talk a bit between ourselves about this gesture that, according to you, depicts the deep sentiments with such exquisite simplicity. This gesture with the scarf which, with what art, "tells everything" better than an entire book. You gave them that. You made them take that poisoned drug. I admired your self-assurance, your daring. You are so sure of impunity, you never make a miss. But here - we can't foresee everything, can we?- here is an obstacle, an unpredictable accident. One of the victims… I admire her force, what a strong personality… like Rasputin she resists miraculously, the deadly drug does not affect her… She rises, she shouts: What is it? What was that you made me swallow? What does it contain? Why, it's harmful, it's dangerous… a false truth… it is something that means nothing, that can mean just anything… she rejects it, she doesn't want it. Then you try another tactic, you bring out your case of soporifics and gags: Of course, by itself this gesture is nothing, only there is the highly complex whole, there is the construction. All this is what gives this gesture its meaning, all these prolongations, these resonances… Ah, because a work of art… In such cases your expression becomes vague, pensive, you are seen moving off toward heaven knows what unknown regions, what mysterious, strange countries… And they, as though hallucinated, and all drugged by you, uplifted… But where, I ask you, I want to know, are you taking them? What ineffable prolongations, what poetic radiance will they be able to see around this mass-produced rubbish, this cheap dime-store article? Show them to me. If you have succeeded in discovering a single particle of something that is intact, that vibrates, that is alive, then that's what you should talk about, that's what you should show them and not this trash - which you should have hidden.
This can't go on, you understand. You must be kept from doing harm. You are falsehood, you are evil itself. You must be uprooted, I'm going to grab you by the throat, lift you up, take the entire world as my witness, roar…[p.55-57]

So the book, despite a holdout here and there, becomes a sensation. After some time, who knows how long, voices start reflecting on its downfall, its critical re-examination that it failed spectacularly.

"Why, all of a sudden? What happened? Don't tell me they noticed something. That would be too good. Who rereads a book? Who's going to analyze it closely? But it's as though the word had gone round. For what reason? How? Where? When there exists no criterion of values. None. Did you see the exhibition of paintings that were famous in 1900? Eh? What a lesson! It's appalling…" His entire strength tensed with indignation, rage, a savage delight in destruction, he shakes the whole edifice. Let the whole thing collapse and crush them all, let him perish, he too, with them… "Things reach the point where people begin to wonder whether even those present…" his sacrilegious lips have uttered sacred names… "whether even they will last. Whether it is not all so much eyewash, eh? What does anybody know about it?"[p.131]

This review of mine has been heavy on the direct quotes, because if we're going to be reading this novel today, it's going to be due to its nonconforming style, and our interest in seeing how the definition of a novel can be stretched. It's not Joyce, but it follows along that path for the minority of readers who like to see what's down around the next bend. ( )

Style, points de vue, intériorité, littérature intellectuelle; pas pour se distraire!
Très belle et riche langue; ironie sur les critiques; ( )

..."Come dire? Certo, non è che ci si trovino grandi 'profondità'. Non ci sono farfugliamenti di larve, non ci sono sguazzamenti in chissà quali fondi melmosi, emananti miasmi asfissianti, niente disfacimenti dentro putridi recipienti. Niente di tutto questo. Queste cose nei Frutti d'oro non si trovano. Ma ci si trova precisamente ciò che costituisce i grandi romanzi.

Pag. 48
Concordo. ( )