This is the first of four novels tracking the life of winsome, clever Claudine. The story opens with the famously familiar sentence: My name is Claudine, I live in Montigny; I was born there in 1884; I shall probably not die there. Claudine's certitude and confidence propels her through her life, and in Colette's hands, tells her story with vivacious detail. Claudine's school life is full of intrigues, and even the seemingly simple task of passing exams is lush with drama and excitement. Speaking with a voice wiser than her years, Claudine is a critical observer, and she uses her gifts of beauty and wit to further herself as needed.

Although the Claudine novels were originally penned at the invitation of Colette's unscrupulous first husband, who was hoping for something scandalous to publish under his name, they do not lack depth, character development, or lyrical narrative. This is the kind of novel that deserves frequent rereading, and for those who haven't read it yet: do so now! ( )

This is a collection of four short novels of different quality. "Claudine at School" is addictive, disarmingly funny, voyeuristic and memorable. I've read dozens of novels about young Europeans in secondary school and this one immediately joined my two or three favorites. Claudine narrates in a wonderfully vain and devilish fashion: “After a few lively skirmishes, I have to admit that she is an unusually good Headmistress; decisive, often imperious, with a strength of purpose that would be admirably clear-sighted if it were not occasionally blinded by rage.” and “Anais, who had noticed him too, took to kicking up her skirts as she ran so as to exhibit legs which, however, were far from attractive, also to laughing and uttering bird-like cries. She would have acted flirtatiously in the presence of a plough ox.” Throughout the first book, Claudine seems like a much more adventurous, sadistic and sexed-up version of Emma. “Claudine at School” is a confection.

In “Claudine in Paris” the human backdrop is a bit more hastily drawn and less sympathetic than the winning young ladies from school in Montingy. The narrative is still lively; Claudine is still acerbic and amusing; but once this novel starts heading towards a particular marriage, it seems rather inevitable and slow about its business. Some might find Colette’s treatment of homosexuality in early 20th century Paris intriguing and others might enjoy her depiction of Paris’ socialite class in action; I found neither of these elements as interesting the passages more tightly focused on Claudine and the complications that she creates.

“Claudine Married” starts fantastically, “Definitely, there is something wrong with our married life. Renaud knows nothing about it yet; how should he know?” and is a return to the pace and quality of the first novel. The relationship dynamics in this third installment are wonderful fodder: a considerably older and distantly related paternal husband who wishes to be cuckolded by the potential lesbian love affairs of his little wife and who is decidedly aroused by a field trip to her alma mater. Colette carefully matures the tone of her heroine as her ability to read and understand the people around her improves. Throughout this novel Claudine continues to be gemstone perfect in her reflections and utterances: “My dear giant, whom I was distracting (without his grumbling) from virtuous industry, does not always understand the causes of what he calls ‘my shipwrecks.’” Or “Is your husband going to rise up out of the shadows again like an Anglo-Indian Satan?”

“Claudine and Anne” was a total disappointment. Despite devouring the first three books, I gave up on this one after about forty pages, skimmed the rest of it and decided it should have been excluded from the collection altogether. The narrative reigns have been handed to a considerably dimmer and more subservient young wife named Anne, whose thoughts are not unique or spicy enough to sustain a novel. The fact that we get to glimpse Claudine from this easily-scandalized dimwit’s point of view is a very small consolation and in fact, it is actually depressing to see Clauding reduced to a two dimensional, wise-cracking temptress. A reader would need to have been enjoying these books in a way totally removed from my own fashion to still take pleasure in the fourth book.

But who cares? Books one and three are excellent. The all-pervading style and tone of them is too well-crafted to avoid. It is a treat to situate Colette’s work amongst other literature from the continent at that period; she adds breadth to her own moment in history. ( )

A captivating series of novels. I used the book in a writing-and-gender course, and the students loved it. Highly readable. ( )

Oh, I absolutely adored this. I suspect that it will make it into my Favourite Books Of All Time list. I only wish my French was good enough for me to be reading it in the original. Quite apart from anything else Colette herself seems to have been not only curvy and bisexual and naturally nonmonogamous and rather fond of eating and drinking and sex but also a dancer who had to stop after developing arthritis.

I really must find something out about what, if anything, any of the characters would have known about romantic and sexual relationships between women in turn of the century France. I can't work out if any of them - even the ones involved - actually know what it is they're doing. Or, for that matter, the utterly oblivious schoolgirls who seem to keep falling madly for each other without realising it. And I'm sure I must be reading too much subtext into various things, though I'm not sure how much one really can misread "She looked at me stealthily with gentle eyes and began to cry, already comforted, as she rubbed her head. How she loves to be beaten; it's astounding."

I've always been fond of stories told by narrators who you get the impression you can't really trust. We're left in almost no doubt that she's embellishing and making herself look better as she recounts this tale, that she's placing herself at the centre of every story, writing herself in as the hero of the piece. She's gloriously precocious and endearingly selfish and not half as grown up as she thinks she is. Goodness, I can't call to mind anyone of my acquaintance who may have been like that at fifteen... ( )