Product Description

A novel by the author of "The Unbearable Lightness of Being". A moment of confusion sets in motion a complex chain of events which crosses and recrosses the divide between fantasy and reality.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #106091 in Books
• Published on: 1999-04-19
• Original language: French
• Binding: Paperback
• 152 pages

Amazon.co.uk Review
The reader sits down to dinner with Chantal, who is waiting for her lover, Jean-Marc, in a seaside hotel. While waiting to be served, she overhears two waitresses discuss the unexplained disappearance of a family man. This blatant foreshadowing posits the central question of Identity: what we think we know about our intimates is predicated on projection, primal yearnings and the deep denial of life's impermanence. Identity reads like a musical exercise; its playing out of themes is reminiscent of a fugue. An image dropped into the narrative will be revisited from a different vantage point, tossed back and forth between the lovers; out of it will be teased every possible meaning. The 51 sparse, tiny chapters reinforce the fuguelike feel.

The plot is simple: Jean-Marc arrives at the hotel; Chantal is out walking. Near misses and mistaken identities characterize his frantic search for her, offering Kundera the opportunity to philosophize on the unknowability of the "other". When they do reunite, Chantal blurts out the distressing thought that's plagued her day: "Men don't turn to look at me anymore." This launches the protagonists into sketchy flashbacks, stilted dialogues and interior monologues, all loosely bound together by their embarkation on an erotic journey.

Key events from the characters' pasts become signature refrains. Chantal, for example, has buried a son, who died at the age of 5. Strands such as this are dropped lightly into the narrative, to be drawn out through later chapters like a needle with different coloured threads. Later, for example, the boy's death will trigger an unpleasant realization--that it was, in the end, a "dreadful gift". Children, she thinks, keep us hopeful in the world, because "it's impossible to have a child and despise the world as it is; that's the world we've put the child into." Thus, her child's death has set her free to live out her genuine disdain of the world. Although the illogical extremes of Kundera's thought can be wildly dissonant and wondrously shocking, this reiterative device of Identity lacks energy. There's no sense of discovery about these characters. They remain flat; the style effects one like an Ingmar Bergman film when one is in the mood for Sam Peckinpah.

As if in serendipitous response to her pain in getting older, Chantal receives an anonymous "love" note. More notes follow. Will they prove Jean-Marc's attempt to sweeten her sad disclosure? Her sexual awakening begins to blur the boundaries of what's real. All well and good, but somewhere along the line, Kundera concludes that Chantal is weak because she's older. Age, we are asked to believe, becomes a wedge between the lovers, even though Chantal is only a few years older than Jean-Marc, who is himself only 42. And in the exploration of her sexuality on the wax and wane Kundera succumbs to cliché: she is consumed too often by too many flames, and red is all used up as a symbol of violent passion. On the subject of male and female desire, Kundera is incomparably funny, and the novel sports some nervy images-- masturbating foetuses; our human community joined in a sea of saliva; the ubiquity of spying eyes, harvesting information for profit; the human gaze itself, a marvel, jaggedly interrupted by the mechanical action of the blink.

Kundera betrays a witty revulsion for the values and mores of the late 20th century, but with sentences like "This is the real and the only reason for friendship: to provide a mirror so the other person can contemplate his image from the past, which, without the eternal blah-blah of memories between pals, would long ago have disappeared," the reading experience reduces to an annoyance. Perhaps this is the fault of the translator attempting a breezy, colloquial tone. But it's sloppy and careless. Still, the novel's an entertainment and a good companion. Reading it is like passing an afternoon in a sidewalk café, catching up with an old friend, say, with whom one has shared youthful cynicism and diatribes against the ignominies of human behaviour. One will look back on such an afternoon and remember too many Galloises smoked, too many cups of coffee, moments of intense engagement that fell, alas, into the indulgence of a "retro ennui".

Customer Reviews

Worth learning French for
Despite its often surreal flights of imagination, "Identity" is one of Kundera's more accessible books, featuring his usual mix of confused lovers and trenchant theories on the meaning of life (his theory on the nature of boredom and the reasons for its proliferation is spot-on).

However, as other reviewers have observed, the translation by Linda Asher is utterly appalling - any 6th-form A-level French student could have done a better job. As a fluent French speaker myself I wish I'd read it in the original French, as Asher has clearly translated it word-for-word, completely disregarding any subtlety or nuance, and she is obviously unfamiliar with Kundera's style. To publish such work under Kundera's name is little short of a disgrace, and I can only assure any readers for whom "Identity" is their first taste of Kundera not to be put off!

So **** for the book, * for the translation. If anyone from Faber's reading this and wants someone to do a proper job, drop me an email!

Nice book, very badly translated.
I read this book first in French, the language in which it was written. Being a native English speaker, I decided to read the English version when it came out, in case I might have missed something. This is a really good book in French, but the translation is appauling, terse, and painful. I'm not surprised it has received so many lukewarm reviews in the English speaking press. This is a strong case for not rushing translations and in working with the author to produce something more authentic.

Short and to the point, but not sure what point.
More elegant musings from novelist, philosopher and all-round deep thinker Milan Kundera. In this brief but intense novel, Kundera explores the contradictions of identity, how it orientates itself by the clear distinctions between what is familiar and unfamiliar, despite these distinctions being in a continual state of flux, blurred by time and circumstance. A seemingly ordinary couple, Chantal and Jean-Marc, become progressively unsettled and confused by the nature of their relationship. The effects of insignificant events mingle with deeper personal anxieties - the death of Chantal's child and her feelings of unattractiveness, Jean-Marc's romantic fear of destitution and the death of his former friend F.- and threaten to force them into a destructive spiral of reproach and uncertainty. Kundera touches on some interesting subjects, the fragility of certainty, and how friendship and identity when untested by adversity are only partially formed. Whatever its meaning, at least Kundera says his piece quickly (it can easily be read in a day) and with enough skill and eloquence to make it an enjoyable read, if a little bizarre.