[A Sip of a Book] "Nothing at all. It's just that the pain is almost unbearable."

Editor's NoteSome sentences encapsulate the entirety of a book's message, while others instantly reach the reader's heart and create a point of connection with the book. Here, we present such meaningful sentences excerpted from books.

This is the sixth installment in the Yeollimwon French Women Writers Novel Series. It is a novel for "those who barely manage to endure within the grand illusion of love." The story follows Christine, a character who can only call "love completed through destruction" love. While loving Victor, she doubts and mocks that love, turns her eyes to other lovers, yet her contradictory actions bring about unexpected consequences. The novel reveals the cry of a woman who can only love in a failed way.

Counting the number of lovers I have had is like counting my own limbs. Unless something were to happen that would tear my body apart, I would not know. Other than my grandmother, Victor was the only one who ever cared for me. But I cannot say that he was overprotective. Even now, I am still agile and able to run at high speed, and I often imagine myself weaving between falling shells in a place like Gravelotte (the northeastern region where the war between France and Prussia?Germany?took place in 1870). Nothing ever became truly serious for me. <Page 12>

He wanted to belong to a place where a name alone could connect him to the world. Names that are clear, no longer felt or needed, names that belong to everyone, and through their resonance, incorporate you into the established order. Names as solid as his sorrow. <Page 14>

"Did you die or something? What happened to you?" I cannot resist the curiosity of wondering if something has happened.
"Is something wrong with you?"
"Nothing at all. It's just that the pain is almost unbearable." <Page 36>

The fact that there was no one on the street could not be the reason for my weakness. Even so, I kept feeling tears welling up. Of course, I did not know every alley intimately, but it just felt as if this road led nowhere, as if it were a dead end. <Page 39>

Perhaps Victor thought he should gently comfort my heart, so he did not push away my advances. "From now on, you can touch every part of my body. I cannot feel anything anymore." <Page 63>

There were no gray streets, no city, no gossip, no humiliating compromises, nothing bothersome at all. At the end of the pale, cloudy sky, winding little roads covered with fine dust and endless blue hills always stretched out. When the air grew scorching and dampness wrapped around our bodies, we would run along those roads. The small road wound between vineyards and olive groves casting gray shadows, circled around a cypress forest, and the cypress forest made the small tile walls?surrounded by wisteria and topped with red tiled roofs weighed down by large stones?look hazy, as if lightly powdered. <Page 109>

It may be foolish, but I have a habit of rambling on about my life to others. And every time, I find myself cornered, because I see how they misjudge me. My grandmother and Victor have many similarities. We are beings beyond anyone's control. We confide personal stories to strangers, making them uncomfortable, yet we feel no concern for their discomfort. By then, we have already left for somewhere else. It is a kind of game, searching for witnesses?witnesses to whom we can entrust our secret stories, who will never bind us. People believe we are telling everything, but in truth, we say nothing at all. In most cases, the real secret is sorrow. The three of us know this very well. We only pretend otherwise. <Page 128>

I wanted to be a woman about three meters tall, but I could not even surpass the height of a Central or South American silk monkey you might see in the bush. That monkey, chained at the end, dances to the offbeat sound of an organ. When the music ends, it takes off its hat and holds it out to the audience, begging for coins, but every time, it makes the mistake of holding the hat out to its owner. That was exactly what I did. <Page 207>

Manual Laborer | Written by Claire Gallois | Translated by Oh Myungsook | Yeollimwon | 248 pages | 15,000 won