It requires an illness to get to know yourself better.
It is not the length of a book that matters. This short book (of 124 pages) embodies such great histories and philosophies that I could only give it full justice by studying it. I took copious notes, recording the route that the protagonist took from Paris to Biskra, and later his second journey to the same place, charting the downfall of Michel who plays a tragic hero of his time. In the modern time, he was nothing other than a paedophile, but Gide’s elegant writing makes the reader (yes, that’s me) feel sorry for Michel rather than looking at his life with abhorrence. In spite of his effort, I felt for him when his marriage to Marceline did not work out. Soon after they got married, they set out on their journey to Algeria, traveling from Marseille to Tunis on a boat where he reflected on life. Once they left France, he suddenly lost interest in the ancient sites that he had been studying for life. Michel only briefly visited Timgad Roman Ruins and spent very little time looking at the mosaics of Sousse and the amphitheatre of El Djam. Not being properly dressed for the cold nights in November, he started coughing. On a night train traveling back to Sousse after his last visit to the amphitheatre, he spat blood for the first time.
From the moment he was infected with tuberculosis, Marceline was described as a caring and loving wife, tending her husband during his long convalescence. They stayed in Biskra for a few months until the February rains had passed. While Michel was resting to get back his health, he had encounters with numerous young Arab boys. Some were invited by his wife to play and eat in their terrace house where Michel could watch them play, and some accompanied him on his walks, carrying his shawl whenever the exercise became too exhausting for him. His first favourite, Bachir, was a small, healthy boy. Unlike his wife who tended to spend time with the sick and the weak, he was attracted to the healthy ones. Observing a different way of life, he had a revelation, and suddenly felt alive. Later, he turned his favour to Moktir who stole his wife’s scissors when he thought nobody was watching. By giving these boys a few sous or half a franc a day, Michel won their “easy friendship” (p. 40). But as he was getting back his strength, he did not find it satisfying to only watch the boys play their games. It was also the first time he “began to feel desire for Marceline” (ibid). They left Biskra the following day at dawn and returned to Europe. Before Part one ends, Michel experienced drastic changes in both his appearance and his psychology. He shaved off his beard as though he wanted to reveal what lay underneath. In his mind, he compared himself to a Palimpset that contains the most ancient writing on its first layer. He wanted to be old Adam who had his most original desire. They continued with their trip, going from Ravello to Sorrento. After he possessed his wife for the first time, he felt happy and alive. But the reader can tell this feeling will not last. For him, “nothing is more fatal to happiness than the memory of happiness” (p. 51). He was torn between the path that took him back to his academic studies and teaching in France, and the one that gave him freedom to indulge in sensual pleasure in Algeria. In the last part of his journey in Ravenna, he chose to study Athalaric, the young king (526-534) who died at the age of eighteen from an over-consumption of alcohol or debauchery. His premature death probably steered Michel back to being a responsible husband.
Back in France, he enjoyed a period of peaceful happiness when he performed his teaching duties, waiting eagerly for the birth of his child. He and his wife held regular soirees in their house although Michel found it tiresome to entertain his guests. Things seemed to be going well until he met an old friend, Ménalque who could read his mind, and pointed out that Michel couldn’t be happy in a domestic life. Both of them had a strong dislike for people who held high-sounding principles, but only his friend dared to say it aloud. Ménalque also dared to take risks in life by leaving his position in society to embark on a new journey. His friend’s decision had such a great influence on him that as soon as Marceline gave a stillbirth, they set off for another long journey. This time, they went up to the mountains in the hope of helping his wife to regain her health. Marceline was most likely infected with tuberculosis by this time. The longer they stayed away from France, the weaker she became. Michel finally gained his freedom at the price of the death of his wife. The book finishes with Michel living in Biskra on his own, seeking sensual pleasure from little boys and girls as he wished. The irony is that when he finally got his freedom, he did not feel free.
I can imagine the sensation this book aroused at the time of its publication. No wonder Gide had to pay for the printing cost himself. Unlike some present time writers who are so eager to please the mainstream audience that their writings contain only politically-correct plots and issues. I beg to differ, and I don’t care if it is going to be a difficult path for a writer. This book is infectious and I got infected already.
Soon after I finished reading the novel, I was tested positive for covid. It was as though Michel had passed his illness from his pages to my life. I started with infections in my throat, eyes and nose. The beginning stage was so bad that my whole body ached and was constantly cold. No matter how many layers I put on, I couldn’t keep warm. After visiting the test centre, I came home and slept, but only managed to nap for two hours because I felt so cold. I am now making a slow recovery. Only with Panadol as a pain relief, I am basically fighting the disease with my natural antibodies. Fortunately, I had had two doses of Pifzer or I might have died. I am not sure if I will shake off my illness into a new person like Michel. But one thing I learned from this experience is that I do not miss my social activities. I only miss going to the gym. I feel very content staying home reading, writing, practising yoga, and playing on the piano. I wasn’t too upset even when I found a big error in my print proof copy. I still found it a joy to read “A Blissful Moment of Nothingness” even after so many rounds of proofreading. Like Michel, I can’t wait to peel off all the layers on the surface; I want to dig deep to the bottom to discover my true self. Sometimes, it requires an illness, a relatively serious one, to get to know yourself better.