The Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature Wrote a Book About Her Affair

“The only actions involving willpower, desire, and what I take to be human intelligence (planning, weighing the pros and cons, assessing the consequences) were all related to this man.” Annie Ernaux, Simple Passion

After being a mistress for close to 8 years, I’ve always been mesmerized by real stories of the “other woman.” I’m a librarian so yes, I’m a geeky reader. I listen to audible books on my phone while going for dog walks or long drives. I read every night before I go to bed. Because of my job, I tackle a lot of young adult and middle-grade novels. Therefore, when I want to go “adulting”, I usually choose biographies. I’m fascinated by people’s stories. Gee, I wonder why I love Medium?

I suppose then it was no surprise to myself that when I was knee-deep in my affair, I had to find nonfiction books on real mistresses. I needed to know how they survived without being laced up in a straightjacket.

Did these women reconcile themselves to an illicit relationship because they knew their men would never leave their marriage? What was the balance of power like? Did the mistress feel liberated and fulfilled or scorned and rejected? How did she cope with the status quo at the time?

Some of these stories stayed with me for a very long time. I was so immersed in Mabel Loomis Todd that I read three biographies about her. Her story is freaking amazing. The world would never know Emily Dickinson if it weren’t for Emily’s brother’s mistress.

Another fascinating biography is Romantic Outlaws. The story of Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter, Mary Shelley, is told in alternating chapters. Although Wollstonecraft was suicidal after her ill-fated affairs, her daughter eventually married her affair partner and became a “legitimate” wife. Is it just me that wonders how a former mistress came up with the idea of a Frankenstein monster? A scientist with unconventional methods who then, in turn, is horrified at what he created. The creature demands a partner because he has a right to happiness. Oh dear, stop my constant analysis now!

Who here wasn’t driven to find out more about the mistresses turned wives of Henry the Eighth after watching all of the seasons of the Tudors? I spent a summer reading the biographies of all six of his wives. Henry is not an ideal married man to fool around with. I think of all the arguments with my ex-lover but at least he never ordered my head to be chopped off.

It was the controversies of Annie Ernaux, winner of the 2022 Nobel Prize for literature that drew me to look up her books. She is the 17th woman to win the award and the first woman in France. Her books are known for blending fiction and autobiography into themes that explore her working-class life. She doesn’t sugarcoat the issues of class, gender, shame, sex, love, abortion, and yes, affairs.

The contentions lie in the old male literary gatekeepers. Those that claim that true art does not come from novels that confess self-pity and female deprecation. After all, we aren’t supposed to be exposed to frail female emotions. Ernaux gets it from critics from every angle too. The feminists hate how she writes about the female dependency on male attention. But, in my humble opinion, that only makes her that much more real. Because isn’t that what makes our wisdom so crucial? That we learn and grow from our mistakes.

Her autobiographical, Simple Passion, was an eye-opening discovery for this ex-mistress. Ernaux’s account of an obsessive two-year affair with a married man who is referred to only as “A”.

Her lover is a businessman from Eastern Europe and apparently resembles the actor, Alain Delon. As an aspiring novel writer myself, I’ve always been schooled in the importance of character description in creating a picture in the mind of the reader. What is compelling about this short novel is that what “A” looks like hardly matters to the story at all.

Because like most affairs, it’s not about the affair partner. It’s about the feelings within yourself that the affair brings out in you.

Ernaux touches upon an obsession that is missing from an imperative warning to mistresses. Every aspect of your life is built on when you will next see your lover.

“From September last year, I did nothing else but wait for a man to call.” Ernaux, page 3.

She does a compelling job of writing about her mundane day and showing the reader how her ordinary everyday tasks are all affected by her compulsive preoccupation with her affair.

“I had no future other than the telephone call fixing our next appointment. I would try to leave the house As little as possible except for professional reasons (naturally, he knew my working hours). I would avoid using the vacuum cleaner or the hairdryer as they would have prevented me from hearing the sound of the telephone.” Ernaux, page 6.

As soon as she heard his voice, she became sane again. Then after the date, she is overcome with “a wave of fatigue”. She counted the number of times they made love. As if each moment added authenticity to their relationship. She’d walk through her errands in a daze, the only joy when she wasn’t with him was when she was shopping for sexy clothes to wear for him. Which she admits was irrational as the clothes were not on for more than a few minutes.

There was once a thread in my mistress group about how many of us put our lives on hold for our married men. Some would admit that they said no to social engagements in case he was available. Or deliberately schedule doctor appointments or other important matters when she knew it would not conflict with an opportunity to see him. We all bonded with each other over this because we knew no one else could understand such manic behavior.

Ernaux, in a sense, admits to such in her captivating tale. She writes that to try to explain her behavior would be to judge it. In other words, when we refuse to analyze, we don’t have to face our vulnerabilities.

Sometimes I wonder what deep psychological need I was trying to fulfill in reading about famous mistresses. Was it so that I could understand my choices? To cope or to get the courage to end the affair?

Or was it, in a sense, like Ernaux’s purpose in writing about her affair? To know that others had the same experience. They have done or felt comparable emotions and unhinged desires. Which ironically contributed to a powerful last line in her book. As Ernaux writes, it brought her closer to the world.

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