Before I came across a description of The Years in a library listing, I had never heard of Annie Ernaux, or that she had won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2022. I suppose I should keep closer track of these things. What drew me to the book, though, was not the critical acclaim accorded to its author, but rather the unusual nature of the work itself. And it did not disappoint.

The Years is ostensibly a memoir – at least it is classified as one. However, it is not a memoir in the traditional style, but rather in the sense that Henry Miller’s works might be labeled memoirs. They are about the writer and even use the writer’s real name as the main character, but in fact their intention goes far beyond merely giving an account of the author’s life. In these works there is an ill-defined border between memoir, novel, and something wholly different, wholly unique.

In The Years, Ernaux tells the story of her life from around 1941 to 2006, but in the telling, she does not use the first person. Instead, she sometimes uses the collective “we,” as if she is speaking for her entire generation, and sometimes uses the third person “she,” as if she is taking the perspective of another character observed from outside. In this way, she detaches herself from the events and causes them to become much larger and more profound than they would be if they only concerned one life. Time becomes a river that flows forward, inexorably, through generations. First she is a child, then a teen discovering her sexuality, then a young mother, then a middle-aged woman, an empty-nester whose children have gone off to live lives of their own, and so on.

Throughout the personal history, Ernaux also reflects upon national history and world history and how major events impact her life and the lives of those around her. I have to admit that many of the references, especially those having to do with French politicians, writers, and entertainers, were unfamiliar to me. Most of the larger outside events, though, I understood and have even lived through myself: the Cold War; the wars in Vietnam and in Algeria; the influx of undocumented immigrant refugees; the overwhelming influence of the Beatles and other musical groups; the rise in popularity of various types of technology such as black and white TVs, color TVs, transistor radios, computers, and cell phones; the devastation and resultant paranoia of the 9/11 destruction of the Twin Towers and other terrorist attacks.

As the decades-long story progresses, Ernaux sometimes refers to the book she hopes to someday write about her life (or the life of the third-person character who represents her) – but then emphasizes that she is not yet ready. In other words, she references the point when the book, The Years, begins to grow as an idea, and then brings it to mind again through the course of the narrative. All in all, this is that incredibly rare thing in literature: a truly original work of art. It does not fit into any genre or category except its own, and as such, it must be taken on its own terms. It devastated me with its brilliance in its English translation; how wonderful it must be in the original French! Highly recommended.