One of my favourite things about the library is a prickly old lady named Angèle who often comes on the same day as me, and who systematically returns her books with the comment “Well, that was utter nonsense” (using a delightfully quaint word for nonsense, “sornette”). The librarian told me that she tends to forget which books she’s already read and is always drawn to the same books (“covers with pictures of plants, or birds, or Patrick Modiano”) so that she often borrows the same book numerous times and brings it back proclaiming it to be utter nonsense (“des sornettes, des sornettes !”) with the same gravitas every time. All the regulars love our grouchy local book reviewer with her one and only critique. One of them said if the village’s gazette were still a thing she would have been offered a weekly literary column. And recently a little girl selected a book and asked the librarian if she could recommend it to the old lady, and she came in again this week full of anticipation, asking if “Madame Sornette” had borrowed her book over the holidays, and the librarian said soberly, “yes, I’m afraid your book was utter nonsense”, and the kid started giggling like it was the funniest joke she had ever heard.
annaxmalina
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