Force Majeure

A 'pre-owned' copy of Force of Circumstance - the third volume of Simone de Beauvoir's autobiography - arrived today (a genuine 70's Penguin, but sadly without a Matisse blue-figure cover illustration). I was severely tempted to start reading it at once, but as I am approximately one third of the way through a long-intended re-read of her Prime of Life (volume 2), I restrained myself. I am throroughly enjoying the latter, especially as the last book I read on de Beauvoir was Deirdre Bair's less than flattering biography of her. There is no doubt that de Beauvoir glossed over much of her past, particularly her manipulative relationships with her pupils and her over-dependency on the good opinion of the toad-like Sartre. Still, I find her apparent ability to both enjoy and analyse her experiences (the ones she lets us in on) most captivating.
It came to mind that I had bought my first copy of her Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter whilst staying with my aunt and uncle in Devon. I'd been sent down there to give my long-suffering parents a break from my teenage stubborness and rebellion. I clearly remember the sense of freedom I felt as my (very tolerant) relatives let me do more-or-less as I wanted or gently steered me to places like Buckfast Abbey and Exeter. I think I'd taken to wearing some bizarre floor-length outfits and affected a world weary air of langour. O how bohemian I felt! Suffice to say I was not improved by my sojourn and returned just as insufferable - if not distinctly worse - having found a similarly headstrong role-model and a taste for Disque Bleu!