I began reading Annie Ernaux in the early aughts, and since have read all of her books. Reading her in French was like walking through a door I was unaware existed and doing it with a French person like no other I had known or met. Her honesty and observation inspired me. Her writing about her life–or her life-writing (as it now sometimes called, which makes me smile because what other kind of writing is there)–made me feel akin to her.
The other day while searching online for sites where I am home. is offered, I saw this screenshot below. Imagine how I felt when seeing I am home. above a line-up of Annie Ernaux’s covers, and above them, a message telling the viewer that folks who shopped for I am home., also shopped for
her books. This encouraged and heartened me to keep on keepin’ on.
I wrote to her once, way back when, and she answered, and I still have that cherished letter. Seeing her awarded the Nobel in 2022 was deeply moving and quietly thrilling, this recognition of her work told me that the world was changing.
Making art of life has always been my aim–on and off the page. It’s an honor to see my work on the same page as hers. Our work could be called kin.
I can write this now that these men are dead and cannot sue me for libel. Lucy Pilgrim would want me to, and would want you to know the despicable agents in her story and my first novel, Lucy, go see., were real-life characters whose names are in the Epstein Files. I used some of my own experiences in the modeling world in the novel, and Lucy would also like it that I ask you to scoundrel-hunt these characters in the pages of Lucy, go see.
I often remember when I heard the news that Jean-Luc Brunel had hung himself in his prison cell in Paris, and how strange it felt. I had been close to this man for some hours in the summer of 1988, a morning and an afternoon, a sort of overnight time, a lunch, a couple of dinners. It was and still is weird to remember the proximity and humanness of him, his elf-like expressions, agility, and hyperactivity, and then to imagine this slight, arrogant trickster preparing to hang himself, then prison guards finding his limp body dangling in dank darkness. It had been weird, too, over a year earlier, when I read he had been arrested in an airport. I imagined his knee-jerking movements and nonchalant expression as he was approached and taken away. I could see him nervously lying, smiling, twitching, his wounded-animal blood-shot eyes pleading. He was never a friend, yet I would call the time we spent together intimate, especially because he revealed a spark of his vulnerability to me during it. He was honestly despicable and that clarity was part of why I hung around for a while. I had a good hunch about what I was getting into when I agreed to go to his home, and I went as a curious writer gathering fodder because I wanted to see how far he would go. I think he sensed with me his usual shtick might require something more and maybe he was too tired for that and happy for the company. Maybe he hadn’t started slipping Mickies in drinks yet, or was out of them. It was August in Paris and perhaps it would never have happened if there had been more unoccupied teenaged models in town. Instead, he would get nowhere with me, other than at least avoiding what he proclaimed he loathed most–being alone. In the end, it was a shame-filled experience for both of us, for different reasons, or maybe the same, depending on how you look at it.
I hesitate to write more though there is so much I’d like to say about sexual abuse in our society. John Casablancas also comes to mind. Another agent, also deceased, also fictionalized in Lucy, go see., also unsurprisingly in those files. The one who said straight to my face when I was 19, “You are already old for this business. I like to get girls when they are fifteen, before they have a mind of their own.” It is also uncanny to think of the moments I spent with him and how his interest in me moved my life toward places I wanted to go, and how my subsequent disinterest in him moved it again, in yet other interesting directions.
And another, whose name I try to recall, who is possibly still alive, also in Lucy, go see., and whose name I also would be unsurprised to see in those files.
Oh, the trouble Lucy got into and out of!
Enough for now. This morning I went to see the film, Nuremberg, (go!) and am thinking about Dr. Douglas Kelley, the psychiatrist who interviewed the war criminals, and his disturbing revelations that they were not monsters, they were humans, shaped by extreme circumstances, and this line: “The only clue to what man can do is what man has done,” attributed to British philosopher R.G. Collingwood,
I am thinking about it because of what I wrote in the first paragraph above, and how I was able to feel sad and sorry for someone even while knowing he has done despicable things which I in no way condone. I knew some of those things then, from what he told me, and what I could imagine, but later learned the extent of the network and the depravity.
I am following the news and praying for justice, for accountability. Over all, I’m praying for abuse to stop, praying for people to see it and call it what it is.
Thanks again to Christal Ann Rice Cooper for featuring me in her “Inside the Emotion of Fiction” series. Click below to read about all the places where the novel was written and to enjoy more insider info.
I am very pleased to hear that you have found a home of whatever sort you choose, in the south of France and also an academic community at that–if you had planned it, it possibly never would have happened. As a wonderer wanderer and experience junkie, I applaud.
Given the array of options you have geographically, I cannot help but think about wanderers in the most positive way. I have been privileged late in life to explore and to journey in ways I never could have before. I have thought about your growing work for a long time from that perspective and the extraordinary search for home that you have. The structure of your work as a short essay–or singular diary–like notes – lends itself to self-description.
My traveling days are over except in the alternate reality of sharing how talented women lead independent lives, this is of enormous interest. It is an art form.
There are many elements in your writing that are interesting to me–a speaker, editor, and writer who does all that in order to avoid writing itself. Your work strikes me for its structure, it is stream-of-consciousness, and it’s very in the moment in present or past.
It is never clear to a wandering spirit why we wander, but it certainly feels good to share with someone who understands the pluses and minuses of being a risk-taker. I have just had a fantasy of putting together the handful of wonderful women I would love to meet with laughter, joy, and acceptance, and a very inappropriate life. It seems to me that you have done a remarkable job of getting to this point where not just the actions of your wanderlust are elegant, as the wanderer’s diary permits. Shared laughter is an art and a gift.
*I recently re-entered correspondence with this generous reader in her 93rd year. I feel fortunate as our correspondence is opening places in me, doors I realize I closed, or wells I have forgotten to tap. Anyone who knows me knows I love letters, a rare art these days, and this correspondence is happening through FB messenger as the writer of this letter has dealt with some health issues recently so she is speaking into the computer and FB is transcribing her words. I am unsure if FB transcribes it all as it was said sometimes and I am so grateful and moved when I receive words at home in Aix-en-Provence at any time of day on a screen, from a fan across the continent and the ocean, sitting in her Connecticut home talking into her computer.
One last note – another film recommendation–Coutures. It’s beautifully sewn together and a story about wounds, relationships, risk-takers, and women helping each other set in the world of film and fashion. (I thought about dear Lucy Pilgrim a lot while I watched and it made me want to see Lucy, go see. on screen.) See it when you can. I was fortunate to attend a pre-screening here in Aix, with the inspiring screenwriter and director Alice Winocour and the fascinating actress Anyier Anei (who made her debut with this movie) answering questions afterward and sharing the making-of. Truly marvelous.
I am living in France since late August after 875 fabulous days of living in Spain.
I came here to represent the Office of the President at The American College of the Mediterranean and I am glad I did.
Some days ago, I began reading the notebooks in which I wrote and drew during the Barcelona days. It’s wonderful to be inspired by that Marianne who dared to return to Spain without knowing how it would all work out.
Aix is inspiring me, too.
I popped in to say HI – (my new abbreviation for Human Intelligence).
Since I began working at ACM-IAU aka The American College of the Mediterranean-Institute d’Universités Americains, life has been filled with newness and learning. Less posting, too.
I love to put together images to share with you, and that takes time, and today I will post with less images than I would like, because I want to post something.
Still writing.
Still heartened to see Lucy, go see. and I am home. moving in the world, being read, talked about. Still dreaming about translations and films.
Repeating the phrase Je veux encore jouer daily.
Sketching, snapshotting, looking at it all.
Also working on the delicious project of tasting and ranking French desserts.
Doors, stone heads, shafts and splashes of light. Virgin vines (les vignes vierges have a different translation, but I like this one). I enjoy these things and so much more in Aix.
It’s a curlicue place. Water running everywhere under the surface, making man-made structures lopsided, floors curvy. Immense plane trees, pines, cypress, walnuts, chestnuts. Ochre stone, a city chock-full of centuries of stories. Heads were chopped off here in a beautiful plaza in front of a church and stone heads adorn intricately carved wooden majestic doors. Places fit for royalty, archbishops.
Strange note to end on but there it is, thought about constantly as I walk through the city-center’s labrynth of wonder.
Here’s a slide show for you, quickly clicked together. A smattering. I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for your attention. Love, Marianne
February 11, 2025. Barcelona, in the evening. A chime on my phone, I saw the link you see below and under it the words mi amiga marianne, then another chime: Hello Marianne. I listened to your rendition of the prelude, and first chapter of Lucy go see. It was a beautiful experience. Your writing is beautiful and powerful. You are a good writer… and a brave one! I shared the podcast with some friends…
I responded: Such good timing you have. I was writing when I heard your message come in. working on writing myself right, as I sometimes call it. Feeling down and writing, too, about writing, and all the time put into it and wondering if it mattered much–and then I saw this. Thank you very much. It means a lot and especially coming from you. Thank you so much too for sharing it. I’d so love to move this story further and wider into the world. A really big hug. I hope you are having a good start to your week.
As did she: The timing is not mine…probably🥰😅 Imagine….I read/listened to it early afternoon… and had to reflect a bit afterwards… powerful words… I shall buy the book. I thought you could try a public reading with your students…you do a superb job reading your novel… you are a good interpreter of “Lucy”… but personally I think they may not be ready for your honesty… and they may misuse the sacredness of it. I am afraid for you, but you know best… Am afraid of the superficial nature of some youth. On the other hand, you could help them tremendously… because of your experience and the healing over the years… you talk about it with great insight and wisdom.
The “it” my friend refers to is a sacred understanding of sexuality.
My friend is a sister of the Congregation of the Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word of Houston, Texas, and a pediatrician. We met in a nearby café in Barcelona soon after I moved into this neighborhood in the fall of 2023, and we struck up a conversation. Within it, I learned she had returned to Barcelona after more than two decades in the USA, to care for her mother, who was in her early nineties. It was remarkable to me that I, after returning to Barcelona after my years in Iowa with my mother during her last years of life, was meeting a Barcelona woman who had returned to her hometown to do the same, after living decades in Texas, and who was talking of a future return there. We talked about that and many things including spirituality, sanctuary, sacredness, swimming, and the themes of wound, eros, and voice that are prevalent in my work. (We have continued this conversation ever since.)
You probably guessed I am a nun, she said.
No, I said. Why would I?
My collar, she said, lifting her shawl. To me a lace collar, nothing more. My cross, she said, holding the pendant around her neck.
It’s pretty, I said.
You probably already have many friends, she said.
Never too many, I said.
A few weeks later, she sent me an article she had written about vulnerability, wounds, and wisdom that I’d like to share with you:
Our friendship continues to flourish, enrich, and reveal what can easily be seen as divine timing and connection.
I was grateful this week to be reminded through her that what means so much to me is worth doing, and it will continue to be surprising in its revelations. This is one of the stories of how it has moved and moves in the world.
Thanks for reading. May you marvel at your life, and this world.
Breaking and entering the land of the free and the home of the brave is a crime.
excerpt from I am home., Chez Soi Press 2023
Just finished reading this article about women who have come out to say they have been bodily assaulted by the accused defendant and presidential hopeful actually on trial. They are angry and concerned for themselves and their neighbors after speaking out about having suffered an unauthorized entry of their bodily home by someone with the intent of committing a theft of their integrity and dignity. It stirs a lot in me, this breaking and entering of another human. So does the template of denial seeming to have more power than truth. Also alarming is how people seem to find the issue–unwanted sexual touch, and unwanted touch of one’s person in general, in other words, one’s body up for grabs–unimportant and common and therefore somehow acceptable. I write this thinking about a recorded statement by the accused claiming the privilege of grabbing, and after having seen photos of some women with t-shirts glorifying that grab. The female body, in particular, is more obviously considered public domain. Look at how the state is again taking more control of it via a Supreme Court which includes other accused deniers.
Who has the power to abuse and in so doing normalizes abuse? How is and was that power obtained? How are people okay with a flagrant denier (and admitter) of abuse representing a supposed land of the free and the brave? To those who are unbothered by it–do they understand that anthem to mean US citizens are free to abuse and brave to deny?
How often do you touch people without asking their permission? Do you ever touch someone you feel has more power than you without their permission? Would you even dare to ask for it? How do you feel when people touch you without your permission, especially people you would prefer to keep at a distance? Are you aware of it? Do you pay attention to it? Do you move through this world expecting it?
You could probably say this about moments of your life while on your way home and it would be true for you, too.
This page comes to mind often. It used to be in I am home. and for a while was the opener. After moving it around, I decided it was unnecessary, yet it comes back. Always playfully and in mystery, and especially living here in Catalonia right now. Always when readers mention moving around in the story at ease. What songs would your heart sing if you played it like a xylophone? What patterns and colors do you see when you look into the kaleidoscope of your life?
Thanks for coming. Thanks for being here. Wishing you wonders.
I shot this photo in February 2023, while visiting Bryce Canyon with a friend. It was a trip I wanted to make before leaving the country. And it was amazing and fun to do it in such great company. Maybe my third or fourth time in Utah, a state I came to love on my travels. During this trip, I was carrying the first advanced copy of I am home. with me, to show my friend. It was a celebratory trip. On my other travels through the state, the manuscript was resting while I explored on my own, and often those trips were celebrations of another draft finished. So, when I woke up on Thursday and read the following message from Utah, my heart filled with gratitude for connecting to a reader amid images of all the beauty of that state.
Dear Marianne, You inspire me to be more aware and appreciate each little moment as I navigate through this next 50 + yr old woman-chapter of my life. A recent shift & desire to broaden my perspective has also increased my awareness to the impact of each & every small act.Have you been told that you have a crazy cool peaceful optimism about you? In your book I am home. … it blows my mind how little you’ve written perhaps on any given page, yet there is so much in it!! Your vocabulary, writing and savvy are thrilling to me. The memories you’ve shared spark deep emotion. I love that you’re helping me be cognizant of the amazing life I have and the wonderful wild world we live in. Thank you so very much!!
Ask your favorite Indie Bookstore or click below and in celebration of Independent Bookstore Day shipping is free all weekend.
Another from KK’s list of Scintillating Sentences. In the pages of I am home., Marianne often takes risks to live her life wholly. This is one of the storylines which explores the cost of freedom and the power of yes and no.
Stop in at River Lights and do all your Christmas shopping this year. This is one of my favorite bookstores in the world. It’s about more than books, just like books are. Find great gift ideas in every corner of the store and enjoy the warm and welcome atmosphere. I am thrilled that I am home. is on the shelves in this place where I feel very much at home. The setting for I am home., this non-fiction tale, is Dubuque, Key West, and many other places in Iowa, Illinois, and Wisconsin, and across the United States of America. You can also travel to Iceland, France, and Spain within. It’s a story that shows it is possible to go home again, and to leave home again, and to carry it with you always, and have a great time doing it despite all the challenges. You will laugh and you will cry. And maybe even think about things in a different way. It is a gift of light and love, this book, and thus fits with the season.
After you leave the bookstore with all your Christmas shopping in the bag, stop and enjoy other great places nearby like L. May Eatery, Salsa’s Mexican Restaurant , and Jitterz, where I wrote a lot, and had great conversations. I miss all that. I’ll be back.
Marianne Maili 