I was in the melancholy state of mind that often comes over me when I go to see my sister, and I think I started by getting a little lost . . .

 

It's a Sunday in early September and a woman leaves muggy Paris to visit her sister in the western suburbs of the city. Ville-d’Avray is less than an hour away, but it seems like another world with its secluded streets and set-back houses.

 

The sisters' relationship is ambiguous. Jane's visits to Ville-d’Avray tend to leave her discomfited; for all Claire Marie's seeming provincial passivity, she knows exactly how to get under Jane's skin.

 

As they settle into the torpor of the afternoon, Claire Marie describes a curious encounter from her past. Sundays are when she thinks about life – whether she expected something more from it, and whether she is still waiting for it to begin.

 

Sharply observed and wryly funny, A Sunday in Ville-d’Avray is a haunting novel about half-shared truths and desires that can never fully be expressed.

 

 

A Sunday in Ville-d'Avray

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