Saturday, 3 March 2018

Jealousy erasing

The paper is much thinner nevertheless; it has become more translucid, uneven, a little downy. The same razor blad, bent between two fingers to raise the centre of its cutting edge, also serves to shave off the fluff the eraser has made. The back of a fingernail finally smoothes down the last roughness.

In broad daylight, a closer inspection of the pale-blue sheet reveals that two short pen strokes have resisted everything, doubtless because they were made too heavily. Unless a new word, skilfull arranged to cover up these two unnecessary strokes, replaces the old one on the page, the traces of black ink will still be visible there. Unless the eraser is used once again.
It stands out clearly against the dark wood of the desk, as does the razor blade, and the foot of the foot of the mother-of-pearl-inlaid frame where A... is about to set down her glass on the round table with its many perforations. The eraser is a thin pink disc whose central part is covered by a little tin-plate circle. 

Alain Robbe-Grillet, Jealousy, 1957 

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