What I was actually going to attempt to post about was the adaptation of Les Innocents on Worldview. I would drop Patterson for Simenon any day and did, and Marshal's performance as the duped cuckold got to me, pierced, no Maigret in sight; it felt fresh, this implicit complication of human motives.
I make people nervous because I'm obviously willing to use revelation when it suits me. Why trust me with how I post on Blogger? However much Linda Dezenski destroyed my emotional well being, the other side of her willingness to be an expending sociopath is that I've embarrassed her. She went over the top and the crime of it will never stay buried if my work survives-- but there are events, episodes, where I've kept those experiences to myself, particularly my sordid comic flings with married men.
I would discuss him and the others, but euthanasia via cat fights with ex-wives and other confessions isn't what I had in mind, and families are involved, and for once, Simenon opens this egg without too many conceits pertinent to mystery dramas.
We're human. People get hurt, even me, through becoming vulnerable, and Simenon exposes this with certain truisms about why women in spite do what they do; the story rang true, Marie's motives, Jean-Paul's scourged conscience, keeping his deceit close, Celerin's grief forcing him to seek out the verities. The novel was published in 72. The adaptation was fitted for the digital age, more powerful for it, in an evening where I should not have sat for it, perhaps, enjoying my plummet back to asceticism. I shall not be able to sustain it, not much longer. As fragile as our interior sense of self is, however, it isn't easy to die. Life fights for itself.
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