The Artful State of Anne-Dauphine Julliand

Deux petits pas sur le sable mouillé (Two Little Steps on the Wet Sand), published in 2011, recounted with incredible courage the far too short life of her first daughter, Thaïs, who passed away at age 3 from a rare genetic disease. After a second book, a documentary (Et les mistrals gagnants / Big Sick Blues), and the 2018 launch of the non-profit organization "Ce qui compte vraiment" ("What Really Matters"), the journalist has just published her first novel, Jules-César*. Interview by Nathalie Six.

As a child, rather than the Bibliothèque Rose series, I used to devour the Rouge et Or collection. I was nurtured on the great classics of literature, particularly Stendhal’s The Red and the Black. Learning that he kept the Civil Code on his nightstand, I immediately told myself I had to get a copy for myself. Like him, I developed a love for the exact word. So, when I started writing my own novel, I paid close attention to the tone used by little Jules-César. When he arrives from Senegal to undergo a kidney transplant in France, he isn't even 7 years old yet; however, in many ways, he is more mature than his own father who accompanies him. It is an initiatory journey for both of them.

In contemporary literature, I appreciate Valentine Goby. I have a soft spot for her book Un paquebot dans les arbres, perhaps because I recognized myself in the heroine: a young woman from Normandy whose parents suffer from tuberculosis and leave for a cure, leaving her their business; she has to take charge of her family despite her youth. I read her Kinderzimmer, published in 2013 by Actes Sud, in a state of total suspense. Generally, while I willingly share my reading choices, I never lend or give away my books. At the moment, I am gifting Né d'aucune femme (Born of No Woman) by Franck Bouysse (La Manufacture des livres) a lot. It addresses a very difficult theme: redemption.

Poetry occupies a large place in my life; it soothes me, but I don't write any. This calming harmony is the same one I find in authors like Christian Bobin and François Cheng. Just like with cinema, I pick from all directions; you have to let books and films shake you up, so you can better recenter yourself afterwards. Reading is, for me, a knowledge that is sometimes innate; in it, I find the intuition of what I would like to express.

Art opens our minds, which is why I really like modern painting. I remember studying Picasso's painting Guernica at school when I was 13, and I was deeply moved. Picasso revolutionized classical painting, shattering the boundaries between eras, and I have always admired him for that. The books published about him since highlight the man behind the artist; in the end, it's not so bad to know the author's life. It demystifies him. We leave an ideal world to step into real life.

I appreciate certain contemporary artists, like Bertrand de Miollis, or the Belgian artist Aude Carré, who passed away prematurely last autumn. She notably painted magnificent skies on zinc. Her canvases, rendered in shades of grey, green, and blue, have an unfinished feel to them—so many stories handed over to the viewer's imagination so they can make them their own. She took us into the beyond. What I feel in front of a work of art was ultimately expressed best by my 11-year-old son: while we were at the Centre Pompidou visiting a Magritte retrospective, he told me that art was the best way to express one's emotions. What I saw in his eyes was even more wonderful than what I saw in the paintings. Another artist I'd like to mention: Marine de Soos, who sculpts children in bronze holding kites or playing an instrument while walking. The paradox of lightness delights me.

“The paradox of lightness delights me.”

For me, going to the cinema remains a solitary activity. I can laugh or cry: it's an escape. I can sometimes go to two or three screenings a week, and I always decide at the last minute. I don't really have a favorite director, even if two names come to mind spontaneously: Christopher Nolan and Alfred Hitchcock. Recently, two documentaries blew me away: A Voice Loud (Speak Up) by Stéphane de Freitas and Ladj Ly, and Lourdes by Thierry Demaizière and Alban Teurlai. On my end, I have two new feature film projects. The experience on Et les mistrals gagnants was incredible; I genuinely loved directing, being the conductor. On the other hand, I leave the framing to someone else. On that note, Katell Djian, my director of photography, is perfect: he sees inside my head, we understand each other instantly. You'll hear more about it soon!

— Jules-César, by Anne-Dauphine Julliand, Les Arènes, 384 p., €19.