In the new novel Bliss by the Israeli writer Ronit Matalon (Metropolitan Books, trans. Jessica Cohen), there’s a passage that stayed with me like a pesky tune.
Sarah is a young woman with a small child who wants to divorce her husband; Inès is an older friend from a different generation:
blockquote>”Life’s not good,” Sarah says.“When is it, tell me? When was it ever good?” Inès loses her temper. “What’s the problem — does he drink?”
Sarah shakes her head.
“Does he go with other women?”
“No,” Sarah says.
“Does he bring home money?”
“That’s not the problem, Inès.”
“Then what is the problem? Tell me, I want to understand.”
[…]
p>”I don’t love him, I think,” Sarah says finally. “Ultimately, I br> suppose I don’t love him.” /p>… “You love him, you don’t love him — who loves anyone anyway? Children, you love. That’s love.”
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