Je pense que trois registres différents sont utilisés dans ce livre : l'anglais conventionnel, l'anglais approximatif quand ce n'est pas notre langue maternelle, et le style propre à l'autrice, très Durassien. La psychologie des personnages est très développée. C'est superbe.

Puisque Gordimer est Sud-Africaine, je pensais et voulais lire un livre sud-africain, malheureusement les deux-tiers du livre se déroulent dans un pays indéterminé du Moyen-Orient. GROSSE DÉCEPTION. Il s'agit d'une histoire d'immigration. Je me tâte à lire un autre livre d'elle parce que si c'est pour subir des dingueries pareilles à chaque fois non merci. Mais le style était vraiment engageant (?).


If she had failed him, failed the influence he had counted on through her secure status of birth, whiteness, family position, money, if it didn't achieve any right for his Permanent Residence in her country - she had come (didn't she say it) all the way with him; the way of refusal, failure, buried back here in the cursed village in the sand, his home, that claimed him. Love. He had to believe it, existing in her. He felt something unwanted, something it was not necessary, no obligation on a penniless illegal to feel for one of those who own the world, can buy a ticket, get on a plane, present a passport and be welcomed back into that world any time, she will go, with tears and embraces, one last wonderful coupling on the iron bed, any week now;


Confusion is singing in his ears. But what is the confusion? No confusion; I should know that. Like me, like me, she won't go back where she belongs. Other people tell her she belongs. She looks for somewhere else.