Entre Dos Aguas, Paco de Lucia
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Anna Valenn, Le Blog |
She always pretended to herself that she didn’t let Lauren help because she was trying to be the perfect mother-in-law, but really, when you didn’t let a woman help, it was a way of keeping her at a distance, of letting her know that she wasn’t family, of saying, ‘I don’t like you enough to let you into my kitchen.’
The Husband's Secret / Le Secret du mari, Liane Moriarty traduit par Béatrice Taupeau pour les éditons Albin Michel ; en Livre de Poche - On ne s'ennuie pas à lire Le Secret du mari de l'australienne Liane Moriarty. Ça se lit comme on regarde une (bonne) série américaine (efficace) sur le thème du couple et de la famille, il se passe tout le temps quelque chose.
Maybe Mum was right, she thought hazily. It’s all about our egos. She felt she was on the edge of understanding something important. They could fall in love with fresh new people, or they could have the courage and humility to tear off some essential layer of themselves and reveal to each other a whole new level of ‘otherness’, a level far beyond what sort of music they liked. It seemed to her everyone had too much self-protective pride to truly strip off down to their souls in front of their long-term partners. It was easier to pretend there was nothing more to know, to fall into an easygoing companionship. It was almost embarrassing to be truly intimate with your spouse; because how could you watch someone floss one minute, and the next minute share your deepest passion or tritest of fears? It was almost easier to talk about that sort of thing before you’d shared a bathroom and a bank account and argued over the packing of the dishwasher.