Mazarin Pinje. “My childhood seemed normal to me, just not so happy”

He arranges to meet us at the Café français near the Place de la Bastille in Paris. Right where the editors were waiting for him a year ago to “talk to him about something”. A “crazy” offer that Mazarin Pinjo accepts “crazily”. spend 24 hours for the collection entitled “Retour chez soi” in the company apartment at 11 rue Quai Branly, now quai Jacques-Chirac, where he lived. Between the ages of 9 and 16 with his mother Anne Pinjo and father Francois Mitterrand. An apartment where, it is true, the long-hidden daughter of the president of the republic has never felt at home.

This place, which he says he hates, even if it’s more complicated, and which he left behind when he fled for his life, Mazarin Pinjo usually tries to avoid. It is better to deviate than to pass by the “tomb” of his youth, as he calls it in this very beautiful story (1), which will be published this Wednesday, October 16. This time, on the eve of his 50th birthday, the philosopher and author immersed himself in “Alma”, as he calls this “transitory abode where no one has passed.” To face childhood fears, to uncover your foggy memories, choked with secrets. And to establish himself even more as the narrator of the story so often told by others, of which he was only the hero.

Madame Figaro: When the project took place, what were the first memories?
Mazarin Pingeot: I first talk to my editors about this apartment as a black hole, a place that sucks. I vaguely remember the day-to-day but, oddly enough, no specific memories. There is a load of anxiety attached to this place. Returning there immediately seems to me an interesting but also a dangerous experience. I had already asked myself this question when my husband was offered accommodation at 11, Cai Brenley (diplomat Didier Le Bret, editor’s noteMaybe it would be interesting to go there to deal with it all. Then I told myself no. This time I was offered a 24-hour writing experience. Going to a writing space allows you to enter it as if you were wearing armor. We put ourselves in less danger, because even if terrible things happen, they will become work. This changes everything. And then, I said yes, convinced that it wouldn’t work. Except my editors got the keys and permission very quickly. It was impressive. The idea of ​​regaining control over history has always been very important in my life’s journey, as in my writing, ever since publication. Stitched mouth (2), twenty years ago. But it’s another thing to confront myself with this empty place that’s suffused with a kind of magical, unsettling charge.

What book do you envision then?
I decided, quite quickly, to write a scientific experiment, rather methodically. Describe the fear, then the moment you experienced, then the impressions you left. This allowed me to be as close as possible to the experiment, to observe what was happening. What fears arise? What do we expect from such a moment? What do we finally find? And then what does it do?

I still have a problematic relationship with memory. I have a terrible degree of amnesia

How do you explain this fog that surrounds your memories?
I still have a problematic relationship with memory. I have terrible amnesia, I have forgotten a whole part of my life. Probably because memories are saved, told, recorded in photo albums, which we open and comment on with our loved ones. Otherwise they disappear. In order to exist, things need to be said. However, many things were never said at home. This is related to the question of the name. you must have a name to exist.

Conversely, as a child, you live split into several personalities: “house girl” and “school girl”. How does this help memory?
It destroys him. I didn’t tell my parents anything, not to hide things from them, but because the imposed silence had made me lose the habit of telling. College was another world that had to translate to them. On the other hand, I obviously didn’t say anything about the house outside. This gave me a constant habit of separating everything so that the worlds never met. It was as if having multiple lives in one had become second nature to me. Just like forgetting. Besides not saying anything, we lived in a bubble, outside of society. None of my memories are related to a large collective or public event. As if time did not pass.

As a child, how did you approach this life, which you describe as very mundane?
At this age, we don’t understand that. Our life is our primary reference. When I was feeling mine, I felt normal, just not as happy. He was with my parents, but a life outside of time, closed off from the world, without fluidity with the outside world… It wasn’t very alive, for a child.

Did you blame your parents?
Not really, no. I think they did what they could without bad intentions. I could blame them for not seeing that I was really out of shape at one point, but they were stuck. Even if they themselves got stuck.

How do we put the pieces back together?
Writing is the only way to recreate connections and memories. The comeback experience this way is pretty crazy, even if the decor has changed. The apartment has become quite beautiful, even though it was gloomy at the time. Returning to the place brings things to life, some scenes, but most of all the emotions. The smell of toast, the sound of the radio or the lemon squeezer in the morning… Place is space, geometry, but also smells, feelings that are experienced. The body, walking, sitting, experiences things. It’s an incredible physical experience that brings back images and memories. Anxieties too. But it didn’t give me everything back.

At this moment, in this apartment, can you understand all this?
Yes, because I am able to. I was paying attention to everything because I was there to write. Which does not mean mastering everything. If I really had to spend the night there, then everything would be complicated. It was really very scary, at least in the evening. These hours between the dog and the wolf, this moment when we slide into the evening… They took me back to old worries that often come back to me, even under different circumstances. Somewhere alone, this transition from one schedule to another always makes me a little uneasy. And it has to do with this place.

Under what circumstances did you leave him?
I left my undergraduate year at the age of 16 or 17. I think it was terrible for my mother. It’s always scary when kids leave, especially when you only have one. I was going to live my life, my father was sick, his second seven-year term was coming to an end… I think it was not rosy for him at all. I remember that I had to leave, that all this was no longer possible. But I don’t have a more precise memory of this period. Except for a black hole. This was the difficulty of this project. looking for something vague but very present. When I pass in front of Quai Branly 11, I feel that something is radiating. But what exactly? That was the challenge. look for this scattered thing to limit it.

Did it work?
Yes, because returning to a place marked something that remained missing. Alma’s years were brought back to temporality, to human dimensions. it is somewhat calming because it shuts down certain anxieties, certain fragilities. I have been thinking about childhood, youth or truth for a long time. But the return experience offered me the epitome of this reflection. In this place where I have never been able to register, I am registering something.

You write that the truth is “cruel”, that telling it is “punishment”.
I keep asking myself this question, when can we tell the truth, knowing that the longer we wait, the worse it gets? It is terrible. (laughs). As a child, I know, of course, that I should not “say”. I not only know this very well, but I agree to keep this secret. I was a very good little soldier at the time, I actually wrote a book called that because I felt that betrayal would be very, very serious. That if I speak, the world collapses. My parents never warned me, all this was tacit and self-explanatory. But I was aware of the huge responsibility on my shoulders.

When you grew up, did you earn the right to vote?
Yes, except that when you grow up like that, it’s very hard to get out of it because it builds your relationship with the world. And good. I still don’t feel completely free when telling stories, I’m still not used to doing it easily. Except through literature, because it offers a different approach.

Is it easy?
I now have a tyrannical, really excessive relationship with truth and accuracy. Which is still paradoxical for someone who doesn’t remember anything. But that’s the point of my work, to try to get as close to the truth as possible. When I feel right, it’s no longer bothersome. Betrayal is dangerous. Of course, everyone will do what they want with this book, maybe violate it. That’s part of the risk, but it doesn’t apply to me anymore, somehow. I don’t have the feeling of delivering something, but of working on the material. It’s something else entirely.

(1) 11, quai BranlyMazarin by Pingeo, co. “Returning home”, ed. Flammarion, 224 pages, €19.50. Available at leslibraires.fr.

(2) Stitched mouthby Mazarin Pinjo, ed. Paperback, 216 pages, €7.70. Available at placeselibraires.fr.