ABSTRACT
Nathalie Sarraute was Jewish and her father frequently suffered, professionally, from racial prejudice. Her intellectually challenging books become extremely moving, and unquestionably “down-to-earth,” when this autobiographical backdrop is recalled. Yet because of her radical skepticism with respect to the concept of a "personal identity," Sarraute always dismissed—graciously in her conversation, vigorously in her essays—the interest of biography as a critical tool for comprehending her writing. Ever a pioneer, Sarraute touches upon problems wholly engaging the cognitive sciences. Sarraute agrees that the time has long come to abandon a thoroughly misguiding academic and journalistic category, which invites readers to accept or reject such writers as a group, and not to discern the pointedly disparate sensibilities they actually possess. As a writer, Sarraute focuses sharply, even grimly, on a fictional interlocutor’s concealed intentions. After her death, reminiscences printed in French newspapers and magazines reiterated Sarraute’s affectionate inquisitiveness toward her afternoon visitors.
