She is an absolute French beauty, and she is one of my heroes, because she was at the simultaneously excellent and imperfect. Her first book, Bonjour Tristesse, came out when she was only eighteen and was a masterpiece of elegance—she became an French sensation and immediately started what she called a fast life—vivre vite.
She loved parties, friends, casinos, driving fast cars and spending money. Her love for that life probably took over, because at some point she had to write quick books to make quick money to quickly pay for her gambling debts, which contributed to her being considered a lesser author by the incredibly snobbish French literature circles in Saint Germain Des Prés—you know the ones, sitting at Café De Flore with their cigarettes, judging everyone and everything.
(I don’t hold it against them though, it’s a rather enjoyable thing to do, you should try it.)
Of course, all that life created a lot of drama and heartbreak (and some average literature, but the good one is absolutely gorgeous), but the patina of time has garnered her respect all throughout the world, and even in the (still!!) very snobbish circles of Saint Germain Des Prés.
She would have loved Doré—it would have fitted her impeccable 60’s style and her love for speed and ease. I can easily imagine La Crème thrown nonchalantly in the back seat of her Jaguar XK140 as she was rushing through the streets of Saint Tropez.
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