Book Review of Ce que je sais de toi
What I Know About You: A Reflection on Éric Chacour’s Captivating Story
When I first heard about Ce que je sais de toi (translated as What I Know About You), I was immediately intrigued—not only by the title but by the buzz surrounding Éric Chacour’s work. Touted as the one of the season’s must-reads, it comes with the prestige of being shortlisted for the 2024 Giller Prize and the Dayne Ogilvie Prize for LGBTQ2S+ Emerging Writers. Naturally, my curiosity piqued, and when I spotted a copy at my local library, I couldn’t resist diving in.
Chacour’s narrative unfolds in second person, a choice that may not appeal to every reader but felt refreshing to me. After a string of first- and third-person narratives, this intimate perspective enveloped me in the story, allowing me to experience events as if they were happening to me. The translation from French flowed beautifully, and I appreciated the translator’s skill, which made the storytelling engaging and easy to follow despite the book’s complex structure.
Spanning across Egypt and Montreal from 1961 to 2021, the story’s non-chronological order adds layers to its exploration of identity, love, and cultural intersections. Chacour develops his characters slowly, yet the pacing, while deliberate, kept my interest piqued. I found myself immersed in the characters’ lives, basking in the rich cultural tapestry interwoven throughout the novel.
What struck me most were the tender moments of revelation, particularly a twist near the end that elevated the emotional stakes considerably. While I commend Chacour’s storytelling craft, I must admit that I didn’t connect as deeply as I expected. The narrative was meant to be poignant, yet I remained somewhat emotionally untouched. It left me wondering if maybe something got lost in translation or if it’s simply my cynical approach to heart-wrenching tales. Perhaps, as readers, we all bring our individual lenses to a book, influencing how we relate to it.
The structure of the book, despite feeling a bit fragmented due to its many short chapters, kept my reading brisk; I buzzed through the 250 pages and 50 chapters in no time. I paired my reading with an audiobook narrated by Nabil Traboulsi, whose voice added another layer to the experience. However, I must share a humorous hiccup: my audiobook had an unexpected editing error, which resulted in chapter 11 missing altogether and chapter 12 appearing twice.
Ultimately, What I Know About You is a compelling read, rich with reflection on cultural identity and personal discovery. I would recommend it particularly to those who enjoy character-driven stories that challenge conventional storytelling structures. While I may not have been moved to tears, I appreciate the journey Chacour invites us on, and I think it will resonate with readers seeking both challenges and insights.
In closing, what I took away was the beauty of narratives that traverse complexities of human experience—reminding us that sometimes a book can still be deeply impactful even if it doesn’t find a way to the heart. So, if you’re ready for an intellectually stimulating read that meanders through time and place while making you think, give Ce que je sais de toi a chance—you might just find something uniquely poignant within its pages.
