To add to her discomfort, she is always head of the class, the unpopular teacher’s favorite. Her schoolmates pull her braids and make fun of her stockings. She is an unusually sensitive child, and her first contacts with her own contemporaries are painful. Her father is a well-to-do industrialist named Quoirez and her mother is an old-fashioned bourgeoise who insists that her daughter wear her hair in braids and go to school in knee-length stockings. Here we are shown the young Françoise gaily romping with her dog on a country estate in mountainous Vercors or quietly reading a book in the family apartment in Lyon. Not long ago the author herself drew back the curtain on this earlier, incognito self in an article published in the French women’s magazine MarieClaire. But it is in this dimly lit region of her past that one must look for the psychological key to the clearly stunted and in many ways tragic development of the later Sagan.
Far less is known about the premythical creature, the still unspoiled Françoise who had not yet tasted the bittersweet fruit of fame. It is the familiar saga of the Cinderella variety, the spectacular success story of the browbeaten little girl whose unsuspected gifts one day startle the world. THE story of Françoise Sagan has often been told.
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