Delphine de Vigan and the Autobiographical Pulse in Modern Fiction
The origin of writing remains unseen; its impulse, its need, are often invisible to the reader. Yet it is clear that both writer and reader are inseparable from life itself. Debates about how much reality lives inside fiction sometimes miss the point entirely. What matters most is the literature that truly resonates. Delphine de Vigan, a French novelist born in Boulogne-Billancourt in 1966, navigates this tension with ease, embracing autofiction as a tool rather than a trap when he encounters it in conversation with journalists. For readers familiar with his work, the biography surfaces not just in explicit facts but in the textures of perception, sensation, and perspective that thread through his stories. His writing often begins with lived experience—pain, suffering, mortality, illness, violence, and the sheer force of existence—and then translates it into narrative, sometimes most clearly in the settings of his most intimate pages, such as The Kings of the House, published by Anagram.
In his latest novel, Los reyes de la casa, he again scrutinizes the hidden sides of characters who appear ordinary. Is mediocrity a social trap?
Answering this is complex. In an era that rewards surface, the truth behind appearances often stays unseen. Yet, for a novelist, it becomes essential to uncover what lies beyond the facade and what those daily scenes say about human nature.
Do you think we are aware of the real impact of social networks on our lives?
Awareness is growing. The way people live and relate to the world has shifted, and new generations carry faces shaped by online spaces. Emerging risks accompany these changes, and they demand thoughtful reflection.
And what are these dangers?
One pressing issue is the image of children online. While guardianship remains with parents, many manage their children’s images as if ownership followed. A broader debate concerns the right to expose young lives to public view, and the consequences of that exposure for privacy and development.
And therefore, exploiting them.
Yes, including for commercial purposes. A second major topic is information access, especially for younger users who often rely on online platforms for knowledge. Algorithms can create echo chambers, reinforcing personal ideas and shielding readers from competing viewpoints. Encountering diverse opinions, as in public radio or other sources, challenges those online bubbles by introducing contrasting perspectives.
And the need to be recognized, to be seen?
That need is universal, a defining human trait. Social networks amplify the urge to perform and be observed, turning individuals into shareable products. The era of voyeurism is real, yet a shift toward a more private, even secretive mode of life also seems possible, especially among young people who are increasingly conscious of this exposure. The challenge is clear: staying connected online while preserving personal space becomes a delicate balance for the next generation.
Are we a selfish society?
There is a streak of self-focus that concerns many. Yet the same networks also catalyze collective action and remarkable communal achievements. The current moment foregrounds a tension between individualistic impulses and the potential for shared, meaningful experiences online.
Are we living in a new and far more dangerous Big Brother?
The old vision of a watchful state feels distant. Today, each person carries a tool that can monitor behavior and harvest data. This new form of surveillance is more diffuse and more intimate, and it is shaped by platforms that wield considerable influence over attention and information. The result is a market of attention that shapes choices and perceptions, often leaving people feeling both connected and exposed.
Yes, we seem to have accepted that we can’t do anything.
Retreat can feel necessary, yet total withdrawal is rarely feasible in a world designed for interaction. Small, everyday choices—like cookie settings—carry symbolic weight. Accepting or rejecting digital terms becomes a reflection of how much control one is willing to assert in a data-driven landscape.
Leaving this dark universe aside, in his work, social networks never take a position on what is written, whether it be old age, violence, or mental illness. Should they always stay neutral, or should the writer maintain a certain distance from what is depicted?
There are many paths. Writers choose differently, and the spectrum ranges from moral positioning to deep, nuanced exploration of character. The goal is often to illuminate contradictions, complexities, and paradoxes rather than to deliver a single judgment. This openness invites readers to confront tough truths without the author prescribing an exact stance.
The lack of communication in his writings is evident. Can silence weigh a life? How can silence be challenged? Perhaps by writing?
Silence is a recurring force in these stories, sometimes representing unspoken truths. Writing becomes a way to break that silence, offering a broader voice to experiences long kept private. In recent years, publications from France have helped express what was once whispered, and for many readers, this marks a meaningful expansion of what it means to speak openly. Social networks have contributed too, with glimpses of voices that push against silence and invite conversation.
There was a moment when #MeToo gained global attention. How would its resonance shift if released today?
The reception would likely shift, given changing conversations and heightened awareness of violence and power dynamics. The topic would be approached with renewed lens and emphasis, inviting a broader discussion about accountability and storytelling’s responsibility to truth.
In telling universal truths through personal stories, is the path from the intimate to the universal the strongest approach?
That approach has proven potent. Focus on intimate ties—family, close relationships—often opens doors to universal themes that resonate across cultures. The Kings of the House exemplifies this by examining a family’s ties as a lens on contemporary life. A deeply personal work can illuminate wider human experiences, linking private pain to shared understanding. Nothing Against the Night delves into a mother’s suffering to reveal broader family dynamics and intergenerational echoes. The intimate, when skillfully rendered, can illuminate what many readers recognize in themselves.
What does the term autofiction mean in your view? After a year of reflection, is this an autobiographical novel?
Labels can be limiting. Works unfold with variety, and autofiction is just one device among many. Some novels draw on personal material more directly, others rely on fiction to mine intimate experiences. The lines between autobiography and fiction are porous, and the value lies in how truth emerges through narrative form. When the void was encountered, the search for truth continued, sometimes beyond strict factual boundaries.
Is there self-censorship in this writing?
Self-censorship exists, especially in autobiographical projects. Certain details may be withheld or transformed because they are deeply painful or could hurt someone close. In fiction, however, a writer can channel emotions through characters, allowing exploration without encroaching on real lives.
The truth in the work feels direct. How are the right words found for such honesty?
The craft lies in naming experiences clearly, clarifying thoughts, and revealing what lies beneath the surface. The author acknowledges that a precise mechanism for this clarity remains elusive, but the effort to articulate truth through language is unmistakable in the writing.
Could writing be a tool for self-awareness rather than therapy?
It is not therapy, but it does foster self-understanding. A private diary can become a powerful instrument for examining the self, long before fiction takes shape. Many notebooks exist, serving as reservoirs of perception and growth. They record a process of becoming, not a finished solution.
And sharing these thoughts publicly, is that ever a step too far?
Public sharing carries risk, but it is not prohibited. The act of writing often prefers restraint over indiscretion, keeping some insights personal while inviting readers to engage with shared human concerns.
After exploring your work, one question remains: what drives the writer to continue? Is the goal simply to reveal the world as seen?
The drive to write comes from a need to bear witness—to capture moments of shock or surprise and translate them into language that others can feel. The process is less about a single destination and more about the ongoing act of expressing a perception of the world through sensation and emotion. Sometimes the impulse arises from an unexpected moment that feels worth recording, and that impulse keeps returning, day after day.