Passacaille is a little novel, and we don't just mean in size. Completed in 1968, the same year that saw the publication of Le Libera, but published a year later, the book makes us wonder why an author who has such few things to say, and knows so poorly how to say them, believes it necessary to see himself in print so often.

Not that Robert Pinget was always so devoid of inspiration. In the 1950's we admired somewhat Graal Flibuste, Le Fiston, the play La Manivelle; and even as late as 1961 Clope au dossier revealed an intriguing writer who had learned a great deal from Ionesco and Beckett, and who could be, almost, as exciting. But Autour de Mortin in 1965, Quelqu'un in the same year (is he too concerned with quantity?) and the already mentioned Le Libera, offered nothing but tedious repetitions woven into storiless stories and presented...