THOMAS: Is your new book autobiographical? PINGEOT: No, it’s not. I think all writers transform their experiences into something different in their writing. The story recounts the moment in adolescence when we must figure out who we are.
Your first novel, “Premier Roman,” was shredded by critics. Especially in Paris. But the criticism wasn’t about the book. My father had a difficult rapport with the press. I inherited a lot of these conflicts, and they took this vengeance out on my book. It was a war about what I represent as the daughter of my father, not who I am.
Your new book has earned good reviews. Is it a better book? Yes, it is, because I have two years more of experience. The first was a book of youth–when I reread it now, I see its weaknesses–but it was important to publish quickly and get the attacks out of the way. Then I could write a second that wouldn’t incite hatred. I think now I’m on the right track.
At what age did you realize who your father was? There wasn’t really an age. He was always a politician, since I was born. He was elected when I was 6, so it was as if he was always president. There wasn’t a day of revelation. For me, it was normal, banal.
He officially recognized you. Why didn’t you take his name? It’s certainly a pretty name, prettier than mine. But I didn’t take it–I can still–because I always carried my mother’s name, and I’m used to it. My first name identifies me enough. People say ‘Mazarine’ and they know it’s me.
You are the one who officially defends his reputation and protects his image. Why? Because he specified this in his will. And he told me. I am happy to do it, but it’s a heavy responsibility.
Since his death, historians have suggested that he collaborated with the Nazis during World War II in France. He was never a collaborator. He worked in the Vichy government as a functionary, and that’s different than being a collaborator. Later, he joined the resistance, and he risked his life for it every day. I knew my father well, and certainly knew him better than the people who say such things.
But when you were born, he was an old man, lived with his wife, Danielle. He was busy running the country and fighting the cancer that eventually killed him. How well could you have known him? He raised me like a normal father does. I saw him more than most kids see their parents. He would come home from the Elysee Palace every evening to see my mother and me. Even if he left after, I still spent time with him.
Why do you think that socialist politicians attack his legacy today? They have a poor memory, because they were all in his government, and [they were] all his proteges. Today, to rise in the polls, you must say you are against what Mitterrand did, and they do. [Lionel] Jospin, especially, has a short memory. Maybe one day it’ll be more authentic.
