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(English: Adèle; French Original: Dans le jardin de l'ogre) The protagonist of this book is a sex addict, but this should not mislead you into thinking that this is a novel about sex or that it is in any way erotic: As with every other addiction, it's less about the kind of behavior or substance the addict clings to, but about a person compulsively repeating destructive patterns, desperately trying to fight an emptiness. Although Adèle grew up experiencing her parents' marriage as ordinary and suffocating, she is now, at 37, married to an ordinary doctor (hello, Madame Bovary) and has a little son, because, well, that's what people do. Her main reason for working as a journalist is that her schedule allows for a lot of excuses and cover-ups for her numerous extramarital sexual exploits. Since she was a teenager, Adèle has perceived sex as a means to boost her self-worth, and now - being unhappy with her life and her decisions, but feeling unable to make changes - she obsessively seeks diversion in sex, and we are talking about the kind where she endlessly stares at ceilings and at walls, detecting cracks and signs of water damage while contemplating what she is expected to do, so it's not like she is enjoying herself. Adèle wants to be free, but freedom and sex against societal conventions are not the same thing - our protagonist is in fact miserable. Slimani choses not to give a neat and coherent explanation for Adèle's decisions, she is not excused or even portrayed as particularly likeable. Rather, we get clues, little bits and pieces that hint at the sources of her addiction, her inability to gain real agency over her life, and her efforts to preserve her inner freedom by turning herself into an object for men. The real provocation of the text is that Adèle is suffering from inertia and ennui, i.e., she is egotistical, but there is no denying that she is truly suffering - we as the readers are left to judge her and her decisions. What bothered me a little was the language though: It's not only that it is not lyrical, there even is a mechanical, über-obvious and sometimes bland quality to it, which you can certainly see as fitting if you consider the topic of the book, but it does not make for a captivating sound. There are also some issues with the German translation I listened to (e.g. I assume it's an attempt to translate "gênant", but "genierlich"? Mmmhhh...). So this short novel is slightly flawed, but hey, this was Slimani's debut, and she was certainly not playing it safe, and I appreciate that. Plus there's another dimension to it: In her native Morocco, adultery is a criminal offense, and Slimani, who lives in France, did have the book published there, knowing full well that it would cause a scandal. For her, it was important to adress the topic nevertheless, and I applaud her for it.