Translated from the French with great intelligence and sensitivity by Alison Strayer ... Ernaux’s diary is a provocation: to accept these life scenes as worthy of our time and attention. Strayer’s translation takes this on within the context of English-language literature, expanding its capacity to hold such miscellany as the physiognomy of a suburban French superstore.
Look at the Lights records the mundane routines and behavior that are to be expected in the superstore environment ... Ernaux’s diary is meticulous and spontaneous at once, a collection of details crucial and not. It is also a work in progress, developing in real time ... She is deeply invested in recording the 'present,' because this is how she can 'distinguish objects, individuals, and mechanisms, and to give their existence value'—to write, not just see. But this present is already becoming past.
Ernaux is writing as both watcher and participant ... Perfectly understated...a brilliant encapsulation of Ernaux’s particular minimalism at work ... Each moment, in other words, exists independently and on its own terms, which means that even a suburban superstore, that late capitalist monument to consumption, is likely to be recalled one day through a more human lens.
Through observation and analysis that feel nearly anthropological in their detail, Ernaux argues that our shopping habits are determined not by personal choices, but by factors that are frequently outside our control ... Ernaux’s departure from the intensely intimate relationships that are the focus of much of her previous work might feel unorthodox at first. But as her gloomy portrait of the big-box store begins to form, it becomes clear that this book isn’t so different from her others: Her interest lies less in the store itself than in the way it serves as a site for interpersonal interactions ... What makes Look at the Lights a work of art, rather than a manifesto, is the sheer sensuousness of Ernaux’s language. This is not to be confused with sensuality—which the author is renowned for—but is rather the subtle visual, auditory, and tactile details that fill the pages and lend firsthand credibility to the argument this slim work makes.
Captures the hyper-acceleration of capital ... Ernaux is always curious about the way class informs our interpersonal mobility. How does love, both romantic and familial, whittle our ability to choose products at the grocery store?
Ernaux largely observes, rather than judges ... Look at the Lights, My Love is a very slim volume but it is an enjoyable take on the odd hub that the superstore is in modern society. Ernaux's observations of what these superstores offer—not just goods for purchase but an experience that includes the social—and also their hard-nosed capitalist function and foundation make for an appealing little ramble.
A diaristic essay ... Her book’s most acute moments are all set in the past ... Look at the Lights has less to say about the here and now ... Supermarkets are important. Supermarkets are rich in stories. Few, though, emerge from this grab-bag of jottings, which is too presumptuous and banal to merit being published in this raw state.
