Véronique Ovaldé, the author of Vivre sans bonheur et n’en point dépérir, a book published by Flammarion and shortlisted for the 2026 Prix des Deux Magots, has shared reflections on her mother, her childhood, and the alternate lives that might have shaped her story. In an interview centered around her deeply personal narrative, Ovaldé participated in a revised version of the Proust questionnaire, a set of introspective questions often used to explore the inner lives of writers and artists. The discussion touched on a range of topics, including the scent of jasmine, the French writer Marguerite Duras, the influence of patriarchy, the role of lies, the symbolism of gardens, and the enduring importance of reading. Ovaldé recalls that the scent of jasmine instantly transports her to her childhood home on Rue Musnay. Among the many imagined lives she has created for her mother, she says she would ultimately choose the one where her mother never met her father. While this would mean she wouldn’t exist, Ovaldé suggests it might be for the better. She also mentions that a book by Tennessee Williams from her adolescence would be a fitting addition to a museum of clandestine freedom. This was a time of discovery, when she began exploring the margins of society and identity. A book Ovaldé would slip under the door of a woman hesitating to leave her current situation is L'Amant by Marguerite Duras. If her happiness and that of her mother were a season, she says it would be spring — a time of renewal and growth, which she wishes for both of them. She also notes that a small sign that a life is not a failure is seeing her mother, now 87, experience joy. Ovaldé aspires to reach that same serenity in her own old age. If she could return to the library where she once borrowed "harmless" books, she would not choose a harmless book. Instead, she would pick one of the American theater texts she loved, such as Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller. A word she believes should be removed from the dictionary is "patriarchy," as it has shaped many lives in restrictive ways. If a stranded whale on the beach could hear her, she would tell it what her mother once said: "You took the wrong path." While she admits to a bad habit of lying, she finds that happiness has become more mysterious than misery. She has always turned to reading as a form of escape and still holds onto the desire to continue, even as she remains cautious of "large open doors" that may not truly be open.