A journalist by training and former parliamentary assistant, she later settled in Hungary, where she worked for several Central European cultural and political institutions, specializing in the history and protection of minorities. She subsequently resumed her studies to become a linguist, writing a thesis on Stéphane Mallarmé. It is from this journey, encompassing political activity, the world of publishing, and academic research, that a writing style emerged which she now fully embraces.
AvatarS, his fifth novel, takes place in a Paris similar to our own, but slightly futuristic: giant screens, widespread surveillance, commonplace urban violence… Three stories intertwine. The first is that of Alice, a young therapist confronted with a disappearance that disrupts her daily life. The second is that of Salomon, an octogenarian widower, who secretly leads a project related to the memory of the Holocaust. And a third, more mysterious part, where these destinies ultimately converge.
The title plays on this central idea: everyone carries a double, an "avatar," a digital mask of our time, but also a persistence of an older memory. The novel thus progresses, through successive shifts between contemporary realism and an almost biblical tale, towards a final act of clandestine transmission, directly echoing the hidden archives of the Warsaw Ghetto.
Laurène Thierry: You are a philologist, you worked in European institutions, then in publishing and journalism, before becoming a novelist. What has this career path brought to your writing?
Daniella Pinkstein: When you want to write seriously, it's always important to have an understanding of the world you live in. Having worked in European institutions, having traveled, having been involved in different circles: all of this has allowed me to witness what was coming, in a world undergoing profound change. But I've always felt like a writer. It's a true calling. A Hungarian poet once said that you have to live a thousand different lives before you can sit down with a blank page.
What prompted you to write AvatarS?
First, because I write, and second, because I feel concerned by what's happening in the world. I think literature has something to say and that art is essential today, even more so than before. We forget this with social media: saturated with images, we feel like we can no longer expect much from the imagination. But on the contrary, art is there to uplift us, to give us more strength, more discernment. AvatarS was born from this question: who are we, in this catastrophic world, amidst all this chaos?
In AvatarS, you explore this duality between who we could be and who we should be, in a world that is fracturing. You also suggest that our present and our future are conditioned by the past.
Inevitably: everyone carries a story. The past isn't just our own; it's also a family history, a historical, cultural, and traditional past. AvatarS is the story of three somewhat lost souls who decide to save the world. To do so, they draw upon their own personal history, as well as literary history. I myself operate in the same way: as a writer, one situates oneself, whether in opposition or in agreement, within a literary lineage. At the end of AvatarS, there's a whole list of authors I highlight, because they too accompany us on this epic journey of anti-heroes attempting to save the world.
Is the main character's name, Alice, a nod to Alice in Wonderland?
Absolutely. It's about stepping through the looking glass. She says so herself. As the story unfolds, Alice understands that humanity isn't simply divided into perpetrators, victims, and the repentant. It's far more complex. But in any case, one must have the courage to choose life, humility, and kindness. This requires immense courage and doesn't fit into the clichés of repentance we're bombarded with until we're suffocated. Perhaps this is what everyone should try to understand in order to save the world: stepping through the looking glass.
In your research, you drew on memory, particularly Jewish memory of the Holocaust. Is this a way of speaking about a universal memory, or did you really want to pay tribute to Jewish memory in particular?
I didn't want to talk about the Holocaust as such, even though the book is dedicated to Emmanuel Ringelblum, the organizer of the clandestine archives of the Warsaw Ghetto. What I found in these archives—and this is where the entire novel began—was an impressive number of young writers capable of writing, in the midst of darkness, about what remains beautiful in others, in humanity, in the sacred. They wrote poems, short stories. There is, of course, a Jewish memory there, but above all, it is a memory of human dignity in terrifying circumstances. I also drew heavily on writings that don't deal with the Holocaust at all, but rather with the avant-garde Yiddish literature of that era, teeming and brimming with inventiveness, creativity, and joy. After the Holocaust, all this literature disappeared almost overnight.
What do you expect from this book? Is there a particular message you wish to convey?
No, not at all. What I want, above all, is for this book to be the absolute opposite of any dogmatism. I don't want to give lessons, quite the contrary. Without the reader, the writer doesn't exist. It's a partnership. Today, we have trouble understanding each other: under the guise of "living together," we all seem more inclined to tear each other apart. I'm not here to tell people what to think, and certainly not to preach repentance. On the contrary, the book says that we are all in this together: what can we do to reflect together, calmly? I wrote my thesis on Stéphane Mallarmé, not on the Holocaust or on Jewish writers, but on literature. That's what interests me. The filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky said that the day there are no more poets, society will lose all its meaning. This is that corner of literature that can be exceptionally healing. It doesn't preach. No poet ever does.
One of your characters says, regarding the coming collapse, that he is convinced that "one day, everything will collapse." Is this also your conviction? Do you think that our lives in 2026 are empty and doomed to await this inevitable end?
No, that's what we fear. There's a general feeling that we're all heading towards chaos. But I also see a tremendous amount of creativity around us, a new momentum emerging. We must rely on this momentum, on the artists. We must give them more space and support them. I find that the artistic world is completely unsupported today. We must stop listening only to television and social media, and pay more attention to artists, who are very present and often do exceptional things.
You placed a Bible in the prostitute's hands. Is this a reference to Mary Magdalene? Why this symbolic gesture, entrusted specifically to this woman?
There are indeed several layers. AvatarS was written with two temporalities in mind: one secular, the other biblical. From time to time, here and there, a small mark appears in the text, whether it comes from the Old or New Testament. The sacred means a great deal to me. I think it's very important.
Can we live in a materialistic society, devoid of symbols and spirituality?
No, I don't think so. We risk darkness, chaos, anarchy, and hatred of others. Unfortunately, that's what we seem to be experiencing, with ever-increasing violence. But I remain very optimistic. The book is too, despite its somber opening. Three people do end up saving the world, after all. I believe that at some point, the need for altruistic spirituality, both towards oneself and others, will become essential.
Why write AvatarS with a capital S at the end?
First, to visually distinguish the title. And also to emphasize the plurality of what we are, of what we can be: different eras, personalities, and identities, until the good one finally rises up against this chaos. It was primarily a visual exercise, in the same way that I incorporated some very good photographers into the novel. I believe it's good to shift our perspective a little, that not everything is conveyed solely through language.
So why were these photographs added to the end of the chapters?
First, to offer a respite: it's a dense, rather long novel, and there were moments when it was necessary to look elsewhere. They are also, and above all, very good, renowned photographers. Second, because I think, as we were saying at the beginning of this interview, that art is essential. I wanted to bring their perspectives together, mine and theirs.
The photographer whose image appears on the cover is called Philip-Lorca diCorcia. He is an American who takes photographs of a cold, almost unbelievable beauty about our time: true freeze-frames of a moment, of a time, but also of the solitude that runs through it.
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