Thomas Schlesser is the author of the new novel Mona's Eyes. He is the director of the Hartung-Bergman Foundation in Antibes, France, and he teaches art history at the École Polytechnique in Paris. The book was translated into English by Hildegarde Serle.
Q: What inspired you to write Mona’s Eyes, and how did you create your characters Mona and Henry?
A: The initial spark came from a difficult moment in my life—a personal trial, as everyone experiences at some point. I prefer to remain discreet about it, but it gave me the impulse to imagine Mona: an idealized child I developed freely in my mind—intelligent, witty, sensitive, modest, empathetic.
That makes the threat of blindness hanging over her all the more dramatic. She’s 10 years old in the novel, and it took me 10 years to write it, almost as if I had been raising her during that time.
Henry, her grandfather, is not based on my own. His nickname “Dadé” is simply a nod to my paternal grandfather, a singer and cabaret owner whose life and personality were colorful and unique—though entirely different from Henry’s character. Henry is an impressive, fascinating figure, a kind of moral authority and a profoundly free spirit.
Q: How would you describe the dynamic between them?
A: It’s a relationship without hierarchy. Henry has knowledge; Mona has innocence—yet they speak as equals. He takes her seriously, always. Between them flows a playful inventiveness and a shared joy in exploring the world together.
I think it reflects something of my own upbringing: I was raised in part by my maternal grandmother, a simple woman, not an intellectual, yet she opened my eyes to the world. She was the only one in my family who loved classical music—especially Bizet’s Carmen. I never became a music lover myself, but through her I learned a refinement of sensitivity.
Q: How did you choose the art to highlight in the book?
A: Mona’s Eyes is not a novel “about art” but rather a coming-of-age story in which art is at the service of life. It embodies Robert Filliou’s beautiful idea that “art is what makes life more interesting than art.”
The works appear in chronological order, each offering Mona a small existential lesson she then applies to her journey: self-knowledge with Rembrandt, the condition of animals with Rosa Bonheur, heartbreak with Camille Claudel, and more.
Q: The Publishers Weekly review says, “Readers of Jostein Gaarder’s Sophie’s World will love this.” What do you think of that comparison?
A: It’s funny: the Italian newspaper La Stampa organized a meeting between Jostein Gaarder and me, and I took the opportunity to ask him if he was comfortable with the idea of Mona being Sophie’s little sister—and he was delighted. So good!
Q: What are you working on now?
A: I prefer to keep a little mystery. I can simply say that I continue to work a lot as an art historian — particularly as director of the Fondation Hartung-Bergman.
The Fondation Hartung-Bergman is a truly unique and almost novelistic place. Nestled on the heights of Antibes, it was once the home and studios of Hans Hartung and Anna-Eva Bergman—two major figures of 20th-century art.
The property is surrounded by lush Mediterranean gardens filled with olive trees, pines, and cypresses, with the sea glimmering in the distance. The architecture is modernist yet warm, flooded with light, and still holds the energy of creation: Hartung’s vast painting studio, Bergman’s workspace, their archives, their personal collections.
It’s a place where art, nature, and history meet in a way that feels both inspiring and intimate. I have the privilege of directing it. I warmly encourage readers of this interview to take a look—and to come and visit us.
As for fiction writing, you can imagine I have some surprises in store for you soon!
Q: Anything else we should know?
A: Keep in mind that Mona’s Eyes is also an ethical and literary challenge. Since the story revolves around blindness, I wanted blind readers to be able to experience it fully and feel “at home” in its pages, even though it deals with visual art.
The ekphrasis (that is to say, the very precise descriptions of each artwork) became my way of translating paintings into words, attempting to convey their presence through language alone. I don’t know if I succeeded, but I had to try.
Today, the exchanges I’ve had with visually impaired readers are among the most moving rewards of this publication.
--Interview with Deborah Kalb
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