he was sick and disabled… “Evil struck me on the head”

Bernard Pivot died at the age of 89 in Neuilly-sur-Seine, his daughter Cécile Pivot told AFP on May 6. The former host had been fighting cancer for several months. He marked an entire generation with his cult literature show Apostrophes between 1975 and 1990. Excerpts from the legendary disputes between writers are often broadcast on television. In recent years, he wrote a column in the Sunday Newspaper that he had to stop. Although he did not want to reveal the reason for his forced “retirement”, the 87-year-old journalist finally explained his departure, linked to health concerns, in April 2023.

Death of Bernard Pivot: he was ill… “Illness struck my head”

What’s the worst that can happen to an intellectual? Certainly his neurological functions are affected. This was unfortunately the case for the most famous literary critic. It was in January 2020 that the “health problems have started” for this book lover.

“I remained silent because the evil struck me in the head, the seat of the brain and speech. It is better to remain silent while waiting for the memory to recharge and the thoughts to flourish again.” he confided to our colleagues at Sunday newspaper. And this illness which had affected his brain also prevented him from continuing his writing activities.

“To my great regret, I abandoned my JDD column because I was ill, disabled, and I could no longer write as I did for your readers, for our readers, if you allow, for more than ‘a quarter century“, he explained. If he never named the illness that was gnawing at him, we understood that he hoped to regain all his intellectual faculties.

Bernard Pivot, facing death: how he imagined his last moments

In his distress at seeing himself diminished in this way, Bernard Pivot tried to put things into perspective and detect humor: “I go from blunders to blunders, from instantaneous forgetfulness to futile anguish. I laugh about it so I don’t have to cry about it“.

At the time, the journalist, perhaps feeling close to the end, shared his vision of death: “There is no such thing as a happy death, even if desired or voluntary. It is the definitive extinction of breath, of speech, of words, and even the word ‘death’ can no longer be pronounced. It is reserved for the future deceased“. As for old age, he considered it as a “purgatory” whose “houses” are the nursing homes. This literature lover saw himself ending his days in his bed rereading Proust. This is perhaps how he bowed out.