In Nausea, gardens represent sexuality and possibility, both threatening and enlightening. In one of the novel’s most striking passages, Roquentin imagines a grotesquely lush garden while touching Françoise’s thigh and genitals. As his hand moves up her thigh, he’s assaulted by images of ants and centipedes scuttling through “immense hairy leaves,” horrifying animal hybrids lurking around every bit of foliage. He then pictures the statue of Velleda, which stands in Bouville’s public park, pointing a finger at her own genitals. The imagery seems to be brought on by Roquentin’s intense disgust and disinterest in Françoise at this moment, which he disregards in favor of going through the motions of intimacy. It’s hard not to relate his landscape of insects crawling through hairy growth to Françoise’s pubic hair, and what might be either an anxiety of or a real encounter with a sexual transmitted disease like pubic lice. But the scene also suggests Roquentin’s broader distaste for sexual relations that mimic intimacy without any genuine romance. As in other parts of his life, Roquentin’s growing sense of existential dread leaves him feeling disillusioned with and horribly alienated from others, and he can no longer tactfully simulate intimacy with Françoise.
Throughout the rest of the novel, Roquentin witnesses and participates in scenes of variously literal sexuality that take place in Bouville’s public garden. On the day of the thick fog, for instance, Roquentin watches a man in a blue cape lure a little girl in the garden and attempt to flash her. For a moment before she runs away, she seems to meet the man’s eyes in a daring manner. Like Roquentin’s encounter with Françoise, this incident twists sexuality into something threatening and perverse. Thus, when Roquentin experiences an ecstatic revelation of the secret of existence at the climax of the novel, the reader is primed to think of it in a way that’s almost sexual, almost unpleasant. In the lush world of the garden’s growth, Roquentin embraces the full possibility of his perception.
Gardens Quotes in Nausea
I dined at the Rendezvous des Cheminots. The patronne was there and I had to kiss her, but it was mainly out of politeness. […] I played distractedly with her sex under the cover; then my arm went to sleep. […] I let my arm run along the woman’s thigh, and suddenly saw a small garden with low, wide trees on which immense hairy leaves were hanging. Ants were running everywhere, centipedes and ringworm. There were even more horrible animals: their bodies were made from a slice of toast, the kind you put under roast pigeons; they walked sideways with legs like a crab. The larger leaves were black with beasts. Behind the cactus and the Barbary fig trees, the Velleda of the public park pointed a finger at her sex. “This park smells of vomit,” I shouted.
The trees floated. Gushing towards the sky? Or rather a collapse; at any instant I expected to see the tree-trunks shrivel like weary wands, crumple up, fall on the ground in a soft, folded, black heap. They did not want to exist, only they could not help themselves […] Tired and old, they kept on existing, against the grain, simply because they were too weak to die, because death could only come to them from the outside: strains of music alone can proudly carry their own death within themselves like an internal necessity: only they don’t exist. Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness and dies by chance.