I, I, I

The phrase "I, I, I" is the refrain of Jean-Baptiste Clamence's entire life, a self-accusation that reveals the radical egocentrism underlying his every action and relationship, and which becomes the central confession of his narrative in The Fall.

Identity and Confession

Clamence himself identifies "I, I, I" as the refrain of his whole life, a pattern that could be heard in everything he said. He admits that he could never talk without boasting, especially when he did so with the shattering discretion that was his specialty. This refrain is not merely a verbal tic but the key to his nature, a symptom of the great self-love that he claims has always driven him. He confesses that he was always bursting with a longing to be immortal, too much in love with himself not to want the precious object of his love never to disappear.

The Structure of Egocentrism

Clamence's life was organized around this central self. He lived without any other continuity than that of "I, I, I" from day to day—from day to day women, from day to day virtue or vice, like dogs, but every day himself secure at his post. He progressed on the surface of life, in the realm of words, never in reality. All those books barely read, those friends barely loved, those cities barely visited, those women barely possessed—he went through the gestures out of boredom or absentmindedness. When human beings wanted to cling to him, there was nothing to cling to, and that was unfortunate for them. As for himself, he forgot; he never remembered anything but himself.

The Refrain in Action

This refrain manifested in his relationships and his professional life. He always considered himself more intelligent than everyone else, but also more sensitive and more skillful—a crack shot, an incomparable driver, a better lover. Even in fields where he could verify his inferiority, like tennis, it was hard for him not to think that with a little practice he would surpass the best players. He admitted only superiorities in himself, which explained his good will and serenity. When he was concerned with others, he was so out of pure condescension, in utter freedom, and all the credit went to him; his self-esteem would go up a degree. This self-love was so pervasive that he conceived at least one great love in his life, of which he was always the object.

The Mirror of Confession

The confession of this refrain is central to Clamence's method as a judge-penitent. By accusing himself up and down, he constructs a portrait which is the image of all and of no one—a mask that makes people say, "Why, surely I've met him!" When the portrait is finished, he shows it with great sorrow, saying, "This, alas, is what I am!" But at the same time, the portrait he holds out to his contemporaries becomes a mirror. He passes imperceptibly from the "I" to the "we," and when he gets to "This is what we are," the trick has been played and he can tell them off. The more he accuses himself, the more he has a right to judge others. This confession of his own infamy allows him to begin again lighter in heart and to taste a double enjoyment: first of his nature and secondly of a charming repentance.