Literature
With "Sister", he had won a prize series including the first RTBF prize.Abel Quentin, penalty and sacred novelist brushes the huge picture of furious features of the time.
Jean Roscoff, the anti-hero of his latest book, the indicator of Etampes, embarks on ambitious work: a flamboyant, excited test, on an unknown American poet who killed himself on a departmental road in Essonne at the beginningfrom the 60s.The character of this essay lived in France where he returned the soul.In Etampes.This character is a pure creation of Abel Quentin, famously documented and inspired by some notorious Americans who found refuge in France.Roscoff leaves in the footsteps of the fictional poet, tells his life in jazz clubs.Evokes on this momentum over the work, almost distractedly, the fact that the subject of his work is black.An accessory trait in his eyes.Whatever, the object of his Fasination is the story of this man, his exceptional prose that ignites Roscoff.This one, who has already played bad luck with a previous work on the Rosenberg spouses, intends here to restore his academic and marital coat of arms.Is to know the times that run.The lover of Roscoff's daughter, furiously "woke" (awake with great contemporary causes-social justice, racial equality, "Critical race theory", among others) criticizes his stepfather a shame of cultural cultural appropriation.Accuses it of Go of having denied the blackness of the poet and of having taken hold of a story that does not belong to him.Roscoff is collapsed.Drowning more beautiful his incomprehension of the modern world in the beer which he became an expert.This inflicted camouflet which could be a call wake-up spins him a wooden mouth.
The "cultural appropriation", relayed on an obscure site, Vire Rabido Presto with online pugilat, a virtual sacrifice that sends Roscoff in the open countryside.Shaken by this questioning that explodes on the web, arousing an outcry as fierce as absurord, he calls on his best friend, lawyer."The world of Marc was that of the large petrified avenues of boredom, cavalcades of stammered carpets, three-wheeled scooters, headlons with headache on soft paper, paneling and designer furniture, couriers, socks Parma, loop shoes… ”
University environment, pride and prejudices of the academic world, decomposition couple, pitfalls of parenting, societal upheaval, CULTURE CULTURE, alcoholism, love of letters, hesitations, self-mockery ... The portrait of a world is emerging, ample, fertile,Behind this central character of sexagenarian exhausted and confusing candor.Partial purity that feeds on artistic blur, blends into alcohol vapors and will plunge Roscoff without his own free will, in a slump whose time has the secret.
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"The Vergeur d'Etampes" won the Prix de Flore and competed for the Goncourt and the Renaudot.The pen of Abel Quentin, also penalty - he defends in particular one of the accused of the attacks of Paris - is fluid, rich, his style is nourished by details that kill, streaked with humor with absurd accents.There is little noisy cynicism in his prose, rather a form of benevolence, a slightly surprised look that his anti-hero himself is about the world as it goes, with intelligence and culture in accompaniment tochoice.Of course, the oils in tune with the times take somewhat for their grade, as well as the hidden of the web which invective under pseudo, but the lawyer in the soul is far too awakened to pour into aTest that would break down open doors.He opts for an "farce" with anar accents, with a situationist obsessions, with a disillusioned prose, satire of politically correct and well -brushed caricature of WOKE postures.Ferocious in their inanity, the latter reveal some intangible truths: the intergenerational gap has widened, even among the most enlightened sores.
"The Sampehller", by Abel Quentin, Éd.of the observatory, 384 p., 20 €.
Sébastien Minister gives a portrait of a woman through his "dressing room".In a scent of naphthaine, hand sewing of endless delicacy.
On the death of Vera Dor (her stage name), a former star of varieties, two of her nieces embark on the inventory of her outfits.A parade of beautiful, voluptuous clothing, to the refinement of another time.Shiny stage dresses, stunned sheaths, light clothes, wealth of textures.Pieces that summon sometimes outdated terms, form chapters that tell slices of life.The tailor loops, the scarf dress, the trapezoid dress with plated pockets, the cashmere cardigan, the zibeline cape….And who say better than all this hollow between two circles: Vera, fantasy, ambition, creativity, this visceral need to escape a written, brutal, reducing destiny.And, faced with his ghost which haunts the outfits so narrow that nobody can wear them, they are sure, two young women without a way, delighted with their suburban routine, their lifeless life, who think of liquidating these treasures onsales sites.This novel takes place like a tale where we oscillate between a few social paintings.Vera's nieces confusedly recall Javotte and Anastasie, half-sores of Cinderella, Vera's ornaments evoke the poetry of Disney-style color dresses or Jacques Demy.
Victim of family abuse, violated by her father, Vera fled the town where she grew up, this environment which oppresses her;This family where even the mother could not defend her.Very young already, she carries in her this I do not know what.By dint of work and efforts in her bet (she sews her own outfits, of the last chic), she climbs to the rank of executive secretary.Make the village talk but don't care.His elegance is his reserve.It absorbs, in drops, the vocabulary that counts, that of a sophisticated world.She will become a variety singer in the 1970s, under the leadership of an agent who will push her to record nonsense.These will become cult over time.She will later marry an easy -made industrialist with a well -kept secret.This is the time when a still unknown virus is wreaking havoc.
After learning to read, in which he tackled the link to the father with the finesse of a documentary maker, Sébastien Minister confirms his sense of narration, his mastery of the text.He knows the world of variety at his fingertips, explains behind the scenes by small touches.He also controls the northern mists in contrast and the vagaries of the coal basins.
This beautiful portrait of a woman is delivered in tremory classicism, between flash-white in black and white and shiny scenes.The chopped social dives menu compose, all in fluidity, a fresco that one would easily imagine seeing bloom on the screen.
"La Garde-Robe", by Sébastien Minister, Éditions Grasset, 192 p., 18 €.
It is an intimate story, a somewhat disillusioned, anxious, funny introspection that Fabian Maray delivers in black yellow.Florian, a man in the age of age tells the cherub that he was, his youthful wounds, his endless questions, and launches in pasture some reflections on this country which is there, whether we like it or not,in background.Red yellow black so.A French -speaking family of Flemish, Catholic, published origin.A father "fundamentally conservative and fiercely protest" who practices the ball in public in his spare.Support of the Bruges club, "hanging on the world of his childhood", he cries at the death of "Saint-Baudouin", with whom he "was body" on the decriminalization of abortion.The author evokes Baudouin, "Lamb of God who has become mystical", "addicted" to charismatic renewal, "a real business of brain washing".Florian cries Brel too, the one who delivered "a soul" to this Belgium without relief.Florian Child, it is this "blond angel with white skin, on the forehead too high, bottled with Jesus, bathed in font waters", marked later by the guilt of the sex.He will know his first emotions in Flanders.Kid, he is cajolé by Marieke, the neighbor, between the Tours de Bruges and Ghent.Marieke and her powerful and light thigh at the same time, who will be surprised in full triolism by Florian.He will hold it against him.Will not see her until years later.He finds her thickened, she lost her little flame and all this post-adolescent charisma.In filigree Belgium takes place, this Belgium "which died with the grandfather".This Belgium which turns on board and crumbles.Colonization, racism, Leopold II, Baudouin I, which looks like the grandfather, and its tutelary shadow.The monarchy, the community war and all its shots which are still rolling.
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Florian, on the advice of his wife, Birsen, Turkish, brilliant, solar, consults a shrink, despite himself.He rejects the first eye bearings method, a bitter failure, and embraces on classic therapy.He evokes his narrow education there, the prudishly imposed publishers, the unloved flesh, the guilty body, the absurdity of existence, at least his apparent absence of meaning.What meaning to give to his disappearances that kill?The friend who hanged himself, the young sister devoured by the crab.Live with death, tame your presence, make peace with the father.
"At the threshold of the fifties, Florent Martens continues to live his life settled like the paper of music from which he has never really perceived the meaning.Two successive events will upset its existence, ”announces the pitch.We also like this sentence in highlight of the author's site: "Starting from nothing to happen anywhere."It is for this sense of understament, among others, that we love Fabian Maray, of which it is the second novel, after windows without walls, at the same publisher.The personal story of a guilty body badly in his alabasterous skin stages the eternal family, a form of crisis of half life and, in a political-mording background, this dusty Belgium.There are great funny flights, there is this character "perpetually convinced by an inaugural feeling of affective staging, of love imposture", and the breath of a novelist capable of fire of all wood.
"Black, yellow, red", by Fabian Maray, ed.Bookelis, 195 p., 12 €.To order online.www.Fabianmaray.Be https: // www.Bookelis.com/Author/Van-Renterghem-Fabian/9616
"Peter and Petra Wolf form the most prominent couple of the German artistic scene since the 19990s."Comes from East Germany, she from the west.For several years Peter has refused, through his wife, the invitations of the most prestigious museums.This stainless reluctance, this posture hard as the stone arouses all speculation and pisses off specialists, directors, collectors and criticism of art.An organic is preparing for the couple, half of which seems unreachable.The microcosm of high -end art spreads into dated anecdotes, writes the breakaway of Peter at the time of the Berlin Wall, fantasizes his universe, even quotes it, rebuilds his life.Peter lives again through everyone's statements, creative testimonies, smoking anecdotes.This societal thriller with exciting flight offers a rare dive in the world of contemporary art, approaches with an effectiveness which borders on mathematical demonstration sexism which vibrates there.The author of the peripheral woman, the aptly named, recounts in an unprecedented mode, this global contempt of the feminine artist.She generously delivers these delectable details which tell the time of the iron curtain.And their exploitation in a Glossy magazine in a harder subject on the Berlin Wall.In this sharp "ostalgia", received ideas and linked clichés are awfully pinned, skillfully twisted and reduced or not to nothing.Sophie Pointurier is a size.The universe of this "researcher in translatology, interpreter in sign language, lecturer at the Sorbonne Nouvelle" seems to receive many possibilities.
"The peripheral woman", by Sophie Pointurier, éd.Harper Collins, 368 pages, € 18.Publication on 01/12/22
Pierre Darkanian addresses in this first novel the eternal call of the void: emptiness of the professional organization in business, overvaluation of incapacity, office scam, administrative-final scam ... and this world fond of very sounding deniers, swollen servicesto block, snoring titles, well -crafted and duly boring relationships, "brazil" atmosphere garnished with white passes, silver whitening and tutti quanti.Naturally takes shape the sterility of society in the broad, empty, vain sense, turning in a loop.At the heart of the debate, there is a tandem of incapable which flirt with the pyramid of Ponzi.They embody, in a burlesque which bites its tail, the ineptie of a world that never ceases to self-destruct by the absurd.Funny, cheerfully removed, punctuated in devil, this first novel with prosaic thriller is an absolute nugget.A steeple story that can be enjoyed from start to finish."The Chinese report", by Pierre Darkanian, ed.Anne Carrière, 304 p., 19 €.
Salomé Kiner tells, with guts and descriptions that send, the course of a suburban teenager.This one dark with a form of dumbfounded unconsciousness in priced sex-oral first, in a terribly cinematographic scene.Look at the allegory drifts of adolescence losing bearings and in search of bling.This is the end of the 90s.The brands of High-Street, cited in Permanent Name-Dropping mode, reign on a sweet and sticky universe where lightness is a philosophy that makes it possible to thicken leather.Class, suburban portrait.Superb mastery, hyperrealistic scenes, fluidity.This first novel is a big cry that leaves on the seant."Grande Couronne", by Salomé Kiner, éd.Christian Bourgois., 288 p., € 18.50.
Visceral story on a family pillar rarely placed at the center of a novel: the uncle.Animal character, little round man with the reactions of asocial child who stagnates in everyday life.Diogenes syndrome does not prevent attachment.Those who share his roof - a nephew and a niece - tolerate his elections, his eruptions, his excrement.In filigree is emerging, in a great sobriety, a family drama which is the knot of the case.Unsaid, childhood pain, abstention of a mother.And, in the nicely balanced final, also amazing, an animal fusion for the niece… Rebecca Gisler was born in Zurich and studied in Paris.It gives interminable sentences an unpublished inverting and texture.His prose is deliberately stripped of all heavy psychology.
"Of uncle", by Rebecca Gisler, ed.Verdier, 128 p., 15 €.
Maud Ventura offers with the amazing "my husband" a pseudo-candid story, often hilarious, round at will, to be enjoyed in the third degree.Conjugal love in blue flower mode which reveals, behind the suspicion of darkness that we sniff, an inner madness shared.It is about a couple centered on themselves, feminism, domestic life, home.There is also the cross manipulation between a character with hysterical accents and a male perhaps dominant.It is smooth and pink like mass capacity but crunchy inside, with modest cynicism with fifties accents.In the final bouquet, we expected a bleeding murder, worthy of a station novel.The fall will be outside the fields, without an ounce of frills.This first direct novel, like a boulevard, reads like a play."My husband", by Maud Ventura, ed.The iconoclast, 160 p., € 14.50.