Tag: french lit

Eden,Eden,Eden by Pierre Guyotat

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Eden ,Eden,Eden by Pierre Guyotat

French fiction

Original title- Éden,Éden,Éden

Translator – Graham Fox

Source – Personal copy

I saw this on the list of books published in 1970, I bought it up a couple of years ago just as it had Michel Leris’s quote on the back, and I knew he was a leading intellect in France around this time. Well, when I looked a little more into this book, I found out it is much more than that it was Banned in France for sale to minors. This caused figures like Pasplinl, Satre, Beuys and Genet, to name a few, to sign a protest to that happening. It also led to the Nobel-winning writer Claude Simon resigning from the Prix Medicis when it lost out on the prize by a single vote. This book is of its time in many ways , of the style of writing and the events of the time, It is also hard to describe as a work. Given the sheer power of the way he set out the book to the reader, it is an assault on you, and it is just so full of words and events just happening constantly told in a single breath.

Khamssieh moaning: nauseated by workers’ jism mixed, bland, with saliva in mouth; wrinkled penis retracting into pubic fleece / ; date-picker’s other hand grabbing, squashing Wazzag’s hardening member against belly, palm hollowing pubis, orgasm – thread of blood-scented jism streaming, without spasms, out of glans – shining and crying through whole body of date-picker; youth rolling, fastened to whore, over strip of floor along counter, pulling member from between Wazzag’s buttocks, standing up, bare legs spread planted on one side, other side of rump of whore sprawling on belly, toes delving into hairs, under armpits; slow, stroking, with dusty heel, shoulder, neck, greasy curls over sticky nape, palpating balls against jism-spattered thigh; toes closing eyelids of whore against wood:

One of the pasages much the same all the way through just relentless at times

How to describe this book well, the book is set in a hinterland of Algeria in what may now be a sort of apocalyptic future at a whorehouse, as the war is all around them. The book is a massive nod to writers like Beckett, Joyce, and Burroughs. It is a single breathless splattering of words in fact when IO put a picture of it up a fellow book lover described it as like a machine gun of words as bodies, sex, violence and the world they are in blur into just a stream of words are never ending no gaps no real breath in the text itself as the sex of the whore house and the violence of the Algerian war which he had seen for himself.

Hamza, running back to camp, crossing through bunk-house packed with

simmering bodies, naked, half-naked,

sprawled out away from scorching partitions, opening bag, taking out vapotizer of Eau de Cologne, stuffing bottle into pocket, running back in long strides, running back towards cirque: nomad, lizard devoured, wiping lips with strip of veil spread over shepherd’s chest; shepherd seated between thighs of nomad, crunching scales of lizard’s tail, claws, tongue of youth protruding, thick, between teeth, to lick greasy fingers of nomad; Hamza crouching down, breathless, vaporizing, between thighs of shepherd, rag sheathing sexual cluster; nomad wrenching vaporizer from Hamza’s fist, caressing blue bottle, grey bulb, vaporizing skull of shepherd huddled against chest, placing lips bridled by veil onto perfumed skull; beneath rag, shepherd’s member twitching, stiffening; nomad laying hand over shepherd’s sexual cluster: abscesses bursting with hardening of flesh:

Again just a barage of words and images actions for the read to work through

As you see with the quotes, it is hard to capture what is happening. It is more a mass of emotions, sex,horror, violence, body parts and bodily fluids drifting over you as you read the book. This isn’t a read for the faint heart and is very much a book of its time in many ways. I think it is a cousin to Penolpe from Ulysses, where we see Molly Bloom sexually outbursting in one breathless cascade of words like this book. Beckett’s play Not I, which is after this book, has a similar feel of that breathless torrent of words of images of prevents in a way this would be served performed like Not I is that mouth and those torrent of words. But for me, the work it hit most was the Burroughs Red Night Trilogy, a book that came out after this, but I wonder if Burroughs had read this book or if it was just the fact he had spent time in North Africa and in the desert. I can see its part in the books of the time as I said at the start. It isn’t a book for everyone, but more for those who like a challenge and love stream of consciousness as a writing style. This is it at its most abstract, though. The other image I had when I finished the book was what if the cinema Pardiso had been a bookshop, not a cinema and the priest had cut out the violence and sex and the bookshop owner pieced those cutouts together, like in the film, had put them all together well this is that book it is like the worst piece of the most sexual and violent books you have read thrown into one book! Have you read this book? my final read for this weeks Club 1970

Little Jewel by Patrick Modiano

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Little Jewel by Patrick Modiano

French fiction

Original title – La Petite Bijou

Translator – Penny Hueston

Source – Personal copy

I just started on to another Modiano after reviewing Sleep of Memory the other day just as we went away, and that was it I read it whilst we were away I always take a pile of books, but we get an early start to get places when away have a full day wandering and buying bit places by the time we get back we just chatted and watch a bit of tv anyway this is a later Modiano written a couple of years before he won the Nobel prize ad is a new translator to me and also is from another publisher of his books Text. As ever, it is set in Paris.

IT MUST HAVE been about twelve years since anyone had called me Little Jewel. I found myself at Châtelet metro station at peak hour. I was in the crowd heading along the endless corridor on the moving walkway. There was a woman wearing a yellow coat. The colour of the coat caught my eye and I observed her from the back on the walkway. Then she headed down the corridor marked DIRECTION CHÂTEAU DE VINCENNES. Now we were all squashedagainst each other in the middle of the staircase, waiting for the barrier to open. She was standing next to me. I saw her face. She was so like my mother that I thought it must be her.

The opening lines of the book and Therese seeing the woman in the yellow coat

What happens when you lose your mother, then one day you are on a metro and think you see her in a yellow coat and decide you want to follow this woman? This is the heart of this story as we follow Little Jewel as she says no one had called her that since she was twelve so now nineteen, Therese has broken memories of her earlier life and when she follows this woman that may be her mother, those memories come to mind as we see her follow this woman everyday life. In the hope that she can patch together her own past.As is the woman, the countess that had died years earlier? What is her life, this mystery woman as ever we see place drift, and her memories and where we follow the woman mix this is one of the things he does so well place and feelings. He is a teen viewing the world, and as we see her trying to grasp what happened in the past to answer those questions, does she need the answers?

SOMETIME BEFORE THE evening when I thought 1 recognised my mother in the metro, I had met a person called Moreau or Badmaev at the Mattei bookshop on Boulevard de Clichy. It stayed open late. I was looking for a detective novel. At midnight, we were the only customers, and he recommended a title on the Noir list. Then we talked as wewalked together along the median strip down the boulevard. Occasionally, his voice had an odd intonation that made me think he was a foreigner. Later, he explained that Badmaev was the name of his father, whom he had hardly known. A Russian. But his mother was French. At that first meeting, he wrote his address on a piece of paper, under the name Moreau-Badmaev.

I like this looking for a detective novel is maybe a summing up of his style a novel looking to be a detective novel always .

As I said in the previous post on his bookmI feel Modiano has a bag of ideas that he uses, and he also has used some truth in this book it is based on an actual news story he had read, and it turns out he had edited the book when he found out from the actual Little Jewel that her mother was still alive. He always uses his hometown of Paris as the backdrop for this book. At the point where he started the book, I was reminded of the scene in Wim Wenders’s film until the end of the world where William Hurt’s character is seen by Solveig Donmartin’s character on a platform and follows him. Then I was reminded of what happens when a parent is reunited with a child in the film Secret and Lies. Those secrets and unanswered questions may sometimes be best left unsaid. Another Modiano trait is the lost person. This time, it is a mother, not a daughter. Then, how we remember the past is another trait of his works. Those fragments we remember are often real, but what happens when the past is blurred by the present. It is fair to say I loved this again. I think he is a writer I click with as a reader. He makes me want to wander aimlessly around Paris or sit in a cafe, watch everyone go past, and imagine them in a Modiano way. Do you have a writer you click with as a reader?

Winstons score – +A Another dive

Sleep of Memory by Patrick Modiano

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Sleep of Memory by Patrick Modiano

French fiction

Original title –Souvenirs dormants

Translator – Mark Polizzotti

Source – personal copy

Am I the only one blogging-wise that you see you’re getting to a milestone? In this case, 1400 reviews on the blog are not wrong in 15 years of blogging, especially when the first few months I did very little, so I have averaged 100 books a year for the last 14 years. I have been trying to think of which book to pick, and then, in one of those weird things that happened, I ordered a few books from World of Books as I tried to move away from Amazon for my books. One of the publishers I love is Margellos World Republic of Letters, and I looked up books from them and ordered this book. Then this week looking for a podcast to listen to one morning whilst having a coffee out I listened to an old episode backlist on Patrick Modiano’s honeymoon. I then looked back and saw it had been a while SINCE I had reviewed him. I had reviewed Dora Bruder (search warrant) as before his noble win, it was the only book readily available, so I reviewed days before he won the Nopbel and then, in a couple of years after, reviewed a few more. I really liked his books so with the first wave of books post Nobel I reviewed a number nad then since not so many, which is a shame he is a writer I love his books have similar themes and subjects but are different enough to make them interesting. So this one of his most recent books has several things we expect from Modiano: a look back at war, Parents that are useless or have caused issues to the person in the book. Mysterious women. all are here.

Geneviève Dalame was always the first to ar-rive, and when I entered the café I would see her sitting at the same table, way in back, head bowed over an open book. She’d told me she slept barely four hours a night. She worked as a secretary at Polydor Studios, a bit farther down the boulevard, which was why we would meet in that café before she went to work. I had gotten to know her in an occult bookstore on Rue Geoffroy-Saint-Hilaire. She was very interested in the occult. I was too. Not that I wanted to submit to a doctrine or become some guru’s dis-ciple, but because I liked mystery.

One of the women he knew over this time and had relationship with

The book follows a writer as he looks back at his early years, his teens to early twenties, and the woman he had met and had relations with over those years. Add to this, he is the son of a couple that had issues during the war years a nod to the trouble he had with his own parents as we see the odd collection of women he had meet over those years from someone interested in the occult. A woman floats through her life in a way an older woman, and maybe it is the death he may have been involved with one of the the ladies. Like in his other book, the exact facts of these women blend and drift as he remembers the crumbs left behind of his memory of each of them in vary amounts from the family friends he met when young to an almost Mrs Robinson-like lady several years older than himself, that he says he remembers very little of, but one thinks there maybe more. It is all set on the backdrop of post-war Paris, the awakening that happened in the sixties and eventually led to the events of 1968.

My memory of Madame Hubersen is also rather vague. A brunette of about thirty with regular features and bobbed hair. She used to take us to dinner near her building, in one of those streets perpendicular to Avenue Foch-on the left side of the avenue, facing away from the Arc de Triomphe. And here I am, no longer afraid to provide topographical details. I tell myself that this is all so far in the past that it’s covered by what the law calls amnesty. We would go on foot from her house to the restaurant that winter, a winter that was as harsh as the ones before it, next to which the winters of today seem rather mild; a winter like the ones I knew in the Haute-Savoie

Mike Scott has a song from his early years of TH Waterboys about his girlfriends. This is Modiano’s take on that, Jean. The narrator, as ever, is a thinly veiled Modiano; he, unlike Ernaux, mines his life, but this isn’t auto-fiction. This is Modiano fiction. He rips apart his life almost like Burroughs did with his prose. Modiano cuts out the events of his life, adds themes, and then switches them back together so we have a mysterious collection of Exs. One feels these are maybe exs but made to seem more than they were. As always, parents and the past war years are added. Through a little mystery about death and Paris, we have a Modiano book unique a feeling of over books but unique at the same time. He is the master of the crumbs of our lives. Those polaroids of the mind we all have fade in a way, and the actual taking of the event is lost in time sometimes. I think this is a fitting book to be the 1400 book I have loved the Nopbel prize, I am a huge fan of french fiction and Modiano is a writer I want to read all his books over time to build the full picture of this man and his life. Do you have a writer from whom you want to read all the books?

Winston’s score – A – has set me back into Modiano World, a Paris of the post-war years, remembered in many ways and with many women over time.

 

My Favourite by Sarah Jollien- Fardel

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My favourite by Sarah Jollien-Fardel

Swiss fiction

Original title – Sa préférée

Translator – Holly James

Source – Review copy

I was so pleased to get an email from an old PR connection about this book as Indigo Press has just brought some real gems out in the recent past, so this book was longlisted for the French Goncourt prize and won the Swiss version of the prize. I was also interested after reading it. One of the other prizes it won was a prize for books read by prisoners! Sarah Jollien -was born in a village like the main character in this book and fled to live in Lausanne; she is also a volunteer at a battered women’s society. She has also been a journalist for 30 years. This is her debut novel and multiple prize winner. The book is set in the 1970s in a small Swiss village in the mountains.

My dear friend. As we were leaving Mass, I’d heard those words, spoken by Dr Fauchère, whom we deferentially referred to as The Doctor’. The Doctor was one of the few people in our village back then who had a degree. That morning, Gaudin the butcher had given the Doctor a little bow on the church esplanade. Dr Fauchère interrupted his conversation to say: ‘Morning, my dear friend.’ How elegant those words sounded coming from his mouth. That warm smile, just the right amount of politeness and restraint. I saw how that ‘my dear friend’ gave the speaker an air of importance and made it clear to their interlocutor that they were not of the same rank. In a gentle, subtle way. So I decided to be bold and say it myself: ‘My dear friend.’ My father was not an educated man, but he had that instinct bad people and animals have.

She saw the Doctor as a man she could trust how wrong she was.

My only memory of the ’70s and Switzerland is Hedi, which we had on Tin the UK. This is the polar opposite of that romantic view of a mountain village. This is about the fear of silence when people can see what is happening but do nothing. Jeanne has grown up seeing both her sister and mother suffer at the hands of her father. So when he finally turns on her when she is 8 she decides she will go to the one man she seems to trust, and that is the village doctor, hoping with the power he has in the village of the one man with an education that people listen to she opens her heart about the violent attack of her father. Still, when he does nothing, her world looks set until she escapes to a boarding school and then later in life, after a brief return to the village, she finally gets to Lausanne a big city and feels invisible there as she recounts those years of her fathers abuse the effect the loss of a sister that was the fathers favourite that he did an unspeakable act. Her mother is caught in a catch-22 situation around her husband, and his violence is no escape. This is what you do about the monster at home.

Was my sister trying to frighten the life out of us all with her sudden death, or was it just to frighten him? Did she think she could give us a wake-up call to change things?

Or was it that everything – being rejected, the abortion, the child that was never born – had plunged her into such a black despair that death was the only thing that could put an end to the pain? I can’t accept that dying is the only way to stop suffering. It’s too absolute. It means we’ve lost against our father. I can’t accept that I was incapable of saving her.

The loss of her sister another victim of her father.

This is a brutal book about a violent man, a father and a husband from hell. This is about the silence we can see attached to domestic violence in a small village. Everyone seems to know what he did, but like the doctor, there is a wall of silence, which makes it even worse. This is a survivor’s tale. I was reminded of the violent father in This is England when reading this book. If you do not watch the series This is England, it captures domestic violence and asexual assault brutally. This is a powerful novella, and like the other book I have read from Indigo Press, it has a powerful voice behind the writing. It is a book about the darkest moments and how to escape, but do you ever escape that violence? Jeanne is in Lausanne, but there is still a feeling of what happened in the past. Have you read a book about domestic abuse?

Winston’s score – A – This is near the top of the year’s books so far.

Living with Our Dead by Delphine Horvilleur

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Living with Our Dead by Delphine Horvilleur

French non-fiction

Original title – Vivre avec nos morts

Translator – Lisa Appignanesi

Source – review copy

I had partly read this when I was sent it. Then, I felt it would be best to put it to one side for Woman in Translation month as there are never that many non-fiction works covered, and this book needs to be better known. Delphine Horvilleur was only the third female Rabbi in France and has been the editor of a popular Jewish magazine for several years.  A leading figure in the Liberal Jewish culture in France. She also became very popular during COVID-19 for her Zoom talks on Jewish texts, which even brought a non-Jewish audience to watch her videos. This book covers her dealing with the funerals, what she knew of the people, and how each person and funeral arrangement differs.

The Hebrew word for cemetery is a priori absurd and paradoxical. It’s beit chaim, the “house of life” or “the house of the living.” This isn’t an attempt to deny death or to conjure it away by erasing it. On the contrary: it’s an attempt to send a clear message to death by placing it outside language. It’s a way of making death know that for all its obvious presence in this place, it is not victorious; even here it will not have the last word.

The Jews understand this verse from the Torah, formulated in the book of Deuteronomy, as a divine injunction:

“I have put before you life and death… Choose life …

(Deuteronomy 30:19) To prove that they apply the commandment to the letter, the Jews invoke it and choose life in all circumstances.

L’Chaim, “To life!” they say each time they raise a glass, thumbing their noses at mortality

About Elsa funeral and the words chosen by Deplhine

She tells us of 11 services that she had been a rabbi and about the people, their families, and how she talked about their lives. I will pick two that really touched me; the first is the second funeral she talks about, and this is of the psychoanalyst of Charlie Hebdo, Elsa, who died in the massacre that happened at the magazine. Of course, the attack itself had to do with religion. This shows how she chooses quotes, and then in the service, a comment made me smile when she was described by a person at the funeral as a secular rabbi, which she takes well. But then, at the end, another person from Charlie Hebdo comes and says he would have her to do his service. I have seen this with a local person who has the talent she seems to have, and that is to connect with people. The second funeral is two funerals, but two people connected by one of the darkest moments. Simone Weil and Marcelina Lordina-Ivens, or as they called themselves, the Birkenau girls, had been in the same carriage to the Birkenau concentration camp. Both after the war wrote about the experiences Simone better known. I haven’t cover her but had reviewed Marcelina book a powerful book the two die with in months of each other when Simone dies she has many famous faces there and there is a line from Marcelina where she said Simone was the most beatuiful birkenau girl. A touching look at two women’s lives that saw the horrors of the world around them. This book is about how you deal with people’s lives, keeping them alive or the spirit alive to those a celebration of someone’s life.

Around us, a few women raised their eyebrows and gave us disapproving looks. I think the Simone within each of them was speaking loudly. Marceline, as ever, pretended not to hear.

At the end of his address, Emmanuel Macron announced that Simone Veil would be buried in the Pantheon. Marceline applauded noisily. “That’s wonderful for her,” she said, before adding, “But I’m warning you, I don’t want to be put in the Pantheon. Boring as hell there.”

Later, at Montparnasse Cemetery, Marceline spoke. She told us how her friend was a “hottie,” the most beautiful of the “Birkenau girls.” Her charm had worked on everyone throughout her whole life. Simone’s sons then recited the Kaddish, together with the two rabbis, a man and a woman, as they had wished, who pronounced the words of the ancestral prayer with them.

“Yitgadal veyitkadash shemei rabba …”

From Simone Veils funeral the comment about her from Marcelina

I said this book needed to be better known as it is a book that isn’t about death but more about how we celebrate those who pass and make them stay alive in those who attend the funeral. I said there was a local humanist preacher. I have been to several funerals where he has spoken about people I have supported or known. He has a great way of gathering information and making those he talks bout come to life. He is brilliant, and this is the sense I got from Delphine. There is a sense of why she is such a well-known Rsabbi in France. The way she talks about the people in the book makes them jump off the page. This book deals with death but makes you, as a reader, see the ghosts of those souls she is talking about. Have you ever been to a funeral and felt the preacher, no matter their religion, has done a great job at celebrating the life of those they are there to talk about?

Winston’s score- Just read it; I won’t score a book like this just feel you should read it!

 

 

Yell,Sam, If you still can by Maylis Besserie

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Yell, Sam, If you still can by Maylis Besserie

French fiction

Original title – Le Tiers Temps

Translator – Cliona Ni Riordâin

Source – Personal copy

I am back on with another book for WOman in translation month. I picked this up in Norwich on my recent holiday it is a book I hadn’t seen mentioned. It is also from a new publisher to me, Lilliput Press, and a writer I wasn’t that aware of. She had won the Goncourt prize for a debut novel. This book is the first of a trio of novels she is writing about literary connections between France and Ireland. The second book looks at the later life of the poet W B Yeats, and then a book about Francis Bacon’s Nanny. The other two books have already been translated by the same press. This book came out two years ago. Maylis Besserie lives in Bordeaux, and she works as a producer for a French cultural radio station. His connection to Irelan is the summers she was sent to Ireland by her family as a teen to learn English.

I could have spent happy days at Guinness’s, that radiant, flourishing brewery. Happy and hoppy. Alas, the memories come flooding back now that I’m finished. Now that I no longer know how to write. That I no longer write. Almost not at all.

I used to drink with Joyce too. In gorgeous glasses. We’d drink at nightfall, when the beasts return to the byre, huge quantities of white Fendant de Sion. Joyce converted everyone to his tipple – which reminded him of the urine of an archduchess, he used to say. Joyce converted everyone. Joyce was a real archduchess.

Guiness and drinking in the past with James Joyce

The book follows the last days of the Irish writer Samuel Beckett as he is in a nursing home, Le tiers Temps in Paris as we follow his life there, it is like he has become a character in one of his plays stuck in this nursing home the book is told by Samuel as we see his day to day life in the nursing home this has breaks asw e see his nursing reports the meds he was on and how he is doing viewed by the staff. The book sees a man looking back on his life and his complex relationship with his mother, May. Then, his time typing out Joyce’s Finnegans wakes up when he works for Joyce. Then, there are nods at his day-to-day life in the nursing home and the characters in his plays. It is waiting to die and, looking back, a great writer near the end haunted by his past and those ideas that have always been in his works of fiction.

May was a nurse. I could have taken advantage of a moment’s fatigue on the way back from a night shift in the wee small hours. I could have put an end to her suffering and to mine. No, to have done things properly I would have had to have killed her before my birth. Or in childbirth, giving birth to me, why not? That would have been ideal. A lucky birth – night and day. Of course, the best solution of all would have been if my grandmother hadn’t been born either. We would all have been nipped in the bud. That would have been the simplest solution. But chronologically, I admit, it’s a fucking mess.

One pieces of Beckett thinking of his late mother May

I enjoyed this. I like a book with an inventive idea of the connection between France and Ireland with writers and thinkers. Whether it is enough to last over the three books. For me, this worked. I don’t know Beckett as well as I maybe should, but I did watch a lot of his plays years ago, as channel four in the UK did a lot of them. But it worked; it is an old man looking back on his life and remembering working alongside Joyce as they drank, and he was typing out Finnegans wake for the great man and his mother, May. She was a significant influence on who he was as a person. Then, his nursing home has some characters he could have written himself. Are they his characters, or is that how he viewed the world? The next book in the series sees Yeats returning as a ghost in Paris, where he was buried. I think the Irish translator worked as it gave an Irish feel to the English. If that makes sense, well, it felt that way to me. Have you read any of the other books or this one by this writer? If you like quirky tales of famous writers, this is for you.

Winstons’ score – B solid novel about the last days of one of the greatest writers as he sees his world in a Paris nursing home.

Alice, The Sausage by Sophie Jabès

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Alice, The Suasage by Sophie Jabès

Italian fiction

Original title – Alice , La Saucisse

Translators – Catherine Petit and Paul Buck

Source – personal copy

Well , I’m a little late with getting off on this year’s Woman in Translation Month reviews. Actually, this is the fourth book I have read, so I have three more to review, I chose this as my first book as I think it is a hidden gem, and I always love the choices Dedalus make as a publisher. They have brought some great gems out in the last few years. We have Sophie Jabes, a French writer born in Italy and has lived in several countries. She has worked in both the US and France. This was her debut work and is one of those stories that is quite unique. This is a book about a woman who takes her own fable-like path after a stray comment from her father.

He remained silent for a while and then, with a suddenness that Alice took for lucidity, he adopted a solemn air that terrified her. He took hold of her hand and squeezed it very hard.

“Women, women, women… My dear, you re not Marilyn Monroe, so remember, you must be nice, very nice to men.”

Alice stared at him, horrified, as if an enormous storm had suddenly unleashed itself inside her head.

“I have to be nice to men?”

“Yes, very nice. If you’re a woman, either you’re beautiful, or you’re nice. You don’t have a choice, you understand?”

“No,” Alice whispered. She was shaking.

“It’s very simple.” He took her hands in his again. “Are you cold?” He rubbed her fingers absentmindedly. “You are not beautiful, so you must be … nice. I can’t find any other word. I mean very nice to men

The comment from her father that changes the course of the book.

 

Alice lives with some nuns. Her father and mother are divorced. Her father now lives with a Croatian woman and visits her infrequently, usually when they meet; she also meets her brother, a blind street artist. She feels the men’s eyes on her as she heads out on the street and feels she is very attractive to men. But there is a stray comment from her father when she meets him, and he has just fallen out with his lover. He tells Alice that she is no Marylin Monroe, so she must be nice to men. She tries to seek solace, but a. conversation with her mother is cut short as her mother is after an Asian man like her father. She is caught up in her own world, not her daughter’s life. This single comment is like a dagger through her heart and how she feels about herself. So the next day, her world is changed, and she seeks comfort, which she finds in food. We get a description of food she starts eating in large amounts, especially an ice cream cornet, which she delights in, as well as the tart and acid of raspberry and lemon ice creams. She then starts to change and put weight on as she sees. Even now, men are looking at her, but she continues to abuse her body.

Alice devoured all voraciously, forgetting for a moment the gaping wound she was dressing with provolone, parmesan and strained ricotta. Nothing satisfied her. Neither the tramezzini with ham, nor those with hard-boiled eggs, nor the slices of bread covered in mascarpone, or Nutella, nor the gnocchi with rosemary, nor those with tomato sauce. Each time she tried a new flavour, she hoped to find an answer to her anguish. Wanting to fill the intense emptiness in her being with penne and pappardelle

Next day she starts her eating and her is some of what see eats.

This is a tale about how we view ourselves and how a single comment can change a person’s life and how they view themselves as people. It has a fable-like description. It is about body image and how it can be twisted. Then there is the toxic nature of her parents toward her as a person. Her sorrow is drawn in the food she eats and the food is so well described the pizza ice creams jumped of the page. There is a hint of her descent into a world of food, the sexual nature of food, and her being caught in a Kafka-like descent into a world controlled by food. I found this a book that leaps off the page as we see Alice, whose body has changed, but in the later stages of the book, is starting to affect her health. A gem of a book, one of those that has a bit of this, and that seems like a book about a girl on the cusp of being a sexual object to men at that start until she is burnt, and she then sees food as her only escape from being nice to men. Have you read this or any other books from the Dedalus short series?

 

French Windows by Antoine Laurain

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French Windows bt Antoine Laurain

French fiction

Original title – Dangereusement douce

Translator – Louise rogers Lalaurie

Source – review copy

I have reviewed seven of the nine books that have come out so far from Antoine Laurain. He is the same age as me. I think that is why I connect with his fiction so well as a reader, as his points of reference are always things I remember. He is a light read. I chose today because I always read a book by him at the weekend. He is a weekend read. In fact, a warm day and an afternoon like this is the perfect time to get lost in one of his books. He mixes writing styles; this has nods toward Hitchcock’s rear window but other things as we meet a photograph that took a picture of a murder and now can’t take any more pictures.

‘You’ve spoken about your professional life, but not your private life.’ It’s a question I hesitate to ask, but it’s a necessary question all the same. Some patients develop an urgent case of verbal diarrhoea when they hear these words. But not here, not now.

All she says in reply is:

“Yes.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask. But her answer is a reassuring silence. I’m not sure I’m in the best frame of mind for a string of childhood stories, each more sordid than the last.

In truth, analysis is quite boring. Every now and then a patient will stand out from the crowd – gifted, intelligent, succinct in their answers – you can spot them straightaway.

Her frst visit to Dr Faber

Nathalia Guitry is a successful photographer. She lives in an apartment building with five floors, and whilst taking pictures, she sees a murder. This leads her to the door of Dr. Faber for therapy. When he suggests a way to get her mojo for photography back. Why does she not write about her fellow residents? This may explain what happened with the photograph, so we see Nathalia as she returns with a picture of all her fellow residents. Start with the actor come YouTube star. This captures a social infuser well in describing how they became a YouTube star. I loved a part later on a former resident that is in FIFE IN scotland as we see Nathalia paint the life o those around her or does she this is a great question is this the truth is she a reliable narrator? Who is the Japanese woman, and why does she only come home a couple of weeks a year to her apartment? Who is the killer?

‘Hi. Yes, I know where this is — it’s the Lady’s Tower in Elie, Scotland. I punched the name into my search engine straightaway and found more pictures of my tower, together with an explanation of its curious name. I’ll tell you about that later.

Now I’m passing by a tall mill on the edge of Saint Monans, a fishing village with a harbour, and a church that overlooks the sea. I pause to buy a small bottle of water – walking in the wind makes you thirsty. In front of the church, the cemetery’s dishevelled tombstones look as if they’ve been here since the dawn of time. I check my GPS; I’m on the right trail, I’m almost there. Keep to the coast path all the way along. I find a route right beside the water, before climbing up to the heathland once again. The sea is quite rough. I am showered with spray.

I remember walking between Elie and St Monans with my grandfater thirty odd years ago loved this part of the book.

I said I am a fan of his books. This is a great book as it mixes style, part therapy, middle-aged person on the edge, part mystery, then adds the scenes in Scotland as an aside. It is easy to mention books about buildings set in France. Perec jumps to mind, or the Jacobian Building, another around a building with interesting characters. With the murder she saw in the building, it is easy to see the Rear window as an influence, except he has flipped the story as the murder is at the start. But for me, the biggest influence may be Murders in the Building, the Disney comedy-drama that has been running for a few series. It has a murder like this and also quirky people living in the building a nod towards it with social media stars in both stories he has taken all this added a trip to FAife I loved this section talk about Elie where my gran and Aunt used to live. He is great at grabbing a reader for a few hours of wit and capturing Parisian life. Have you ever read any books from him? Do you have a go-to weekend easy-read writer ?

Winston score – A another slice of Laurain wit and Paris as we discover a murder or do we

 

Eastbound by Maylis De Kerangal

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Eastbound by Maylis De Keranngal

French fiction

Orignal title – Tangente ver L’est

Translator Jessica Moore

Source – Personal copy

This was a buy from Alnwick when I went to Barter Books. It had been on my radar since coming out. It is published in the UK by Les Fugitives, but in the US, one of my all-time favourite publishers brought it out, Archipelago Books. But her other books in the UK have been published by Maclehose Press, and I have reviewed two of them and read her short story collection. Maylis De Keranagal is a writer who is great at moments, people and how they interact. What drew me to this it was around a Russian soldier defecting and a French woman with her own story.

Aliocha locks himself in the first toilet cubicle that’s free, washes the blood from his face with plenty of water, examines the marks, makes himself a compress by tearing a length of toilet paper from the huge roll attached to the wall and soaks it in ice-cold water before pressing it to his red profile, his swollen nose. And then, ignoring the insults shouted by people waiting outside, their kicks against the door, he takes his time checking the mirror to make sure his face is slowly regaining its colour and volume.

But his bruises mark him out now as a victim, he knows it, and once he’s out of the toilet he seeks out the shadows, the darkness, and reaches his train carriage by slinking along the walls.

As he tries to find a way out of his military service in the train.

The story follows the Trans Siberian Express as it heads across Russia. On board is a young man, Aliocha, barely out of his teens, who is a conscript with his fellow conscripts on this train to spend time in the military in some far-flung hinterland in Siberia. He has tried to get out of it every way he can.So he is trying to find a way to escape of the train and hopefully find freedom. AS he initially hides in a toilet, he sees a woman unlike any he has seen before. This French woman has an air different to anyone else that he has seen. So he follows her and as he feels the fact he could be found he goes in her compartment and gets her to change her clothes so he can seem different she initially is hesitant but lets this young man and as the train g=cross the land we see Helene’s tale and that like Aliocha is on the run from her own problems a love affair with a man called Anton, the passionate affair started in Paris but as time goes on it has gone wrong hence she is escaping on the train as well. This is a tale of two lost souls, each with a reason to want to be as far away from their own lives as possible, colliding on this train.

THE DOORS slide open behind him. Someone has come into the compartment.

Aliocha turns: the woman who got on in Krasnoyarsk, the foreigner, it’s her. In one hand she holds a glass encased in silver mesh, and in the other, a lit cigarette. She stands in profile at a side window; she, too, is rummaging around in the night, the night that never closes completely here, but stays ambiguous, charged with an electric luminosity that always makes you think day is about to break. Aliocha observes her surrepti-tiously, swivelling his eyes in their sockets without moving his body: she’s smoking, very calm, her face faintly shining. He’s never seen women like her, awake at this time of night and alone on trains transporting troops, women in men’s shirts and big boots, not in Moscow;

Helene catches his eye she is so different than other on the Train

I had heard Mookse’s podcast about Hotel novels. I think this is maybe the next subject they may do about books set in a place as a train journey is such a great setting for a novel as it is always a cross-section of people, and this is so much the case here. How else would a young 20-year Russian conscript want to run away ever meet an attractive middle-aged French woman herself also wanting to escape an event in her life? The parallel in the stories is something she has touched on in other books,. The moment is a turning point in the book Mend the Living and the tale of two people connected by a single heart. This has a turning point of a disaster, whether it is death or her trying to escape her world. Then there is the pace of the book. It has that feeling of the train, and when you are on a long trip on a train, but the near you get to the end, the faster the world seems to go, and this is the case here. We find out the two of them stories and when they meet and he hides the book moves on from that point like an intercity 125 on course as the two of them are  Eastbound on the Trans Siberian Express, but maybe both wanting to be Westbound will the find Aliocha and will Helene escape the boredom of her life with Anton back to the city she loves Paris. Have you read any of her books?

Winstons score – +A a great novella from one of the leading French writers

A Terrace in Rome by Pascal Quingard

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A Terrace in Rome by Pascal Quingard

French fiction

Original title – Terrasse à Rome

Translator – Douglas Penick and Charle Ré

Source – Personal copy

We all have a list of writers we want to get to well. Pascal Quingard has been on my list of writers to read for a couple of years now . I’m not sure where I first heard about this book. It was probably Twitter somewhere. But the fragmented nature of this book, when I heard about it, appealed, and the fact it was about an engraver as we had some acid etch engravings at my father’s house. Quingard has won several prizes won the Prix Goncourt, which in many ways is like the French Booker or is it the other way around? The Goncourt has been going longer. He has written many books, and sadly, they seemed to have never quite been taken in English as a writer. I’m not sure if it is their style of writing or if his books are all different? This is my first but not my last I will say that.

A few days later, one morning in August 1639, a most beautiful day, Nanni wakes him up. Meaume doesn’t believe his eyes. She is there, in his garret. The girl he loves has returned. She is leaning over him. She is tapping his shoulder. He is naked. She does not lust after his naked-ness. On the contrary, she throws a shirt on his belly. She whispers in a low voice, an urgent voice: “Listen to me.

Listen to me.”

She turns around as if someone were following her.

Her face is that of a frightened woman. Her eyes sparkle with anguish. Her face is flushed, gentle, drawn, emaciat-ed, serious. She has dark circles under her eyes. Her long hair is tied back simply under her gray cap. She is wearing a gray dress with a white ruff. She is more beautiful than ever. She bends toward him.

She tells him to go or he may die

This is the life story of an engraver called Geoffrey Meaume. He is learning his trade in Bruge when he falls for the daughter of the goldsmith, her slim waist, hands, and heavy breasts. They meet and fall for one another, but she has a fiance. This is early on in the book, and when the fiance catches up with Meaume, he throws acid in the young man’s face, causing him to be disfigured for the rest of his life. This seems to be the end of it till the young woman appears and tells him that her fiance isn’t happy that he was fined for what he did to Meaume. But this has not simmered, and he now wants Meaume dead. So the young engraver goes on the run and ends up first in Mainz Germany. As he moves the engraving, he draws go from Erotic to religious A man scared for life pours his life into his art but also the memories and glances of women as he goes through his life is a sort of torment life in small chapters as this man has very little joy apart from that one time that ends in is face being burnt off by acid.

He runs, he ran. Left Mainz. He stayed three weeks on his own without putting his nose outside the door of an inn on the other bank of the Rhine where he had taken lodgings in a sort of stable with six other men. Three weeks of dry sobs, his body lying in the hay and its heavy smell. Then he left that world, crossed Wurtemberg, the Swiss cantons, the Alps, the Vatican States, Rome, Naples. He went to hide his face for two years, staying in Ravello above the little village, in a cliff on the Gulf of Salerno. Finally it was Rome in 1643, the Aventine Hill, the terrace with the covered porch, the nocturnal engravings, the scandalous collection of 165o, the erotic cards on which he dreamed of love. The engravings were marked with the sign of the shop, the Black Maltese Cross on the Via Giulia.

He eventually ends up in Rome hence the title .

This is a look at a torment soul a man that was young and brilliant at his art attractive to this young woman and all this end with the acid attack it is a survivor story but the torement from having such a scar and how his disfigured face will effect the rest of his life. As a man broken by that one event and how this can lead to a dark life of repressed desire , sex, and wanting in the man. I loved the fragmented nature of the books they are like etchings from his life a sort of literary version of Gin Lane. This is a tale of a man’s downfall in a way like the famous etching by Hogarth. It reminds you how etchings are the photo magazines of their day capturing events beauties like early in the book or scenes of religious imagery. I have found a writer I want to read lots more from Qingard. It is always a joy to discover a writer with a style I like the fragmented nature of this book as we look at the vignettes of this guy’s life like a pile of old Polaroids telling a story over time in the changes we don’t see at first but in photos and here in the vignettes, we see how his life move on. WHat is your favourite book by this writer?

Winston’s score – A , A new voice for this reviewer to read .

 

Ultramarine by Marietta Navarro

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Ultramarine by Marietta Navarro

 

French fiction

Original title – Ultramarins

Translator – Cory Stockwell

Source – review copy from translator

Now, I was sent a couple of proofs from Heloise, which was kind. I had been sent their first book, and I just never got around to reviewing it. So, I owe them a review or two. They are another publisher that champions female voices as they say on the website. Héloïse Press champions worldwide female talent. Héloïse’s careful selection of books gives voice to emerging and well-established female writers from home and abroad, with a focus on intimate, visceral and powerful narratives. This is the debut novel from French poet and playwright Mariette Navarro. She came up with the idea of the book after she went on a writer’s retreat that was two weeks on a cargo ship from France to the West Indies. Although she had seasickness, the book was inspired by the notes she took while on the ship.

THEY SLIP INTO THE WATER.

The tips of their toes and then their entire bodies: the sharp pain of the cold and the burning salt that seems to become more potent as it touches the skin. Ribcages compressed by the immense ocean, as though the enormous mass, grey in places, didn’t allow itself to be penetrated quite so easily – witness how, from the beginning of the voyage, the water has systematically closed back in upon itself behind the freighter that does everything in its power to cleave it. You can’t tear it like a piece of cloth; you don’t leave any imprint on it, as you would in sand or snow. By plunging into it, you condemn yourself to invisibility

There is something sexual as she watches them in the water

 

Ultramarine is a poetic book that follows a cargo ship on the journey she took from France across the Atlantic. The big difference she wants to make in her story is that the captain of the ship in the book is female. She is the only female on the ship, but she is respected and well-known, as her father was also a well-known captain on the same shipping line. But when she decides that as the sailors would all like a swim in the ocean a sort of  take on the Neptune festival when you cross the from the hemispheres so they are all lower in a lifeboat the twenty of them but did more come back, there is a point while they are swimming where they try to count the sailor and get 21? But after this piece of freedom, the boat has a weird feeling. The boat slows, and things are going strange. Her connection with the crew changed after that event.

She kept going along these lines, feeling her way for-ward, and for a few weeks that was enough to recreate a kind of link – tenuous, shifting – between her and this captain without a ship. Among her clearest visions was the face of death, which her father had clearly witnessed in a way no one living should see, and which explained his silences better than all the medical scans he was made to undergo.

She thought of that passage from the Odyssey that had made such a mark on her when she was small. Ulysses, lost at sea, arrives by chance in the kingdom of the dead, and proceeds to visit them. He meets sailors who have recently died, shipmates whose death he’d been unaware of, and finally, after a dramatic and tearful build-up, his mother. He’s the only person in the world to have ever been offered the chance to speak to his mother one last time. As for her father, perhaps he also found Ulysses’ secret pathway, but didn’t come all the way back, instead remaining there in this world between worlds where it matters little whether you walk in the rain

this is near the end but Mariette said she loved the Odysessy so this passage jumped out at me

This book has a poetic feel. The Beyond the Zero Podcast features an interview with both the writer and translator, which made me want to read the book. It explained that the seed of novella was from the two weeks she spent on the cargo ship. But the main part of the text is from her notes on the two weeks she spent on the boat. But she wondered what would happen if. The captain, instead of a man, was a woman, and if they had this event in the middle of the cruise, what would happen? The later part of the book has an eerie feel. At times, something isn’t quite right, but you can’t put your finger on it. She mentioned she is a fan of sea-based books from Odyssey to Moby Dick, even though the title is a nod to the deepest blue, a nod to the ocean, a title that was also used by Malcolm Lowry for a ship-based book. Also, there was a band called Ultramarine, best known for the United Kingdom album, which would fit well with this book. it is poetic and dreamy at times. The writer is working on a new novel that will be out later this year in France, and hopefully, we get another poetic slice from this writer. This is one of those books that hasn’t a lot but has such beauty in the writing and the translation. They talked about how some of the ship terms were hard to translate and how poetic Mariiette’s writing is? Have you read any of the books from Heloise Press yet?

Winstons score +A stunning poetic book about a captain and her crew after a swim

 

Clara reads Proust by Stéphane Carlier

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Clara reads Proust by Stéphane Carlier

French fiction

Original title – Clara lit Proust

Translator – Polly Mackintosh

Source – Personal copy

I’ve long been a fan of Gallic books, but it has been a break since I reviewed one of them. But yesterday I was in Sheffield we had gone for a morning out, and I happened on this that hadn’t long come out from them it jumped out as the next few weeks I’m after relatively short books to try and get some more reviews done .it was a reminder to me that I still have to get past swans way in Proust myself but like a lot of projects i needed to get a move on with  this is the tale of a hairdresser discovering a copy of swans way and finding a connection in the modern day to Proust. Stephane has spent time abroad working for the French Ministry for Europe and Foreign Affairs. He spent a decade in the US. This is his eighth novel but the first to be translated into English.

That same evening, Clara will pick the book up and put it in the bookcase in the corridor, on the same shelf as L’Appel de l’ange and La Fille de papier by Guillaume Musso, Ma médecine naturelle by Dr Fabrice Visson, Glacé by Bernard Minier, I Am Zlatan Ibrahimovidby Zlaran Ibrahimovie, The Secret by Rhonda Byrne (a gift from Anais, Clara’s childhood friend), The 30 Most Beautiful Hiking Routes in Burgundy (a gift from her father), Trois baisers by Katherine Pancol, Bélier: Daily Horoscopes, the 2011,2013, 2015, 2016 and 2018 editions, as well as a dozen Akira Toriyama mangas, which JB loves. The book will stay there for precisely five months, twenty-nine days, two hours and forty-seven minutes.

The other books she has brought back the cindy Coiffeur

Clara describes the clientele at the quiet hair salon she works, those that come in regularly and how they like their hair on of them decide out of the blue to go Blonde.  Then he colleagues within the hair salon like her tan mad boss . The daily to and fro of a small hair salon in France, she has over time found several books, so when she finds a copy of Swannn’s Way left behind in the salon, she thinks nothing of it till she then falls into Proust world as she is drawn in more than any of the other books she has read over the years. There is a list of the books she has taken from the salon, a footballer biography, horoscopes in books, and a couple from the best-selling French writer Guillaume Musso. But this book captures her with that lightbulb moment when you move from the occasional reader to a fan of books and literature that we all have. So much so that she decided to attend a festival and read the piece of Proust that she loved on the street.

It began with the thought that Nolwenn’s mannerisms were similar to those of Françoise from In Search of Lost Time. Then it was Madame Habib who seemed like a character from the book, with her fits of snobbery, her physical and verbal tics, and her mournful, frog-like eyes. Clara eventually realised that the book is so vast and encompasses so many topics that it is virtually impossible not to see the world through its lens while you are reading it. Even the smallest things become Proustian. A cluster of wisteria, the violet colour of its flowers against its green leaves.Dust suspended in a shaft of light in an otherwise dark room. And Annick, her mother, who always turns her head slightly and half opens her mouth when she is photographed, as if there is someone calling her at the exact same moment. That is Proustian, truly Proustian.

She compares those around her with the porust characters later on

I have loved This sort of book from Gallic Books over the years. They do these great fun reads, light and perfect for a summer evening, and can be read in a couple of hours. It also reminds all of us readers why we love books and reading that moment we all have when we connect with a writer. I’m sure being in France and knowing where he talks about Helps with cracking  Proust a writer. I have read Swann’s way several times but not got into him as much as Clara does here. That is what this is about the power of books to inspire people and how, even over a hundred years later, you can still connect with Proust. I like the little description of the shop and how she fell in with Swann and his story. Have you a favourite book about someone getting inspired by reading?

Winston score -A: This is what Gallic does best. This type of French lit is very French fun, inspiring and like a palate cleanser.

And the stones cry out by Clara Dupont-Monod

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And the stones cry out by Clara Dupont-Monod

French fiction

Original title – s’adapter

Translator – Ben Faccini

Source – review copy

I love it when you are sent a book from a writer you have reviewed before, and the book you have been sent is completely different from the one you had reviewed. This is the case with this book from the French writer Clara Dupont-Monod. Her previous book I had also reviewed from Maclehose Press, was a historic novel that was about the son of Eleanor of Aquitaine. Here this is a book set in the present. But actually, some details are sparse. It is about three siblings dealing with a disabled brother. This has a little connection to the writer’s own life. She grew up with a disabled brother. She had already been up for some of the top prizes in France, but this won two, the Prix Femina and GoncourtDes Lyceensa; it became a bestseller in France.

Three months went by before anyone noticed the boy didn’t babble. He remained silent most of the time, apart from the odd cry. Sometimes a smile appeared, or a frown, or a sigh after he finished a bottle of milk.
Occasionally, he got startled when a door slammed. That was it: a few cries and smiles, a frown, the odd sigh or a twitch. Nothing else. He didn’t wriggle. He stayed calm.
He was “inert”, his parents thought without admitting it out loud. The baby showed no interest in faces, in dangling mobiles or rattles. Above all, his shadowy eyes didn’t settle on anything. They seemed to rove from side to side, while his pupils reeled and turned, as if following the dance of an invisible insect, latching onto nothing in particular. The boy couldn’t see the bridge, the two houses, or the courtyard separated from the road by an old wall of reddish stones.

The brother and the house they all live in with the stones that are refered to in the title

The book is about a disabled child and his siblings. The book is told from three points of view of the brother and sister who are around when the brother is alive. There is a very detached nature book. The children are just older brothers and sisters. There are just thoughts of connection, like the older brother getting his face next to his brother and just being there with the child, described as having large black eyes that drift in and out of focus. A plump child with translucent skin and blue vein legs. It made me think of one young man I looked after many years ago who was in a wheelchair but had a child-like appearance. The sister she is distant I really felt her part having spent years working with people with Learning disablities I had seen many sisters and relatives like the sister it is hard having a brother with a disability you can resent the time they suck up from your parents and this is caught well here. Then there is the brother that comes after the disabled brother has passed the child to fill the void, but also you are touched when they said they checked to see everything was okay when he was born, but he has his own issues living in the shadow of what had come before. I loved how she took emotion and names and made the time fluid. It made it feel universal and connect with everyone who grows up with a disabled sibling.

SHE RESENTED THE BOY FROM THE MOMENT HE WAS born. Or rather from the moment her mother waved an orange in front of his eyes and realised he couldn’t see.
The sister’s bedroom window looked straight out on to the courtyard. So she’d seen the bright stain of the fruit’s colour, her mother crouched down, and heard the faintness of her tender, sing-song voice before it fell silent. She remembered the raging chorus of the cicadas, the tumbling roar of the river, the guffawing of the trees shaken by the wind. Yet nothing remained of that summer sound. There was only

The sisters story and how she feels about her brother .

Now I can see why this caught the mood in France. They love a piece of autofiction. But is does capture so well the dynamics of growing up with a disabled brother . The way many siblings go from the devoted sibling to the older brother, he has a wonderfully symbiotic relationship. He knows what every noise and twitch means. I remember a mother that used bring her son for repite that was like this that new her non verbal son so well. Then we have the sister that feels as if she is second best. I have seen this and have not seen it. The sibling mentions that she is never there. The relation, you know, feels like this. After thirty years of supporting various patients and families, these are all observations I have seen. Then, the replacement brother is well written. It captures how maybe the curious incident did capture the autistic view of the world well. It seemed a view at the time. This captures the  inner working of a family with a disabled son when he is there, the void that is left when they die and how it can touch and affect each sibling. This is a gem of a novel that should be better known. Have you read a writer who can write such different books as a historical novel and a heartfelt story of a disabled brother?

Winstons score – A gem of a novella

 

What you need from the night by Lauren Petitmangin

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What You Need From The Night by Laurent Petitmangin

French fiction

Original title –Ce qu‘il faut de nuit

Translator – Shaun Whiteside

Source – Personal copy

I brought this in York on our trip just before Christmas. I felt there is always a french novel that I hadn’t know of on the booker longlist. But I also liked the fact it was a father bringing up his sons after the death of the mother. This is a subject not often tackled in Fiction. I hadn’t heard of Laurent Petitmangin or this book it had won several prizes in France when it came out. The writer came from a family of rail workers in the East of France. I would imagine it is in the Metz area, where the book itself is set in the 54th department  of France. near Lens and Metz (I’m sure Eric Cantona had played for one of them back in the day )

FOR WEEKS WE were invited to Jacky’s and to other people’s houses too. Wed never had so many invitations in the three years of illness, or even before. It was nice, but it made me feel sorry for la moman. She hadn’t been able to take advantage of any of that, of those endless drinks and snacks that led so nicely into a good meal.

We got pretty drunk quite quickly so that we didn’t have to talk, or else so that the flood of words came more easily. The most important was to break that awkward moment that would inevitably come. Feeling obliged to talk about la moman in a lower voice so that the kids carried on playing and didn’t listen.

The weeks after his wife died they are hel;ped by all those around them

When a father loses his wife to Cancer he promises her he will do his best with the kids as they grow up. Of the two sons, Gilou is the younger son. After the loss of his mother, he becomes a studious young man after his mother dies. It is almost as though he throws himself into his studies to deal with his grief. This is not really discussed in the book; it is just my observation of the book. Then there is the older son, Fus, who was actually doing just as well as his brother when their mother passed. But unlike his brother, he goes the other way and starts slipping. But on top of this, he is close with his father and brother, both staunch socialists. So when he comes home wearing Lazio’s symbolic scarves of the Ultras. He is drawn by the feeling of brother he gets from these new friends. This sets father and son on a head course. The book’s backbone is the love between them and the football the father uses for them to bond when the mother dies. But it also shows how easily someone can get caught by the seemingly charming right-wingers he falls in with.

‘What’s that, Fus, your scarf?’ Gillou asked him.

‘No, fatso, that’s not a scarf, it’s a bandana.

I took a look at the bandana myself and I was puzzled.

‘Fus, what’s that cross on there?’

‘Dad, I don’t know anything about it, it’s just a bandana that a mate lent me.

‘Fus, if you don’t know then I’m going to tell you, it’s a Celtic cross! A Celtic cross! My God, Fus, are you wearing fascist gear these days?’

When he sees his brother wearing a Ultras symbol in the form of a bandana

I’m pleased I read this I hadn’t seen it talked about much. But it is my sort of book I like books around family buit this has a little bit of football thrown in. Also, growing up and being tempted by those dark charmers we all meet when we are younger, whether into drugs, drinking, or her, in this case, being right-wing, anything to form a sense of comradeship. I think of the film This is England, where we see a young man drawn down the same path by another charmer in the form of Combo or even a French take on the same story where we see the young Quin Quin drawn to be right-wing in part of the series. The unnamed father had done his best, but it shows what happens when political extremes appear, and they all have to deal with the fallout from this and its effect on the whole family. I am pleased I picked it up as I hadn’t seen it mentioned. I just liked the description when I read it: Waterstones York, where they had it up as maybe a staff pick. Anyway, a book that can be read in the evening lingers with you after you finish it! Have you heard of this book ?

Winston score – B solid novella around grief moving on political extremes and family at the heart of it