Foenkinos David, David Foenkinos ...? But yes, of course! Words like the sparkling Barisart Spa, a look exactly like a jovial enthusiasm which, if Dostoyevsky, we would find "Crime and Punishment" of more perky. So much for the ointment to the man and writer, ointment sincere, organic and chemical free. Foenkinos David, who remembers? Who would have thought it was necessary to ask the question after The erotic potential of my wife ? The author, it seems.
After the novel non-autobiographical, we are in self-fiction
Years accumulate faster than the books, inspiration becomes a wisp inaccessible, and writer, he becomes depressed. If the depression had romantic nuances, it would be made self-deprecating and wry despair lymphatic. More than forty, the David Foenkinos this novel is more a caricature of himself emptied, trying to cling to what is no more. And especially at this idea, that, light that hits him on the train from Geneva to Paris in contact with a unknown and revived in him the hope of creation.
... But as suddenly as his revelation, his disappearance emerged. The idea became lost in fantasy. Sure he will eventually find her, the writer makes the situation worse, dramatic, from his marriage. Between nostalgia and resolve, we must admit the end.
admit that strange flutter of a life that was once thought blazing crescendo. Admit that seducing women became more difficult, admit regret and respect for others, accept the silence, admit the addiction accept this form of undeniable failure ... but still hoping and looking.
From the bitter irony, funny courteously; formulas relevant to the ideas tender, funny or tragic: the author has clearly eaten his own gravy. A novel fragile but smiling, showing that David Foenkinos still has many things to say and tell ... (hopefully!)
