1. Lightning, Pierrick Bailly by Folio editions
History of a passion with as a framework the Haut Jura ❤️.
First novel that I read of this author (I just saw and very much liked the novel of Jim, I also see at least one bridge between his two stories since the two heroes find themselves with the child/children of another man) and certainly not the last.
“Lightning” tells the torments of a man who falls in love with the wife of a youth friend, imprisoned for murder.
It’s violent, sentimental, telluric, heartbreaking. With the backdrop of the beauty of the Jura landscapes that Pierrick Bailly tells so well.
-L’ile Sigríur Hagalín Björnsdóttir Chez Babel
Iceland, the other country of (sublime) novels
From the first pages, of this novel, I told myself that it was a real equal to be in Iceland. I do not know how to explain why but Icelandic literature always gives me a particular effect, as a connection.
Reading of the finished island. Iceland finds itself completely cut off from the world and gradually changes in a totalitarian regime. A metaphor for withdrawal that invades the world? It’s strong, intelligent, taking, powerfully written and still so brilliantly translated by Eric Boury but it lacks a little something to get rid of me
If you want to read this author, Sigríur Hagalín Björnsdóttir who is the wife of my favorite writer, Jón Kalman Stefánsson, I advise you in priority two formidable novels the missing and eruption, love and other cataclysms.
3. Julie Otsuka’s swimming line (Folio)
Memoirs to the sea (e)
It is a question of memory in the swimming line of Julie Ostuka, the third novel of my selection, but not immediately, the novel being built in two radically different parts. The first part takes place in a swimming pool, a place governed by a set of habits and rules that the author describes wonderfully just like the atmosphere.
It is so much a universe except for all the regulars that it is a question several times, as opposed to “up there” (the world when you leave this swimming pool). And then a crack appears at the bottom of the swimming pool, the concern begins to appear, then the cracks are multiplying and the pool firm.
💦 The second part immerses us in the life of the mother of the writer who loses her memory little by little until she enters a specialized house (ironically named Belavista).
It is of great beauty, never shoots tears, never spectacular, but always of a sublime accuracy.