I still remember, as a young man, the discovery of Denis Tillinac.
I was 17, I think.
It was, by chance, in
The novel of a president
, a work devoted to Jacques Chirac.
The character had intrigued me and I therefore turned to the writer to immerse myself in a work that I then never gave up.
To read also:
Denis Tillinac, writer very attached to Corrèze
It has been said: Tillinac was the writer of the Right Musketeer, of Corrèze France and of the happiness of being reacted.
He was also, and perhaps above all, the writer of melancholy, haunted by the fall of the West into modernity, and convinced that man could not really recover from it.
He had confessed it in his own way in
The Masks of the Ephemeral
.
“
To be from here, at the turn of the third millennium, is to walk in the tail of a very long funeral procession.
It does not prevent living.
Nor to contract marriages of convenience with his century.
All the same, it strikes the happiness of a high coefficient of melancholy.
[…] The melancholy was shrouding
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