S
eule en son abode
is already the eighth novel by Cécile Coulon, 31 years old.
Here's what happens when you write too fast: a pudding of pretentious fake poetry.
But Cécile Coulon also writes silly short poetry.
Judge instead:
To discover
Digital event of the literary Figaro: "How to get published?"
In the secret of publishing houses ”
"We then say goodbye when we might want to whisper about tomorrow."
"I only believe in the chances that have already happened."
"Everything is fine here except that you are not there."
(Homage to Richard Cocciante?)
Every two days, Ms. Coulon posts a flash of this kind on her Instagram account.
We will henceforth call “coulonisms” these digital obviousnesses.
"A poem is a great scratch of the claws in a tissue of lies."
"Away from the eyes so close to the heart."
"Since we left you haven't left me."
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Coulon is the inventor of a new genre: Insta-kitsch.
But enough laughs, let's go back to his last novel.
It takes place in the Jura.
A pure and innocent maiden is married to a rich orphan.
The girl's name is Aimée but is not.
The sad husband and
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