He arrives, shaggy, with a scholarly tousled hair, a crumpled shirt and a “caviar grain” jacket.
Speaks slowly, weighing his words.
As if he wanted to contain or curb an eloquence which allowed him a few years ago to win the Paris Bar Lawyers Conference Competition.
He seems insecure but is probably much more than he looks.
In any case determined to make a name for itself.
To read also
The clairvoyant of Etampes
, by Abel Quentin: the scapegoat in the era of "cancel culture"
One might think from reading his book
Le Voyant d'Étampes
(Éditions de L'Observatoire), a cynical and funny contemporary farce against wokism and its variations, that Abel Quentin is a paunchy and ruddy author, a sixty-year-old hussar who has rolled his bump.
But no.
This UFO in the French literary landscape, whose second book is notably in the running for the prestigious Goncourt and Renaudot prizes, is in his thirties and young father.
And frankly does not have the profile of "neo-reaction" even if he has become, a bit like the antihero in his book, the alcoholic academic
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