It starts with a loud breath.
A teenager rushes into Paris.
“Three inhales, three exhales.”
It's almost mechanical.
He clenches his teeth, his fingers are sweaty, his throat burns.
It is not a simple exercise.
Her bruised thighs hurt her, her knees the same.
He suffers to vomit, yet he does not stop.
It's as if his life depended on it.
“I spoil the pain.”
Victor, that's his name, says he
, but he's not running after something, no, he's running away.
He is pursued, even haunted...
Dersou Ouzala, by Vladimir Arseniev: the last of the Siberian Mohicans
Everything goes very quickly in this first novel.
Reader's questions first.
What is Victor fleeing from?
Why is he alone?
Then the language.
Matthieu Zaccagna's writing is fast, full of endorphin, nervous.
The words strike like a runaway's foot on asphalt.
Little or no time to breathe.
The text is raw, the pages are black.
The ink turns into tar.
We are companions of pain and Victor confides his suffering.
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