Bernard Cazeneuve was minister, and even the first, everyone remembering his bearing and his eloquence, placed under the sign of a sobriety of good quality.
It is therefore a surprise to see him sign a fervent essay in a collection led by François Sureau - always better than banal Memoirs on (necessarily historic) days at Matignon.
The honest Cazeneuve deserts the company of the politicians of the ephemeral for that, in our eyes more advantageous, of the writers.
So much the better.
It is first of all Mauriac's childhood that holds him back, that of a son of the Bordeaux bourgeoisie familiar with the landscapes of vineyards, pines and sand which have imprinted lines, fixed an atmosphere and in fine constituted a work outstanding.
Is it identification?
This portrait of the child and then of the adolescent, feverish as well as fragile, visibly joins Cazeneuve in a story of origins placed under the sign of exile and loneliness, from El Biar to Senlis.
To explain what...
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