and cocaine, his complicated relationship with his father, Jérôme, and his total admiration for his mentor, Michel. In short, this is a story of a privileged young man’s coming of age, yet despite the vibrant milieu and exciting cast of characters , the story rarely rises above the typical. Jérôme proved to be a loving father, but one unable to show affection overtly, a man who preferred the workplace to the home: “Il aimait la famille, mais pas la vie familiale” (182). He accepted his son’s sexual orientation, but preferred not to discuss it with him, and also did not appear to be particularly helpful to Mathieu at the beginning of his literary career . Perhaps that was indeed the case, but Mathieu mentions in passing that his father helped with the publication of his first book, and secured him a stage at Le Nouvel Observateur. This hardly appears to be an example of paternal indifference , and underscores Lindon’s advantages in the very competitive Parisian intellectual market. Lindon’s attitude toward Foucault is much less nuanced: “L’amitié de Michel est une des choses dont je suis le plus fier dans ma vie” (177). While the young man’s affection for the older is obviously deep, the portrait he paints of his mentor reveals little that is new, and nothing that is remotely critical. Foucault is unfailing polite and helpful, practically always smiling, and concerned to keep his young lapins at a distance from his kinkier sexual activities. Lindon’s obsession with explaining his attitudes and feelings toward the great man have the unintended effect of shifting the focus from the admired to the admirer. Ultimately, Foucault remains rather a distant presence. To some degree, the goal of this book was to expand on the idea that “il faut du temps pour comprendre ce qu’aimer veut dire” (15). Yet, to the extent this was the purpose, it really only applies to Jérôme Lindon. Although Foucault is clearly the centerpiece, if there are moving moments in this book, they occur as Mathieu struggles to accept his father’s tough love, and Jérôme labors to hold off death until he can express the depth of his feelings to his sometimes prodigal son. Ce qu’aimer veut dire might well have been a book Mathieu Lindon had to write, but perhaps not one he had to publish. Florida State University William Cloonan LORRAIN, FRANÇOIS-GUILLAUME. L’homme de Lyon. Paris: Grasset, 2011. ISBN 978-2246 -772118. Pp. 249. 16 a. Le devoir de mémoire suffit-il à colmater les brèches du passé? Kristallnacht, les pogroms, le Vel d’Hiv, Vichy. Après un long silence, la conscience collective se réveille en sursaut et le remords s’insinue avec ses “ismes”: révisionnisme, relativisme, apologisme. Comme l’exprime Paul Ricœur dans La mémoire, l’histoire , l’oubli (2000), nous souffrons à la fois de trop d’oubli et de trop de mémoire. Lorrain, agrégé de lettres et critique de cinéma—ce qui explique en partie la méticuleuse construction du récit, le sens du suspense et de l’image, le trait précis, malgré un cliché-couac de temps à autre—nous offre avec L’homme de Lyon son quatrième roman. Il y flotte un air d’autobiographie dans un encadré de polar. Sept ans après la disparition de son père, un fils reçoit un mystérieux paquet de lettres accompagnées de six photos. À partir de ce mince legs posthume, le narrateur va mener l’enquête pour reconstituer une chronologie des faits, mais aussi pour cerner la personnalité du docteur Guy Rolin, ce père distant et énigmatique. Il s’agit d’abord d’organiser les pièces du puzzle en identifiant les lieux (Lyon, été 992 FRENCH REVIEW 85.5 1944) et les personnages associés à chaque photo. Sur une prise de vue de cette ville, alors sous la botte de la Gestapo et de la Milice, s’inscrit un message précurseur de l’intrigue: “C’est là que tout a commencé et que tout a fini” (33). Le...
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