Anyway, Desproges was a master of the short distance, chronic indictment, Necessary Minute or sketch, and was able to give some of his listeners / readers a taste for long phrase with multiple twists to absurd or divergent asides, the phrase similar to moon these attractions where lon is carried away by a water stream which meanders by ignoring it will pass but screaming with pleasure each of them. This trapped and trapping sentence is found in his only novel, The Women Fall, as Sempé, who designed the beautiful original cover (one wonders why the publisher's abandoned in favor of these very same ugly mosquitoes are related sils with history), described in 1988 as "a long cry of love to one hundred, one hundred and fifty thousand copies." In this novel, Desproges with his usual gentle cynicism, said: "we must not forget that this is not quun book to read, this is also a book to sell." Let us say a little den.
From the strict point of view of history, The Women Fall boils very quickly: in Cérillac, a small town lost the borders of Périgord and Limousin, women succumb to an outbreak of suspicious deaths, violent or not, from the léventration haberdasher (which "kept in the death of this air con Mercières measuring bungee panties") the fragmentation of the "first town clerk [] shredded by the Paris-Hendaye" through the "harem apothicarial 'corner finds quon 'nose in the small Lu, "to conclude a" tangled mess members and knotted in death as in a terrible part of legs in the air captured by Hieronymus Bosch in a chubby Auschwitz "at the foot of the local castle. The culprit is discovered by Jacques Rouchon, the doctor of a mosquito modified by aliens, who came from Ficus, and aquaphobes caoutchouquivores, to encourage female part of humanity to suicide and thus to eliminate the said humanity. On this canvas labsurde brushing deliciously sweet and misanthropy (imagine the eradication of humanity, I ask you a bit), Desproges embroiders a double parody detective story and science fiction novel, but a policeman families where pandores are clowns and lenquêteur doctor drunkard, and science fiction regressive as can be, not caring as his first dune galaxy any scientific plausibility. In short, it samuse, and the reader with him.
Dautant the main thing that the novel fails in its history or in genres that he mistreats nicely: it fits in the art of formulation that kills Desproges masters perfectly. For example, the idea and the same firm in 2015 quen would pass the object dune sues, the first description of the son of Jacques and Catherine Rouchon verbatim:
"It was unusual, if lon refers to the employee means bank as quétalon basic normality. God did not wash off. Coming out of her mother, He was a beautiful baby, and then life sétait started to fall on her face with a devastating frenzy bulldozer. In two years, his beautiful blue eyes baby sétait common burdened bovine torpor while his skull sallongeait in shell, his complexion verdassait, members cowered in vines. He was austere approach of seagulls and Oiled bramait tirelessly deciduous chants that whispered the wind. A lit fool Mona Lisa smile across his snout continuously, except at the end of the working feedings: he sucked anything that moves when he sported the limited facies of a banquet grandfather dazed by a béarnaise above its forces. To say that he answered to the name of Christian would be an exaggeration, since he was deaf as few pots, and, anyway, too encotonné in his cortex to discern a Christian word dune foghorn. Finally, he was afraid of flies and developed an allergy to chestnut which limited his outings allowed between Limoges and Perigueux, where this shrub thrives at every turn. In short, the fruit of the loves of Jacques and Catherine Rouchon was preserved. "
This is cruel, but it also reflects the anguish of every parent to see their child be "abnormal", to borrow the term used by Desproges. The example chosen is at the beginning of the novel, but the rest is not sad either, and everyone takes for his grade, lalcoolique Rouchon to political councilors, the master butcher Labesse commonplaces vultures journalists. One character seems to escape the massacre of lexical game Desproges: Marro, a "real journalist". When Desproges described, who is also a journalist, was the impression that he speaks of him: "A worker is different. He told the story with a taste of the verb, a respect for the language, lived a worry, a meticulousness in the fine tuning of human portraits, which made its products as much craft wonders. Also, often the "good shots", the paper Marro contrasted with those of his colleagues, like a Botticelli Madonna in a display of religious trinkets lourdaises. "This last comparison, it's a little impression are doing minded traits Desproges compared to the current humorous backwater.
In conclusion, a good novel, screenplay near the station of literature, but with humorous flashes décriture unmatched to date. Not a masterpiece, and even more to book lovers of Desproges with the guarantee for them to spend two hours more than pleasant drive but a well flared and sequenced novel, cultivated and gently critical of his contemporaries.
