Disappointing 1764

I like the journalist who is one of the few to attempt to appoint the reality that he is forbidden to see and challenge the myths in which we left moisissons 40 years.
However this novel seemed appalling.
The narrator-zemmour claims to be part of the last generation who has read Chateaubriand but he writes in a sub-style SAS "countdown in Rhodesia."
The story is very confusing and inconsistent characters are only responsible to embody stereotypes socio-political theses that are dear to him. So why write a novel?
Last but its continual and complacent self-portrait irresistible queutard is the height of the grotesque. This kind of exhibitionist performance is to be reserved for buffoons egolâtres way Poivre d'Arvor, or BHL Marek Halter or the misfits of reality TV.
Zemmour that lets them go, compared to the height of judgment he otherwise affect, is distressing.