Michèle (Suzanne) t'emmène
Listen sirens,
It takes you by the hand
To spend a night without end ...
(You probably know this classic, throbbing guitar).
Because it is slow in question.
In Paris, bustling city, where it is only a question of readings, whispered memories, it is not trivial.
A trip to a transcontinental, where one sees only the still spaces is not trivial either.
Lesbre has this ability to escape from normality, to fetch his escapes, tinted words with emotion.
Michele takes my hand, leads me to the rhythm of his long journey and Parisian life as a reader at the home of an elderly lady.
Michele walks his narrative in the heat of the sleeping car, thighs glued against the fake leather bench seat. I stand in the center of the bay, enjoying the snowy landscapes as his curious eyes auscultent without respite or rest.
Michèle settle down at the edge of the hall red sofa of his neighbor, and I expect quiet her soft voice breaking the silence of loneliness shared between them.
Calm and rested ambience escapes from its pages to breathe gently.
The story is however not a literary work in itself. It looks like the subtle fragrance of pleasant fragrances to feel very quickly overwhelmed by the imposing mass of other invasive scents. A bridge is established between Paris and Irkutsk, obligatory passage of a search for memories and the search of a future to build.
The literary references herein bore me too.
The edition is of good quality, which does not hurt the pleasure of reading the Lesbre Michèle.
