When Jean Clair published a book this is bad news for most, good for some, I mean the few melancholic bilious trend fond speak the truth, if it was disenchanting. For this is indeed what that it comes with "The Last Days," the story of a man who returns, returns in the distant world of his childhood, the years of training and whose mere mention is the terrible and powerful strength of vexatious irreparably lost things . Jean Clair, who admits that the school's decline today he "withdrew the taste of transmitting," nevertheless conveys the poignant testimony (will?) Of a mind that has not knelt before the veuleries of the time - essentially "The refusal by France to recognize and distrust to teach his intellectual and spiritual origins, the denial of history and forgetfulness of his past, contempt of the tradition of language and ignorance words that make up ". Here no order indignation, consensual runaways or concessions to the ambient order but some celebration "junk": walls, borders, secret, beauty (of language, paint, flowers, few countries or landscapes, etc.). Magnificent chapter ("DRO") where the evocation of a difficultueuse visit St. Mark's Basilica ends with this bitter statement: "The culture is then what remains when we no longer believe in anything. The missing gods, remains empty of any presence, their effigy. " Plane on this book with a sweet melancholy Jean Clair in 1995 had given its own definition: "Human consciousness today no comprehensive law can not butting the shards scattered visible and, through their scheduling, deliver us the meaning of their presence. " Beautiful, melancholic and uplifting nobly.
