Praise of the drug and suicide

René Girard, cited by Pierre Jourde in his excellent book critical of contemporary literature "Literature without stomach," published in 2003, crowned the price of the French Academy, had prophesied that white writing only romance gradient:

"The aesthetics of silence is one last romantic myth (...) Ten years will not pass before we recognize in 'white writing' and zero degrees, avatars more and more abstract, more puny and ephemeral romantic noble bird. "

Amélie Nothomb joined the cohort of ME apologetic, a degraded me, loved as much as hated, unhealthy, projecting a distorted image; that of Narcissus stuffed with ill winds, on the verge of explosion.

This novel a few sheets, written in large print and intended for bobos who want to spend for nerds.

That gone are the days of "Hygiene of the murderer" and even on simple mode with an amused journalism, "Fear and Trembling".

Amélie Nothomb has become a business woman writing in showing off. Write everything by saying nothing. Empty. Platitudes. Boredom as punctuation.

Most abject is his praise of drugs (Amélie Nothomb accomplice Beigbeder with his latest production "A French novel" recently descended on this site, love him as the letter "A" moron? Alcoholic? Flu the same name?) :

"Nausea [obtained by the shoot of hallucinogenic mushrooms] is nothing other than the signal of success"

The author continues:

"When we tripe, complications of reality evacuate"

The trip is perceiving "the skein that we unravel a lifetime."

Drugs, suicide (kamikaze way September 11) are the two major axes of this garbage chute called "Winterreise".

To avoid, thanks.