Sincerity on command is not literature!

This pseudo-novel laborious and poorly designed (for its writing, the author has yet received support from the Centre National du Livre) is as pathetic as heartbreaking. What a disappointment! What unnecessary rehashing! At lévidence, after 10 years of silence, the author has nothing more to say today and still does not know the words, much less write it.

His "dazzled Child" (1995) had at least had the charm of a refreshing tangy fruit when "Illiterate" is a stale and reheated sauce. Whole pieces and a lot of pips! No promises nest outfit. Nothing is deepened. No development. Yet there was so much to write about the "illiteracy" sentimental and not just gay! Also on the disturbing Morocco, because of his homophobia offsetting obnoxiously wealthy tourists-predators ... but here, somehow, with a soft protest ultimately at the discretion of autobiographical fragments poorly connected and somewhat heated, only a pointillism applied where neither act nor charm lingénuité the truth of childhood. Alas, the Little Prince of Tangier, sest lost at home but it was good enough to still have fun and put sy because at forty Rachid remains docile and friendly if not inspired or invested. So efforts, a lot of effort to complete somehow the expected chore. Like what, neither the inspiration nor the fault text are forcing the literary perfection of wages, rather flashing you need to know timely detection: crisis = danger and opportunity. Danger to reoffend; sabsenter opportunity.

One word, almost a supplication: who will be kind enough to tell the author failed décriture sémanciper it takes him for good, not let his surroundings force his keyboard and some critics (Gay) complacent praise his sincerity dhomo skinned? Frankly, I do not understand quune venerable publishing house continues to publish it, at least as it is, if the author does not consent itself - and only sil feels like - to renew his inspiration and perfect form. If, apart from his personal destiny, rather banal, it has nothing to imagine, nothing to think, nothing to sublimate the words is that it nest decidedly not a writer. For writing, first it is a craft, not an emotional release on command. And lon can live happily without writing!
Rachid O. then have time to stop rehashing his past, to live the silence and meditate Rilke board each author, or apprentice confirmed or repented, should know by heart: "Enter into yourself , find the need that makes you write: examine whether it pushes its roots deep in your heart. Confess to yourself: you die if you were forbidden to write? This above all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: Am I really forced to write? Dig in yourself towards the deepest answer. "
(Letter to a Young Poet).