sublime as the ice

This is a very special novel because he does not match any kind. Despite his narrative aspect in the first person, it does not allow us dentrer in dune conscience intimacy. The character nest quune soundboard. It is also not a historical novel, everything is vague, with no timeline. The weather is still mired and sy. The descriptions with their periods and effect (often a drop shaped dorgue point) are repetitive. We always have the impression to have the same landscape with dinfimes variations as with Monet except that we are in a rather romantic view at the Friedrich and not at all in surrealism (not black with humor or real strangeness about "lonirisme" this is one of a geography aggregate) or in the Baroque (or no metamorphosis of instability). In reality, this is a novel inhuman and denies lhumain. Emotion is a kind of fairly bombastic petrification very elementary feelings. Nothing to do with Dostoevsky, for example. The characters ring true and are mere pretexts for dialogues recalling the bombastic style of Symbolism. From the first to the last page, we are in the pose and the lushness and if we add linhumanité, we are also in a form of "new novel" that denies the character denies the action denies the reader expectations but the result, this is an authentic leader Doeuvre dune cold and tiring beauty, the sublime (visual, not moral) pure surroundings that makes you say, "Gosh, this is as beautiful! "And makes you want to read Proust or Chekhov, I mean, writers who accept their dhommes condition.