It's a moment I turn around Emmanuel Carrère, by dint of reading rave reviews on his books, see the appropriate (more or less) to the movies. And the output of his highly celebrated last "novel" I decided to go for it, despite my reluctance to contemporary French novelists I personally find less interesting than their American counterparts. That, I must say that this "Class Neige" I literally taped. First, because the first half of these short 150 pages make us relive these incredible so childish insecurity torments that most of us have experienced (so still less violent than the little Nicolas book, at least I hope for you): the ability to bring back Carrère of the darkest corners of our memory of childhood sensations buried because vaguely shameful is simply tetanizing. And is the mark of a great writer, whatever his (and of Carrère is not bad, far from it, just a little "standard"). The second part of the book, which is tied to the plot particularly subtle and yet horrific, returns to a more traditional fiction ultimately with a "twist" worthy of a thriller, thereby concluding brilliantly "Snow Class "facing a black abyss which is that of the adult world, without mercy or forgiveness. Remains that we may prefer the subtle work of introspection (probably largely autobiographical) that makes the dazzling singularity of this book.
