Reviews for Le Livre des fuites

The average rating for Le Livre des fuites based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2017-12-15 00:00:00 Jason Spiegel I would like to be able to write to you, as though in a letter, all that I am living through. I would like so much to be able to make you understand why I have no choice but to go away one day, without a word to anyone, without explanation. It is an action that has become necessary, and when the moment has come (I cannot say where, or when, or why) I will carry it out, just like that, simply, keeping quiet about it. * Everyone thought, everyone had ideas, longings, words, and that whole lot stayed hidden inside their skulls, their bowels, even their clothes, and one could never read everything that had been written. * But, in fleeing, shouldn't I turn round from time to time, just a quick glance, merely to see whether I'm not perhaps going too fast, whether people are still following me? Hmm? * There is nothing to understand, nothing at all. There are no chains of events, no reasons. Got to keep moving at all costs. * The nothingness was so great that it could not even be called solitude any longer. It was like walking on top of oneself, crawling eternally over the same bit of ground at the bottom of a crevasse. It was like being spreadeagled on the ground, without respite, or being fastened down on an esplanade in the middle of a desert of automobiles. It was like floating on the ocean, thousands of miles from land, while tiny waves sweep forward in ripples. The very idea of solitude had vanished from the surface of the earth; it had been swallowed up by the sand, gulped like water. Everything had been instantly filled to the brim; the sky had been stretched taut, an invincible ceiling harder than steel. The black mountains reared up, the dunes were frozen in mid-movement; the line of the horizon lay close to the sky, a thin black thread that never ceased to contain, to retain. And above, the sun was a glowing dot, nothing but a dot. It would have been impossible to add a single thing more: this was a world crammed full to overflowing, a world with a bulging bag, standing guard against intruders. There was no room for anyone. * I am nowhere. I have left my world behind, and have not yet found another. That is the tragic adventure. I have departed, but not yet arrived.

Review # 2 was written on 2013-03-03 00:00:00 Kiyoshi Yamauchi This is not a novel, it is a catalogue of powerful words about the claustrophobia of everyday life and the varied paths of escape. I was drawn in by the poetic descriptions but frequently lost track of where I had come from and often wasn't even sure about where I had arrived. It was an interesting journey.