This elegant dark academia novel steeped with nostalgia follows the pattern of a young person from a middle-class background who gets to university and discovers the world of elite students. Here, the scene is set in Oxford for half of the novel, which was a third of the reason why I wanted to read it, the two other thirds being dark academia & queer rep. And as it turned out I was a little frustrated with those.
The first one I blame entirely on the discourse around this book and not the book itself. To me, dark academia should include a near or fully obsessive search for knowledge. Or some sort of hidden knowledge that is of primary importance to the characters. In The Lessons, our main character is studying physics, but he could be studying anything else and it wouldn’t change anything to the plot because the learning is never part of the plot. The exams are, for a significant part of the novel, but there is no thirst for knowledge.
As for the queer rep, no one in this novel seemed to have heard about bisexuality. They all seemed to think that it was a fault in their very character if they happened to fall in love with people of different genders. A large part of that was because of monogamy and the character’s deep-seated belief that people should only love one person at the time, which is an opinion I respect. Yet some passages made it very clear that it was strange for them to fall in love with someone of a gender different from all the persons they’d had relationships with before. The word bisexual was written only once in all the book, and it qualified a very secondary character. It felt like such a missed opportunity to represent queer people that aren’t just a cis white gay man (who happens to be the “““villain””” with all the quotation marks possible).
All in all, The Lessons is an excellent nostalgic character study told in elegant, beautiful prose, that suffers from the way it’s being talked about. It made me think of Brideshead Revisited.
Rep: queer characters who think they are straight and gay but in fact are bisexual. Sorry not sorry.
Cet album absolument somptueux et d’une mignonitude à se damner raconte l’histoire d’un corgi adopté par des renards des neiges, et qui veut savoir si lui aussi deviendra lumière quand son heure sera venue.
L’autrice m’avait prévenue qu’il pouvait se lire à plusieurs niveaux et c’est exactement ça. Le texte est vraiment minimal, ce qui ouvre la voie à plusieurs interprétations, des plus prosaïques aux plus touchantes. Les dessins sont de toute beauté, et les couleurs donnent l’impression que les blancs scintillent.
Je pensais acheter ce livre pour mes neveux mais je ne regrette pas que ma langue ait fourché et que j’aie donné mon nom pour la dédicace, car ce petit bijou est désormais à moi.
The importance and scope of this essay cannot be overestimated.Edward W. Said, a Palestinian author, set out to describe, explain and discuss the huge concept that is Orientalism in a very nuanced and learned book that is very demanding but also very rewarding. Summarising those 400 pages would be ridiculous. Let me just say that this book, although it ends on a relatively optimistic note, opened my eyes to the historical and deep-rooted bias or filter with which colonising powers (England, France and the USA) consider what they refer to as “the East” without ever considering the myriad of cultures and societies this word encompasses. Orientalism was never really about knowing the civilisations it depicted, but rather about finding in them justifications or examples of the prejudices the Orientalists perpetuate.There are outrageous examples of blatant racism in both scholarly works and literature, which Said puts into context and discusses with a calm I certainly did not feel. I was a little frustrated that the author chose not to focus on art, but on the one hand the book would have been twice as big, and on the other hand, he gives many critical foundations on which to base future studies (either by him I believe, or certainly by other scholars).
An Indigenous bookshop ghost story, what more could you ask for?
In The Sentence, Louise Erdrich weaves the ordinary (as mundane or heart-wrenching as it can be) and the supernatural to create a rich tapestry of contemporary life as an Indigenous person in the USA, with a strong emphasis on community and a balance between darkness and light.
Tookie is a very grounded person, an ex-convict now working in a bookshop owned by… a certain Louise. They have their regulars, each one with their habits and particular tastes in books. One of them, Flora, dies at the beginning of the story, but she doesn’t seem ready to leave the bookshop.
Once the situation is set, the author sets out to detail the daily life of the bookshop and its daily haunting, through the eyes of a gruff but very endearing character, Tookie, who is very flawed but very loveable. I loved the balance of her prose that walked the line between prosaic and spiritual. In short chapters, she captured vivid scenes and interactions that made this book highly entertaining even though not a lot was happening. The touch of the supernatural was very welcome to add another dimension to the book. It was also very informational about Indigenous people living in Minneapolis and its surrounding area, without feeling like you were taught a lesson.
On the whole, this book felt very intentional, and forced me to slow down to savour every bite, which is very rare for me. I was in no rush to see what was happening next, and it brought me a lot of peace even though some parts were harrowing. I highly recommend this nuanced and multi-facetted book that holds a lot in a very readable format.
Bartholomé Renard est inquiet. Ses parents partis en expédition dans le Grand Nord ne sont pas rentrés le jour prévu. Tous les livres de la librairie de son oncle Archibald ne peuvent le consoler, alors les deux compères s’embarquent sur l’Etoile de Bellécorce, le train mythique, à la recherche des deux renards. En chemin, les rencontres et les mystères s’accumulent.
Ce troisième tome des Mémoires de la Forêt vous brisera le cœur aussi sûrement que les tomes précédents. Je ne comprends pas par quelle alchimie Mickaël Brun-Arnaud écrit des histoires aussi douces et réconfortantes que déchirantes de tristesse, mais le résultat est là, embelli par les superbes illustrations de Sanoe. Si vous n’avez pas encore découvert cette série, je vous la recommande chaudement, tout en vous prévenant d’avoir une boîte de mouchoirs à portée de patte, et une boisson chaude assortie d’une gourmandise de votre choix pour accompagner votre lecture.
In a submarine world wrought with mysteries, two sets of correspondence draw the outlines of new friendships and potential love in the wake of grief.
I think the best adjective to define this book would be “charming”. It feels very quaint and old-fashioned in a good way, and highlights the best parts of its characters — their unshakable faith in the fact that there’s some good in this world. All of the characters (we follow four epistolary writers) are very endearing and kind-hearted.
I haven’t read lots of epistolary novels (mostly classics) but with a generous suspension of disbelief it worked really well. There were some parts that felt a bit repetitive, but it’s easy to blame them on the characters’ anxiety and desperate need to be understood. I did wish we as readers learnt more about the worlds, but it would make zero sense for characters to start explaining things they know to each other. The trick of having one character living in isolation enabled the author to get the necessary elements to the readers fluidly.
I loved the atmosphere of curiosity and research that pervaded the book. I think it’s the first “light academia” book I’ve read, but I have no doubt it belongs to that subgenre. I would have enjoyed a little darkness myself, to balance the pastels and fluffiness, but I understand it was not the place for it. Well, not all of it is cheerful since we know from the start that two of the correspondents are dead. But believe me when I say the author handles that fact with the utmost delicacy and though you might find your heart wringing at times, it really is a cute story.
Rep: MC with OCD and possibly demisexual, sapphic MC, bi MC, MC with social anxiety.
Royaume de France, 15ème siècle. Yolande d’Aragon en a assez de la guerre qu’elle sent s’éterniser. Anglais contre Bourguignons contre Armagnacs, nul ne sait où donner de la tête. Si seulement la vierge guérillère évoquée par la prophétie pouvait venir bouter les Englishes hors du royaume, ça ferait un souci de moins, mais elle se fait désirer. Alors Yolande prend les choses en main. Elle crée une école en pleine campagne dans laquelle elle fait venir quinze apprenties Jehanne qu’elle éduque et entraîne à sauver le Roy.
Ce roman inclassable de Guillaume Lebrun promettait beaucoup, et il a tenu promesse. Sa Jeanne d’Arc en titre est grosse, lesbienne et cannibale, certes une parmi les quinze mais quel personnage ! Alternant la narration avec Yolande d’Aragon, les deux femmes manient un français mâtiné d’anglicismes et d’archaïsmes pour un résultat à la fois décapant et savoureux. Certes, cela ne plaira pas à tout le monde. Mais cette prouesse littéraire drôle et aussi surannée que moderne me restera, je pense, longtemps en mémoire.
Imaginez une histoire d’élu, mais racontée depuis la marge.
Cerdric est un enfant non désiré, qui grandit en l’absence béante d’un amour parental. Son père, un mage puissant qui représentait un danger pour le clergé, a été éliminé. Sa mère, une noble, ne l’a porté que par amour pour un autre homme. Cerdric est ainsi tiraillé entre plusieurs mondes, peut-être élu d’une prophétie mais pourtant réfractaire à la magie, mais tout semble faire sens lorsqu’il rencontre un enfant qui lui non plus n’aurait pas dû être : son frère, qui porte peut-être en lui la solution de l’Enigme.
En lisant les premiers chapitres de ce roman, que j’avais repéré depuis un bon moment, j’ai cru avoir trouvé le successeur de L’Assassin Royal. Rien que cela. Porté par une prose superbe, on y suit le lent et minutieux récit de l’enfance de Cerdric, qui croît un peu comme une mauvaise herbe. Bien que l’arrière-plan de l’univers soit un peu complexe, j’étais prête à me laisser embarquer par une histoire sombre, certes, mais environnée de lumière. Je pense qu’elle plairait tout à fait aux amateurices de dark fantasy et à un lectorat féru de fantasy médiévale. Pour ma part, j’ai été rebutée par la binarité de la société, perclue de sexisme et d’homophobie, qui s’exprime jusque dans les moindres interactions entre les personnages. Cerdric n’échappe pas à la règle : c’est un personnage pour lequel, une fois passée sa triste enfance, je n’ai pas ressenti beaucoup de sympathie. En outre, quelques scènes assez rares mais d’une très grande violence m’ont fait sortir de ma lecture car je ne comprenais pas leur intérêt dans le récit, à part pour choquer.
Je pense que cela reste un bon livre, et tant pis s’il n’est pas pour moi. Je me suis rendue compte à mi-chemin de ma lecture que j’avais placé beaucoup d’attentes sur ce livre au seul prétexte que son auteurice était queer, mais c’était tout à fait injuste. Un.e auteurice queer n’a pas pour obligation d’écrire des livres queers. Si je m’y attendais et ai été déçue, et bien c’est de ma seule faute.
Zafira is a huntress from a poor, snow-laden village. Only she will brave the darkness looming ever closer and bring back game to feed her family. Lured by the chance of bringing back magic, she ventures on the other edge of the dark, not knowing what she will have to face. Nasir is a prince, but also the King's most ruthless hashashin. He doesn't question orders even when he may not come back. A mysterious book is what leads them both farther from their home than they have ever been, but they’re not the only ones looking for it.
This fun YA novel had excellent vibes and a SWANA-inspired world-building that I relished. There was a lot of banter between the characters, which I'm always happy to read, although at some point it almost became a little too much. Does every interaction have to be lined with irony ? There was also a slow-burn romance that I didn’t exactly care for but that's because I don’t care for romance generally. I loved the prose, the language (and the glossary that had a pronunciation guide included), and the fact that it wasn’t too fast-paced for a YA novel. One could even say that not much happened, at least in the grand scheme of things. The characters face danger upon danger, but there is also quite a bit of space devoted to quiet moments and more-or-less deep conversations. As much as the world-building was developed, the narrative itself was a lot lighter. Perhaps I would have enjoyed more balance between the two, but that’s really me being picky. I enjoyed how the author wrote her characters, and even though they carry their fair share of trauma, their dynamics made We Hunt the Flame a fun and enjoyable reading experience.
Le Fruit de leurs entrailles, Estelle Faye · 2024 Un texte très court mais non moins efficace où l’horreur s’inscrit dans la chair de multiple façons, pendant que deux armées s’affrontent au pied d'un donjon. AC : gore, violence L’Œuf, Arnauld Pontier · 2024 Cette nouvelle un peu plus longue reprend le principe de l'arrivée d'un OVNI pour explorer la cupidité et globalement tout ce que l’humanité peut imaginer de stupide. Un texte à l'humour potache, un peu alourdi par ses notes de bas de page.