Vos lectures

[[MGK]Enrom]

Si tu pouvais approfondir certains trucs et compléter ton compte-rendu après lecture complète, ça pourrait être cool. En tout cas, ça m'intéresserait, je n'ai pas le courage de me plonger dans l'oeuvre de Jean-Paul.

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Depuis le temps, petit point rapide sur mes lectures :

La Forêt des Mânes, le dernier Jean-Christophe Grangé. Scénario habituel, la traque d'un serial killer par un policier qui se révèle cette fois être une juge d'instruction. En bref, j'ai eu ce que je voulais, ie. du suspense, du gore et un peu de frisson. Le tout assaisonné d'une petite sauce psychanalytique, sur l'origine du mal chez l'homme et les tribus primitives. J'ai bien aimé, mais ce n'est clairement pas un chef d'œuvre.

A part ça, je me suis lancé dans une petite plongée à travers les origines du roman policier, pour essayer de comprendre un peu d'où ça venait, les formes qu'il a prises dans son évolution, etc. Dans cette optique, j'ai lu les deux nouvelles fondatrices du genre écrites par Edgar Allan Poe : La lettre volée et Double assassinat dans la rue Morgue. Ensuite, je suis passé à Agatha Christie et son fameux ABC contre Poirot.
Très intéressant à lire à chaque fois. Je me lancerais pas dans une explication, mais on voit bien les piliers du genre se dégager avec Poe et s'affirmer clairement avec des auteurs plus récents, comme Christie et même Conan Doyle. J'ai lu tous ces bouquins quand j'étais enfant, il faudrait que je m'y remette avec un œil plus affuté. Rien à voir avec les romans d'aujourd'hui en tout cas.

Et à côté de tout ça, trainent Les Possédés (de Dostoïevski) et Dans la brume électrique (de James Lee Burke). Plus moyen d'avancer dans les Possédés...

Ah et aussi, en relisant un peu les derniers posts, j'ai vu que je parlais d'un nouveau Chattam pour Mai. Après avoir fouillé dans mes souvenirs, je me suis rappelé de cette lecture. Honnêtement, pas fameuse. (Très) dérangeant dans l'histoire comme dans les thèmes développés. A la limite, le seul truc qui pourrait pousser à l'achat, c'est le suspense garanti et l'explication de la disparition du mari d'Annabel (In Tenebris et Maléfices)... Format poche à privilégier...

[[MGK]Enrom]

The longest day

Wednesday, December 5th, 3.27 am.
The contact between the car and the two men was so violent that their bodies were projected ten meters further. Some bruises or broken bones were already visible. The blood started to cover all of the asphalt and it was soon mixed with broken bones and pieces of glass. The light of a lamppost was reflected in this pool of blood. The silence had come back.

Wednesday, December 5th, around 8.30 in the morning.
When the phone rang, Mr. Dupin could barely hear it. After a while he succeeded in opening his eyes and making his mind clear…well, quite clear. He had a strong headache and all his body hurt. He tried to remember what happened last night while he was looking at the disaster of his room: empty bottles, drugs, antidepressants and broken glasses scattered on the floor. What day was it?
What time was it? He didn’t even know.
The phone rang again. He moved with difficulty to pick it up.
“Inspector Dupin?,”, said a tiny and quavering voice.
“Yes, I’m listening,” answered Mr. Dupin. He had recognized the nasal tone of his assistant, the English-born Mr. Watson.
“Oh damn it, I was so scared. I have been trying to call you for half an hour. Are you ok?”
“Of course I am. What happened?” Mr. Dupin listened with half an ear, he was more worried about how he could fight his hangover out looking for some aspirins in every drawer of his bathroom.
“Well, there was an accident last night, two men were knocked over by a car. One is dead and the other is brain dead at the hospital. The vehicle disappeared. I’m on this case with you so I’ll catch you in ten minutes. Be ready.”
Dupin couldn’t answer since his assistant had already hung up. He went to the shower trying to clear himself a road among the chaos of the room.
He had just finished brushing his teeth so that Watson couldn’t smell his scotch breath when a horn sounded again three storeys below. His assistant was waiting for him in his black and roomy Vauxhall. He was quite tall and good-looking. He was wearing a suit perfectly cut for his athletic stature. Even if he was only 29, he looked like a mature man with some crow’s feet. Mr. Dupin arrived in a hurry with his hair wet and his tie in the right hand.
“Sorry, I’m late. Let’s go and tell me the whole story,” said Inspector Dupin, short of breath, while he was getting into the car.
“Ok, so around five hours ago, near the Memphis, you know the gay nightclub in the 10th district, two men were knocked down by a car. The hit-and-run driver fled and we don’t have many clues for now; just a guy who called the police and said that he had seen something weird in the distance while he was leaving the night club. He is at the police station, in the drunk tank because he was so high at 4.00 am that we couldn’t understand his speech. So we’re going to interview him after meeting the forensic team which is already on the scene.”
“You did a good job Watson.”
Watson drove so fast that Dupin felt still nauseous but he tried sorely to hide this. Here again, he did not listen carefully, focusing his efforts to remember what he had done last night. Now, he knew that we were on December, the 5th, that exactly one year ago he had lost his beloved wife. She had been diagnosed sick from a lung cancer too late and in barely two months, she had died. Mr. Dupin had never forgotten that day, taking antidepressants to cover his pain.

Watson parked the car fifty meters from the accident scene. Dupin got out and immediately understood that this day would be the worst since his wife had died. His head was like a honeycomb, buzzing noisily. The scene was giving him a lingering sense of déjà vu, probably due to the effects of the medicine he had taken.
He automatically followed his assistant and couldn’t help noticing that they were really few people compared to murder scenes. Two guys to prevent intruders from contaminating or stealing eventual clues. Another checking those clues, looking for something to justify his presence. Wait a minute, what the fuck was a scientist doing on an accident scene? And what was he doing there? He was still the best inspector in Paris…
“Well, I find it a bit strange too. But I guess –“
“Was I talking out loud?” interrupted Dupin.
“Yes you were. Are you ok?”
“I am. Go on, you were going to explain me why I’m not sleeping instead of hanging here.”
“Ok, well, as I told you in the car, when the first cops arrived, there was a drunk guy who claimed he had seen the whole crash. He couldn’t identify the victims, but he said that the car had intentionally accelerated. Well, nobody trusted him, you’ll understand why when you see the guy later.”
“Come on, this can’t explain our presence. Since when are we dealing with traffic delinquency?”
“Well, the dead victim is, or was, Nicolas Blain, the son of Mayor David Blain, and we were told to solve this case quickly. Moreover, the drunk guy’s declarations were confirmed by the first conclusions of the forensic expert.”
“What’s his name?”
“Well, I don’t know. We’ll ask him at the police station.”
“Are you stupid Watson, I was talking about the forensic. I absolutely don’t care about your junkie.”
“He was just drunk, Dupin. And, well, the forensic is named Gilles Gris.”
Dupin went to the guy in his white jumpsuit and watched him working. The joint effect of his headache and his deep contempt for those scientists was absolutely fantastic, like watching a Godard movie while being under LSD. He decided to stop the trip after a while.
“Hi Gilles, I’m Auguste Dupin, leading inspector of the Paris Police Department. So, what did you find here?”
The forensic headed to Dupin with a blank stare. Finally, he declared:
“Seems to be a deep blue saloon car, which apparently didn’t brake and even probably accelerated…”
“Can you check all the CCTVs in the area? Maybe they recorded the accident and filmed the car… See you. Watson, where has your junkie been jailed?”
“He was just drunk… He was sent to the 36 Quai des Orfèvres.”
“Here we go, dude.”

After having snaked in and out through the Parisian traffic jams, they arrived at the police station. With its blue and black walls, it had been the everyday life of Dupin for almost twenty years even if he had changed of room along his promotions. He had been promoted inspector eleven years ago and walked mechanically all the way to his office: he had to get the elevator, turn to the right after the toilets of the first level and then it was the third door on the left. On his desk, a stack of papers, which was almost falling, was surmounted by three empty cups of coffee. The light of the phone was flashing on and off to show five new messages. Three of them had been left by his assistant, one by his landlord and in the last one his mother feared that he might feel alone today. He caught his notebook and walked at a brisk pace towards the conference room where he joined the Lieutenant Watson.
“The eyewitness is not drunk anymore; he is waiting for the questioning,” said his assistant with an excited voice.
“Ok, you will be behind the two-way mirror. Let that be an example to you.”
The man was about twenty-five; he was scratching his nails nervously and shaking his right leg.”
“All right Sir, would you please tell me exactly what you saw last night?” said Inspector Dupin staring at the witness.
“Well…I was leaving the Memphis to come back home. I can’t remember the time but while I was walking along the Hauteville Street, I heard a big noise behind me. I turned around and I just saw the lights of a car leaving in the distance.”
Mr. Dupin frowned and wrote the minor detail, observed any signs of doubt or lies in the face of the witness and even began a small drawing of the scene.
“What did you do after?”
“I can’t remember well… I was still drunk...”
“Sir, we’re not here to judge you. I remind you that one man was killed and another is probably going to die. So please, could you answer my question and tell me everything you remember.”
“Well, after that, I wanted to check what had happened. I decided to have a quick look and I saw two lifeless bodies so I called the cops.”
“But do you remember the car, the colour, the style?” replied Mr. Dupin a bit annoyed.
“I don’t remember…I can’t…I just think it was a saloon car which was dark-blue. I guess that can’t help you.”
The questioning had not been as successful as Dupin had hoped. There were still missing pieces of the puzzle, questions with no answer. They had to wait for the CCTVs’ results to try to identify the automobile and for now, they had nearly reached a deadlock. The inquiry did not move on quickly and Dupin began to lose patience. He was imagining every scenario: a drugs case, a homophobic crime, a drunk driver…

It was 2 pm when Dupin and Watson came into the Memphis, where the victims had spent the night. Despite the hour, there was some music coming from nowhere, waving from a nearly mute volume to a noise that was forcing them to cover their ears. A strange atmosphere.
“I’m going to have a sit over there. Try to find one of the barmen and ask him the usual routine about the victims.“
Dupin walked with difficulty towards the darkest area of the club and fell on a purple sofa. He started to think about the case, while his assistant was questioning a tall guy. It was quite an unusual place for a Mayor’s son: chains were lying from the depths of the ceiling, the odor was still glutted with perspiration and smoke. However, and it was absolutely amazing, the place was totally clean. What kind of people could have a party in such a place and leave it clean?
"Rich and spoiled faggots", whispered Dupin, swallowing a pill to heal his headache.

He was woken up by shouts of pain. His assistant was bent over the bar and he was choking the barman. Dupin staggered to the bar, steel asleep, but before he arrived, Watson had dropped the guy and was walking to his superior. They left the club silently, Watson only tying his tie again.
Once outside, they kept silent for a while. Finally, Dupin talked, ironical:
“So, I guess you obtained some information?”
“Well, I learnt some interesting things. The two victims were in a relationship and they used to come there once or twice a week. They stayed together, danced and drank few. They never make any trouble, except once. Last week, the brother of the victim came there with one friend and they started to fight with the Mayor’s son. Of course, they were expelled by the security. When I asked him the reason of the fight, the barman refused to tell me, that’s why I put pressure on him.”
“I hope he talked, so that you did not risk your job for nothing…”
“Well, he did. The brother seems to be clearly homophobic and apparently, he couldn’t support the victim’s sexuality. According to the barman’s description, he is violent. And he may own a black Mercedes…”
“He’s probably our guy…”
“Yes, I think so. Well, we should go to the hospital. The family may be at the victim’s bedside. They may tell us more information about the brother.”

They took back the Vauxhall and drove to the Lariboisière Hospital, keeping silent. When Dupin entered the hospital, he was overwhelmed with sorrow and anger: the same walls, the same smell, the same sensation of powerlessness that one year ago. At that time, he was coming here every day and had never been able to accept the idea of his wife suffering week after week, desperately trying to fight the cancer.
Room 2412: he knocked but there was no visitor inside. Damien Saudrais, the young victim was alone. According to the doctors, he would probably never wake up. Dupin left the room. In the corridor, he bumped into Mr. and Mrs. Saudrais. The two parents were brought down and didn’t even succeed in hiding their concern. Another man joined them, hung on to his mobile phone. He introduced himself as Damien’s brother.
“We don’t understand. It’s not fair. Please, find the one who hurt my son and killed his friend. We deserve to know the truth,” begged the mother.
“You can be sure we are working hardly on that case, Ma’am. But it’s too early to give you answers. I am really sorry.” said Dupin shaking their hands. He glanced at the brother. “May I talk to you, Sir?”
They entered a small meeting room with just a table and four chairs; it was austere, dark and cold. Perfect for a questioning, thought Dupin.
“Sit down, please. I am really sorry for what happened to your brother. However, I have to investigate. So, can you tell me the type of relationship you had with him?”
The man was staring at him and sneering.
“We were not close as you may know. I’m not the kind of guy who accepts, like my parents, to live with Damien and his… friend. All my mates were laughing at him and… Well, I was really ashamed of him.”
“Listen, Sir. I have to be honest: everything is against you. I know you were at the Memphis last week and the barman told us that he saw you having a fight with your brother and seemingly you even slapped his friend. What were you doing last night around 3.00?”
The man kept calm but was still staring at the inspector. All of a sudden, he punched the table and cried out:
“Fuck it! Do you mean I’m a suspect? Everybody knows that I can’t bear seeing my brother acting like that, when he flaunts himself, I’m out of myself! So, I’m not gonna be original but at 3 I was just sleeping!”
“Can you prove it with a witness or something like that?” He shook his head to say no. “OK, so how can I know you’re innocent?”
“Even if I can’t stand the person Damien has become, he’s still my brother, I wouldn’t hurt him. Anyway, I’m not guilty and I know the law. You need strong evidence to accuse me. ”
“Well, it’s not how things work here. To me, you’re now a major suspect until you can show us you’re innocent. Watson will drive you to the police station for a more accurate questioning.”
Dupin left the room and whispered to Watson:
“Drive the brother to the station. I have to go home, sleep a while and take some medicine. I’ll be back in two hours or so, make him wait.”

Three hours later, Dupin was woken up again by the phone ringing.
“Sir, I am still waiting for you. You need to come quickly to the station so that we can interview the suspect before the end of his custody.”
“I was leaving my home.”
“Ok, see you. Oh, by the way, we have the result of the CCTVs records. We couldn’t identify the number plate but the murderer’s car is a dark blue Lexus, exactly as yours! Funny as hell, isn’t it?”
“Really funny Watson. See you.”
Dupin went down to the underground car park. He stopped amazed in front of his usual place: the car was not there. Scratching his head, he started to look for his car in the dark depth of the park. A neon light was flashing on and off. A bad premonition was giving him a knot in the stomach. He could not remember the last time he had used the car, nor where he had parked it.
Finally, he found it in the back end of the park, near the backstairs door. The car front was almost entirely destroyed: the bumper had disappeared, the windscreen was shattered and there was some oil flowing drop by drop from the engine. And there was blood.
Dupin had to sit on the floor. He quickly recalled his day and all the small clues he had not considered. He understood immediately what had happened.
“Fuck it…”

[|MGK|Elsweyr]

Jolie prose Enrom, je pensais lire du français pour ta première nouvelle cependant. Du coup je n'ai lu que le premier paragraphe qui m'évoque un mélange de synopsis d'un épisode des Experts et du Bukowski.

[[MGK]Enrom]

Avec l'explication, c'est mieux -____-"

Donc, c'est une nouvelle que j'ai écrite avec une amie, pour les cours d'anglais. On devait écrire une "short story" d'environ 3000 mots, sur le thème qu'on voulait... Le travail a donc été partagé entre nous deux. Et le premier paragraphe n'est pas de moi, même si, globalement, l'histoire est sortie de mon cerveau et du mélange de mes lectures...

Ça vaut certainement pas grand chose, mais je l'ai mis là pour le faire partager un peu...

[|MGK|Elsweyr]

O.K. Donc la première fois j'ai pas lu parce que j'apprécie pas spécialement de lire de l'anglais, surtout sur écran. De plus je n'avais pas envisagé au début que cela soit vraiment de toi, d'où ma remarque mordante. Là, j'ai lu. Il y a beaucoup de choses très bonnes je trouve, mais pas l'accroche... Ce qui est dommage sur une forme courte.

J'ai aimé particulièrement:

- Le dénouement inattendu du à l'amateurisme annoncé du scénariste. ( ) Bien joué.
- Le fait de finir un devoir sur un "Fuck it" élégamment amené.
- La maîtrise des codes du genre. ( A la fois récit bref et récit policier )
- Quelques pépites bien placées ("fantastic, like watching a Godard movie while being under LSD")
- L'onomastique, qui est traditionnellement le lieu où l'on peut faire montre d'originalité même dans les exercices les plus formels, est assez amusante. Bien que je n'ai pas saisi toutes les allusions. Des éclaircissements ?

J'ai moins aimé:

- L'anglais...
- L'anglais...
- La maîtrise des discours, ou plutôt des niveaux de langue et la prise en compte de la situation d'énonciation, ce qui est surement provoqué par l'écriture à quatre mains. Le désespoir et la confusion de la mère ne saute pas aux yeux par exemple: "“We don’t understand. It’s not fair. Please, find the one who hurt my son and killed his friend. We deserve to know the truth,” begged the mother. "

Voila pour les remarques dont je me souviens à la fin de la lecture. Je ne fais pas de commentaires sur les fautes d'anglais.

[[MGK]Enrom]

L'accroche ne me convenait pas non plus, mais je n'avais pas l'inspiration pour faire quelque chose de mieux. Idem pour les "sanglots" de la mère, le décalage est assez flagrant en effet.

Au niveau de l'onomastique (et après quelques minutes pour comprendre ce que ça signifiait) : Auguste Dupin, Watson et Gilles Gris sont des clins d'oeil. Les autres noms ont été choisis au hasard.

Merci pour les commentaires en tout cas.

Personnellement, j'ai trouvé cet exercice très intéressant. Ça m'a permis de découvrir les difficultés des écrivains et de voir que c'est pas si simple d'écrire quelque chose de beau et compréhensible à la fois...

[|MGK|Elsweyr]

Je n'ai pas trouvé l'allusion sur Dupin. J'ai Armistead Maupin qui me parasite le crâne et empêche d'autres idées de montrer le bout de leur nez.

[[MGK]Enrom]

http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Auguste_Dupin

Héros de la Lettre Volée et de Double Assassinat dans la Rue Morgue, écrit par Edgar Poe, parfois considéré comme le précurseur du roman policier.

[|MGK|Elsweyr]

Ahum, j'ai pas beaucoup cherché. En même temps ça permet de faire causette, donc on m'en voudra pas. (Oui, oui, c'est un ordre.)

[[MGK]nano]

Question : C'est bien J-C Grangé comparé à Chattam ? Si oui hésitez pas à mettre vos préférences.

[[MGK] Eole]

Je viens aussi en quête de réponse sur ce topic, en espérant avoir plus de chance que Nano.

Est-ce que quelqu'un connait, et a un avis, sur les livres de Jean Ray ? Malpertuis et La Cité de l'indicible peur en tête.

[[MGK]Barthiméus]

mon inculture litteraire m'ôte toute responsablité en cas de non-réponse sur ce topic

[|MGK|Elsweyr]

Pareil que Barth. Connais pas ces auteurs.

[[MGK]Tank]

Y vend des clopes? de l'alcool?

[[MGK]Enrom]

Pour jc grangé, je suis impardonnable, je connais très bien.

C'est très bien, probablement aussi bien voire mieux que chattam. Ils sont tous très bien, même si j'ai trouve le dernier (la forêt des mânes) un peu en dessous. Le serment des limbes, le vol des cigognes, la ligne noire, les rivières pourpres... C'est que du bon, même si le bonhomme a tendance a se répéter au niveau de l'intrigue dans les derniers bouquins.

Quoi qu'il en soit, si tu n'as jamais teste, tu peux foncer. Si je ne devais en conseiller qu'un, ça serait probablement Le serment des Limbes...

[[MGK]nano]

Merci, mais j'ai pris de l'avance.
J'ai commandé la forêt des Mânes pour Noël, toujours pas fini (il m'emballe pas vraiment). Je me suis plutôt focalisé sur les tomes 2 et 3 de Millenium. C'est la deuxième fois qu'un bouquin me fait faire une nuit blanche. \o/

Un ami qui a lu tout Grangé m'a aussi chaudement conseillé Miserere, je ne le vois figurer nulle part sur ta liste. Par contre le serment des limbes, il m'en a aussi pas mal parlé.

Merci en tout cas, mes futures lectures se précisent.

[|MGK|Elsweyr]

Y'a bon millénium. Bonne lecture estivale ; sur une plage où je ne me suis pas rendu.

[[MGK]Enrom]

Miserere est très bien, pas le meilleur, mais très bon. Millenium est bien aussi, mais j'ai pas accroché au point de faire nuit blanche :p

[[MGK]wind]

[[MGK]Martini]

One piece, ça c'est de la lecture