A French Novel. Frédéric Beigbeder

      Epigraph

       Like a spring, young children grow

       Then blossom in a summer

       Surprised by winter they no longer show

       What once they were.

      Pierre de Ronsard, ‘Ode à Anthoine de Chasteigner’, 1550

      Dedication

       For my family and for Priscilla de Laforcade who is a part of it

      Table of Contents

       Title Page

       Epigraph

       Dedication

       Foreword

       Prologue

       1. Clipped Wings

       2. Lost Grace

       3. Flashbacks of Myself

       4. Vowels, Consonants

       5. Fragments of an Arrest

       6. Guéthary, 1972

       7. Natural Hells

       8. The Original Rake

       9. A French Novel

       10. With Family

       11. End of an Era

       12. Before They Were My Parents, They Were Neighbours

       13. Revelations about the Lamberts

       14. Hearing Problems

       15. Affective Prognathism

       16. Quiet Days in Neuilly

       17. A Claustrophobic Chapter

       18. Divorce, French-Style

       19. Van Vogt’s ‘Null-A’ and Fred’s ‘A’

       20. Madame Ratel Paints

       21. Forgotten Finger

       22. Return to Guéthary

       23. Rue Maître-Albert

       24. Cassettes

       25. The Revealing Child

       26. A Scientific Digression

       27. The Trip Across Paris

       28. Brother of the Above-Named

       29. Could Try Harder

       30. Force-Fed Children

       31. Prison Break

       32. Dreams and Illusions

       33. The Dishonest Truth

       34. The Second Father

       35. The End of Amnesia

       36. The Day I Broke My Mother’s Heart

       37. Parental Inventory

       38. The French Dream

       39. Compulsive Liars

       40. Release

       41. New York, 1981 or 1982

       42. Results

       43. The A in Atlantis

       Epilogue

       Footnotes

       By the Same Author

       About the Author

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

      FOREWORD

      The greatest quality of this book is undoubtedly its honesty. When a book is as honest as this, it can lead, almost unintentionally, to genuine revelations about what it means to be human – in this respect, literature is still leagues ahead of the sciences.