What is it with those contemporary French writers who prefer to write very distantly about trauma and the facts of life? Earlier I was introduced to the phenomenal Annie Ernaux and her low-key, almost impersonal style. Marie-Hélène Lafon seems to be doing the same thing. In this book she offers a purified family saga in barely 150 pages, in which hardly any emotions are discussed, but in which a concealed drama plays the leading role. In fact, it is the search of a certain André for his unknown father, and only at the end the exact family relationships become clear. Until then, Lafon leads us through time with many jumps (the story spans the period 1908-2008), alternating between Paris and the deep French countryside (especially the Cantal, a very remote department in the south). Little by little the family ties and the underlying major trauma become clear. Anyone who likes a pure, frugal style and minimalist stories will certainly find what they are looking for at Lafon. For me, it was just a little too distant. ( )

Een jongen groeit op bij de zus en de zwager van zijn moeder en weet niet wie zin vader is ( )