Gabrielle Massat ‘Trente grammes’

Quai du Polar 2022: Books shortlisted for the readers prize, Book read Number 6

Gabrielle Massat : Trente grammes (Éditions du Masque)


The truth is, Yannick, that you dont want to see us kill each other, right? Aslanov is like a father to you, and me, I’m the love of your life. From your point of view we’re in a Shakespearian drama.***


I’ll keep this short, Yannick, who works for a russian mafia person, Aslanov, handling his money laundering through works of Art scheme is found by his lover Phoenix, part Ouzbek, part Russian in a near critical state after being force fed 30 grammes of paracetamol, to make it look like a “suicide”. so here are the two charachters from the opening quote.
Yannick, then, is a main character who, after a liver transplant, drinks, takes drugs and seeks out a different partner each night for “wild” sex. Yannick’s body is rejecting his second liver, if you ask me his second liver should be rejecting Yannick! Well last years “detective” was blind. How about sex with the detective as here:


I can’t decide if I should be happy or worried about your invitation. Then I remembered your appetite for oral sex and decided to be overjoyed. Yannick looks her over, amused. To be more accurate, the climbing hall isn’t the lie that Boussaïdi serves up to her husband and her two adolescent kids to justify her absences, only a part of the truth:***


Yannick’s brother, Olivier is wheel chair bound after a car accident and his lover Phoenix works as Aslanov’s assassin. After selling a stolen “Bacon” to Mboyo, the nigerian Drug queen of Toulouse, Yannick comes up with the idea of getting a fake painted, authenticised and destroyed, enter Darya, russian of course, who inhabits the painter in order to create the fakes. here this means Francis Bacon, a very disturbed painter.


One evening he receives a short sharp SMS from Olivier telling him that Antoine Riva had accepted his invitation to the Opening Night. At the time, Yannick could no longer remember why he had been so set on meeting up with the Expert, then it came back to him, and he gets another crazy message from Darya/Francis and says to himself that he’ll come back to it later.***


Enough! This was a long book, and as improbable as last year’s, The taste of my mother’s lipstick, This book really did not please me, I like my crime with a dash of credibility, hope they stop choosing the same authors for multiple years…..

First Published in French as “Trente grammes” in 2021 by Éditions du Masque.
*** My translation

The quotes as read in French before translation

La réalité, Yannick, c’est que tu ne veux pas nous voir nous entre-tuer, n’est-ce pas? Aslanov est un père pour toi, et moi, je suis l’amour de ta vie. De ton point de vue, on est en plein drame shakespearien.

Je n’arrivais pas à décider si je devais me réjouir ou m’inquiéter de ton invitation. Puis je me suis souvenue de ton appétence pour le sexe oral et j’ai décidé de me réjouir. Yannick la détaille, amusé. Pour être tout à fait juste, la salle d’escalade n’est pas le mensonge que Boussaïdi sert à son mari et ses deux ados pour justifier ses absences, seulement une partie de la vérité:

Un soir, il reçoit un SMS laconique d’Olivier lui annonçant qu’Antoine Riva a accepté l’invitation à son vernissage. Sur le coup, Yannick ne se rappelle plus pourquoi il voulait tant rencontrer l’expert, puis ça lui revient, et il reçoit un autre message délirant de Darya/Francis et se dit qu’il verra ça plus tard.

Olivier Bordaçarre ‘Appartement 816’

Quai du Polar 2022: Books shortlisted for the readers prize, Book read Number 3

Olivier. Bordaçarre: Appartement 816 (L’Atalante)


I’m 1m71; I weigh roughly 75 kilos; I was born on the 2nd of November 1989 at 7.30 in the morning; I live at number 9 rue Emmanuel-Bronstin; I’m 41 years old; I wear size 41 shoes; my Sanipass number is 1891178283712 33; according to my bill from Ravi, I’ve eaten 81 125 gram tins of tuna (10.12 kgs) and 50 750 gram tins of chick peas (37.5 kgs) since the start of the Total General Isolation. That’s to say one tin of tuna every two days for six and a half months; one tin of chick peas every four days.


Didier Martin, simple accountant seems to be holding it all together, even if he is writing his diary in small print on the wall of his apartment where he lives with his wife Karin, his adolescent son Jérémy and his dog. He had to go through his diary to be sure of the facts, France is entering its 30th straight month of isolation for its inhabitants, the last six months have been IGT, Total General Isolation, that is to say Didier, his family and his dog have not been able to leave their apartment at all for the last six months. The detail in his diary entries concerning himself and his diet illustrated in the opening quote tells us something of the strain he is under and the following quote tells us of how his mind is telling him that isolation is normal, maybe even beneficial to fight against….loneliness.


You have to accept the evidence, living with your times is necessarily living without movement. Without flow we can do everything with a simple internet connection. It’s exactly what is happening with Rezo isn’t it? Aren’t we in touch with our friends, our families? We can see each other, talk to each other, exchange information, help each other get over problems. Thanks to the virus, digital connections have replaced all of our actions from everyday life and saved people from loneliness.***


Food is delivered by drones, which also ensure the rules are followed and waste is evacuated in plastic bags without human intervention. But as you can imagine the situation in a strain on interpersonal relations within the family, his son Jérémy is an asshole, his wife doesn’t always agree with him and his dog pisses and shits on the balcony floor that he has to clean up every time ( why only him you might ask):


I wouldn’t mind making other efforts, write inside our kitchen cupboard doors, for instance, or on the closet walls behind the shoes, but, when I propose something that goes a little in her sense looks at me silently and the walks off. Discussion is impossible. I asked her, then, once and for all (and Im writing it down in black and white today), not to shout any more. She’s free to express herself, she can criticise me as she wishes, I’m not totally opposed to dialogue, but without shouting. Without shouting. Otherwise. It just isn’t possible. We wont be able to carry on like that. The three of us live together in this apartment, we can’t do that without rules.***


Didier does some pretty normal things under the circumstances and evacuates the body parts in the plastic waste bags. At the end of the IGT it would seem that a large number of people in France are “missing”.

A book with a certain humour, the deliveries being taken over by a company named after the largest river in North America, Mississippi, for instance. A more interesting read than I had at first imagined but again this would not be my choice for the winner.

First Published in French as “Appartement 816″ in 2021 by L’Atalante.
*** My translation

The quotes as read in French before translation

Je mesure 1 mètre et 71 centimètres; je pèse 75 kilogrammes environ; je suis né le 2 novembre 1989 à 7 heures 30 minutes; j’habite au numéro 9 de la rue Emmanuel-Bronstin; j’ai 41 ans; je fais du 42 de pointure; mon numéro de SaniPass est le 1891178283712 33; d’après les factures récapitulatives du site Ravi, j’ai mangé 81 boîtes de thon de 125g (10,12 kg) et 50 boîtes de pois chiches de 750g (37,5 kg) depuis le début de l’Isolement Général Total. C’est-à-dire une boîte de thon tous les deux jours pendant six mois et demi une boîte de pois chiches tous les quatre jours.

Il faut forcément se rendre à l’évidence. Vivre avec son temps, c’est vivre désormais sans mouvement. Sans circulation. On peut tout faire grâce à une simple connexion Internet. C’est bien ce qui se passe au niveau de Rezo, non? Est-ce qu’on n’est pas en lien avec ses amis, sa famille? On peut se voir, se parler, échanger des informations, s’aider à surmonter un problème. Grâce au virus, le numérique a pris le relais sur l’ensemble des actions de la vie courante et sauve les gens de leur solitude.

Je veux bien faire d’autres efforts, écrire à l’intérieur des portes des placards de la cuisine, par exemple, ou sur les murs du cagibi derrière les chaussures, mais, quand je fais une proposition qui irait un peu dans son sens, Karine me regarde sans rien dire et elle s’en va. Quand je fais un pas en avant, elle me fauche. Comme elle l’a toujours fait. Elle s’en va. La discussion est impossible. Je lui ai demandé, donc, une bonne fois pour toutes (et je l’écris aujourd’hui noir sur blanc) de ne plus crier. Elle est libre de s’exprimer, peut tout à fait critiquer ce que je fais, je ne suis pas fermé au dialogue, mais sans crier. Sans crier. Sinon, ça ne va pas être possible. On ne va pas pouvoir continuer sur ce ton. On vit à trois dans cet appartement, cela ne peut pas se passer dans ces conditions.

Max Izambard ‘Marchands de mort subite’

Quai du Polar 2022: Books shortlisted for the readers prize, Book read Number 2

Max Izambard: Marchands de mort subite (Editions Rouergue)


Anne had disappeared in one of the most unstable parts of the planet. During the Christmas Eve meal, she had presented him with a comprehensive view of all of the different forces present in the east of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, before concluding that she would have to begin all over again in a year’s time because of the alliances, the territories controlled and the front lines were forever changing.***


Here we have a political thriller set in central Africa, Uganda and its border with the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The background is the Genocide in Rwanda, and the more or less autonomous regions at the east of the DRC, regions full of gold mines, controlled by warring groups and foreign countries, chief amongst them Uganda. So if you want your thriller to inform you, within the bounds of fiction then this is it:


But what I’ve read is that, you would need to prove, supplying referencing documents, that the gold refined and exported came excusively from certified mines, with no links to armed groups. In other words Gold must not feed conflicts. That’s without doubt the problem holding back Muller, because certified mines in the Congo, you can count on the fingers of one hand.***


Ann, a young French journalist with a conscience has been investigating gold trafficking in the Congo, firstly from Uganda and then she goes missing as she tries to investigate from the eastern Congo. When her father turns up to try to find her the background is, as I mentioned, interesting and the story is well told. At the Embassy, there is the careerist Ambasadress, not wanting to be involved “I’ve heard she is close to the President. Same year at ENA. A real Mafia”. The alcoholic Consul who knows something but drinks to forget, the ex-military security officer “his assured muscular stance with his chest slightly puffed out, perpetualy stood to attention, unconsciously giving away his military training”. Alas all a little too much of a caricature for me. The real interest for me comes from the African side, the journalists and students, the military loyal only to itself and the power struggle within Uganda with the president’s power coming from the smuggled gold which he couldn’t allow to be interrupted and the smugglers he must protect. What role did the French embassy have in protecting the Ugandan President?

I enjoyed the read and would love to see the film.

First Published in French as “Marchands de mort subite” in 2021 by Editions Rouergue.
*** My translation

The quotes as read in French before translation

Anne avait disparu dans l’un des endroits les plus instables de la planète. Lors du réveillon de Noël, elle lui avait dressé un tableau complet des forces en présence dans l’est de la République démocratique du Congo, avant de conclure dans un sourire qu’elle devrait recommencer son explication dans un an étant donné que les alliances, les territoires sous contrôle et les lignes de front changeaient en permanence.

d’après ce que j’ai pu lire, il faut pouvoir prouver, documents à l’appui, que l’or raffiné et exporté provient uniquement de mines certifiées, sans lien avec des groupes armés. En d’autres termes, l’or ne doit pas alimenter de conflits. C’est sans doute là-dessus que bute Müller, car des mines d’or certifiées au Congo, on les compte sur les doigts d’une seule main.

Frédérique Boyer ‘Le lièvre’


I knew he was lieing. But I wanted to believe him. His voice had all the reassurance of a warrior who had suffered a terrible setback and was looking for revenge. And it would take the time it would take. img_0259He had long been locked in the room of lost chances. Life was a dangerous game. There were only a fews hours left for him to find the key to free himself.***


This book, my seventh read for the Prix du Roman de Rochefort 2021, a relatively short book with the narrator revisiting an events in his childhood as one of his parents neighbours who lived above them befriended the narrator who needed to leave the straightjacket of his home as he approached adolescence. His neighbour is a rough character who is supposed to have a job involving driving around the south west of France towards the end of the sixties but doesn’t actually seem to do much as he drives around with the boy in the car. The narrators description of him in the opening paragraph seems to sum him up well.

His view in his own family looking back is in a way like his view of the neighbour, the word “inexorablel seems to say that their fate is also fixed:


It wasn’t necessarily sad, or it doesn’t seem so to me these days when I see us so, and we resembled small characters from a silent movie, trying hard, to the beat of some infernal music, to repeat the mistakes without seeing them, led inexorably forward as if by a cruel joke they didn’t understand.***


He seems at one point to ask himself why he keeps mulling over these memories so many years later and the answer is in the precise words of his analysis.


Because, without a doubt, like an assassin, childhood always revisits the the scene of it’s crime.***


So what was the event that troubles him all these years later? Some thime before the police come to get the neighbour, whom he never sees again, he is taken hunting and the neighbour pushes him to shoot at a wild hare, he is retrospectively only partially taken in by the fact that his shot killed the hare, supposing that the neighbour fired in quick succesion to kill the hare. It is the carrying the hare back to their appartment block, not being able to bring it back to life and the moment that he realises that dearh is definitive that troubles him so much. This moment far more than the very public arrest of the neighbour.

A short troubling book, well written but which didn’t ring a bell for me.

First Published in french as “Le lièvre” in 2021, by Gallimard
*** my translation

The quotes as read in French before translation

Je savais qu’il mentait. Mais je voulais y croire. Sa voix avait l’assurance d’un guerrier qui aurait subi un revers terrible et promettrait de revenir se venger. Et cela prendrait le temps qu’il faudrait. Il avait depuis longtemps élu domicile dans la salle des chances perdues. La vie était un jeu dangereux. Il n’avait plus que quelques heures pour trouver la clé qui le libérerait.

Ce n’était pas forcément triste, ou ça ne l’est plus tout à fait à mes yeux aujourd’hui quand je nous revois ainsi, et que nous ressemblons alors aux petits personnages d’un film muet, appliqués sur une musique infernale à enchaîner les erreurs sans les voir, et entraînés inexorablement dans la mécanique d’un gag cruel qui leur échappe.

Parce que sans doute, comme l’assassin, l’enfance revient toujours sur les lieux de son crime.

Florence Aubenas ‘L’inconnu de la poste’


One evening, he’d imagined a bank job in front of the other two sat on the sofa. He’d pulled one of Corinne’s stockings over his head, waving about as if he had a shotgun. img_0248There’d be two motorbikes, one of them would be burnt at the bank, then everyone would head of into another county. He’d seen it in an american film. Rambouille shrugged his shoulders: “You don’t even have a bike license.”***


This book, my tenth read for the Prix du Roman de Rochefort 2021, is based on another true story, investigated by Florence Aubenas. In a small town in the Bugey region of France where everybody knows everybody, and the only employment in the area is ensured by the “Plastic Valley” which originally developed in the sixties and seventies in mostly family businesses with little investment or health standards. Unemployment is high as is petty crime. The postmistress is found murdered in her micro post office. At once the thought is that the murderer must be an outsider, but as none is found suspicion falls slowly falls on a marginal character, living in a run down flat opposite the post office, “the actor”, Thomassin. The opening quote of him showing his friends how he would carry out a robbery was later brought against him in the case:

Aubenas tells the story of Thomassin and his band of friends, Thomassin had been brought up from foster home to foster home, with his brother Jerôme before being discovered at a casting by a french film director looking for someone who really looked that they could live the part of the rough character in a film, a film for which he won the major award of the year for a promising young actor. But with no real outside support he was happy to show off to his friends in his housing estate and easily spent all of his money. A pattern he was to repeat with each of his following more and more spaced apart films until we find him living in Bugey where he had once been weaned off drugs by a childhood friend. As after the murder the police were listening in on his phone calls, they hear him, drunk, talking to his brother about his youth:


Thomassin dials Jerôme’s number…..”at mother Picolo’s place, her son forced us to do blow jobs, we were raped.” He said “I lost my virginity when I was eight”.***


The story is a series of tragedies. The micro post office only existed because the father of Catherine Burgod, the dead woman, had been mayor for a number of years and had used his influence to keep the agency open for his daughter. Thomassin’s friends all die from substance abuse and Thomassin himself is incarcerated for several years awaiting trial before being freed when the law would not let them keep him inside any longer without trial. France’s current justice minister, a previous famous barrister had taken up his case. This was when Florence Aubenas first heard of Thomassin:


The First time I heard of Thomassin was from a Casting Director he’d worked with at the start of his acting career. She showed me some of the letters he had sent her from prison.***


Florence Aubenas keeps us on tack with this interesting read full of detailed background on each of the characters, fascinating from start to end.

First Published in french as “L’inconnu de la poste” in 2021, by L’Olivier*** my translation

The quotes as read in French before translation

Un soir, il a imaginé un braquage devant les deux autres posés sur son canapé. Il s’était enfilé un vieux bas de Corinne sur le visage, gesticulant comme avec un fusil. Il y aurait deux motos, dont l’une serait brûlée sur place, puis tout le monde se replierait dans un autre département. Il avait vu le truc dans un film américain. Rambouille avait haussé les épaules: “T’as même pas le permis.”

Thomassin compose le numéro de Jérôme……”Chez la mère Picolo, son fils nous obligeait à faire des fellations, nous avons été violés.” Il dit: “moi j’ai été dépucelé à huit ans”.

La première fois que j’ai entendu parler de Thomassin, c’était par une directrice de casting avec qui il avait travaillé á ses débuts d’acteur. Elle m’avait montré quelques-unes des lettres qu’il lui avait envoyées de prison.

Celia Levi ‘La Tannerie’


Paula summoned Jeanne, it was important. Jeanne was shaken. she was afraid her contract would’t be renewed.img_0247“I’ve done something wrong?” Jeanne asked, Paula smiled. “No, quite the opposite, you’re going to get more work, don’t worry.***


This book, my ninth read for the Prix du Roman de Rochefort 2021, tells the story of The Tannerie, a local arts centre and its microcosm, representative of much of the Paris area. The story centres around Jeanne, a girl from a farm in brittany, who after her university studies in Rennes decides to move to Paris to try her chance in the big city but finds herself in a precarious situation with consecutive short term contracts, unable to plan ahead or to feel stable, as illustrated by her being called by her boss and thinking only of her contract in the opening quote.

After a difficult start in Paris, Jeanne slowly settles into a routine with the other workers at the Tannerie, gradually making a place for herself:


She worked nearly every day. Fridays she had a few drinks with Marianne, the girls from the ticket office, Xavier and his colleagues, the technicians, Saïd joined them, only talking to the technicians. She felt appreciated, she only occasionally took part in the conversation, she was a good audience, listened and that was enough for her.***


When everyone is away at holiday time, her acting boss, Paula’s colleague, Julien, invites her out for walks or drinks, and she interprets this for maybe more than it is. Julien, who has himself been in Paris for several years comes over to Jeanne as sophisticated, and has relatively reactionary views for someone in junior management in a cultural centre as opposed to some of Jeanne’s friends, themselves in precarious situations and involved in demonstrations in Paris.


Julien hadn’t said anything up till then, he looked serious as he said: No, things aren’t done that way these days. what’s more the unions no longer have control, people aren’t fooled by this show of strength going nowhere. Its become folklore. You’ll see you’ll have forgotten in a few weeks. I know Julien continued, turning towards Jeanne , it’s exhilarating, we think everything’s going to change, there’s shouting in the streets, we count how many we were, we end the day with a smell of smoke, the sound of whistles in our ears, institutional songs, the International, Bella Ciao, Flags with images of Ché, I had my period during my time at Lycée, during the CPE; finishing with a big show. It’s out of date, archaic, you can feel the shadow of ’68 in the background, but in truth it’s the end of the road.***


What happens at the Tannerie when hommeless migrants move in next door? How are Julien’s ideas assimilated by Jeanne? Or What happens when Jeanne’s “extra responsibilities”, young people on work insertion projects, are handed full time contracts at the end of their time training with Jeanne whilst she is kept on temporary contracts? Well if you read to the end you’ll find out. I was only very mildly interested myself.

First Published in french as “La tannerie” in 2021, by Tristram
*** my translation

The quotes as read in French before translation

Paula convoqua Jeanne, c’était important. Jeanne s’en trouva tout effrayée. Elle avait peur qu’on ne renouvelle pas son contrat.
“J’ai fait quelque chose de mal?” hasarda Jeanne. Paula sourit. “Non, au contraire, tu vas avoir plus de travail, ne t’inquiète pas.”

Elle travaillait presque tous les jours. Le vendredi soir, elle buvait des coups avec Marianne, les filles de la billetterie, Xavier et ses collègues de la technique, Saïd les rejoignait, n’adressait la parole qu’aux techniciens. Elle se sentait appréciée, elle n’intervenait que peu dans les discussions, était bon public, écoutait et cela lui suffisait.

Julien n’avait rien dit jusque-là, il prit un air sérieux: “Non, aujourd’hui ces façons de faire sont dépassées. D’ailleurs les syndicats n’ont plus le pouvoir, les gens ne sont pas dupes de ce bras de fer qui mène nulle part. C’est devenu un folklore. Vous verrez que vous aurez oublié dans quelques semaines. Je sais continua Julien en s’adressant à Marianne, c’est exaltant, on croit que tout va changer, on crie dans la rue, on compte combien on a été. on finit la journée avec une odeur de fumigène, les oreilles pleines de coups de siftlets, de chants institutionalisés, L’Internationale, Bella ciao, les drapeaux du Che, J’ai eu ma période au lycée, pendant le CPE; ça finit par une grande messe. C’est très obsolète, archaïque, c’est le modèle de 68 qui est là en arrière-fond, mais qui en réalité agonise.

Irène Kaufer ‘Dibbouks’


My parents left Poland to ensure me a future, or the hope of a future, saving me from the discrimination and the stones thrown at me of which they themselves were occasionally victims or had witnessed when they were young.
I note that to choose the country of Intifadas in order to avoid stones being thrown is in itself a jewish joke.***


This was the last of the eleven books read this year for the Prix du Roman de Rochefort 2021, a short, quick and interesting read, a story of the Shoah and the next generation, the silence of the deported told as a mystery with enough dry humour in contrast to the original events and their sequels to explain the rationalistion of the next generation as illustrated in the opening quote of the narrators parents deciding to leave Poland for Israel.

So when she can no longer ignore the presence of the spirit of her dead sister, a dibbouk, she is persuaded to consult a woman who tells her of this phenomenon and who eventually traces a person living in Montreal that could be her supposed dead half sister whom her father had last seen in 1942 as he and his wife with their child were seperated, he to be taken from camp to camp working, “I could write a Michlin guide to the camps” he used to joke, and eventually surviving, they to be taken to Belzec, a death camp.


My dibbouk particularly liked to show up when we were alone, or rather face to face, her and I, in the evening or early in the morning when I couldn’t sleep…..I’d grown into the habit of talking to her, sometimes with a mock careing attitude: So, did you sleep well? Or other times with a resigned anger: Will you never leave me alone?***


She didn’t understand exactly why in the photos from this person found on social media, there was a recent picture of her own father in the background but decides to go to Montreal to spend time with this woman.


I know that it’s impossible. I’m a rational person, I have no fascination for paranormal phenomenon, I treat myself with real chemicals having guaranteed side effects, I believe neither in paradise nor in resurection. Parallel lives, no, completely out of the question.***


This story of discovery of the wartime experience, of its aftermath and the multiple strands and people, of what had/might have happened is particularly well told, a good choice for our long shortlist.

First Published in french as “Dibbouks” in 2021, by l’Antilope.
*** my translation

The quotes as read in French before translation

Mes parents ont quitté la Pologne pour m’assurer un avenir ou un espoir d’avenir, me sauvant des discriminations et des jets de pierre dont eux-mêmes avaient parfois été victimes ou témoins dans leur jeunesse. Je note que choisir le pays des Intifadas pour échapper aux jets de pierre est en soi une blague juive.

Je sais que c’est impossible. Je suis une personne rationnelle, je n’ai aucune fascination pour les phénomènes paranormaux, je me soigne qu’avec de bons produits chimiques aux effets secondaires garantis, je ne crois ni au paradis ni à la résurrection. Des vies parallèles, non, c’est tout à fait exclu.

Ma dibbouk aimait particulièrement se manifester dans la solitude, ou plutôt en tête-à tête, elle et moi, le soir ou le matin, très tôt, quand je n’arrivais plus à dormir….J’avais pris l’habitude de lui parler, parfois avec une sollicitude moqueuse: alors, tu as bien dormi? Ou d’autresfois avec colère résignée: tu ne me lâcheras donc jamais?

Gabrielle Massat ‘The Taste of My Mother’s Lipstick’

Quai du Polar 2021: Books shortlisted for the readers prize, Number 3

Gabrielle Massat: Le goût du rouge à lèvre de ma mère (Éditions DU MASQUE)


Are you sure you want to come in? I asked as my dog barked a second time.
The two cops hesitated. Then the woman decided, sounding as smooth as chilli on your privates:
Either that or we’re taking you in.
You don’t have the right.
With a suspect in a murder case we have all the rights. Let us come in.
I tied Angus to the cupboard door dodging his efforts to lick me. He wined tragically.
Oh, I said, I didn’t kill anyone.
Jones, he’s blind, she sounded put out when she realised.
It can’t be him, how could he have managed a perfect intravenous injection? Hell we’ve just driven 800 kilometres to arrest a suspect and he’s blind!***


In this third book read for the readers’ Gabrielle Massat takes us to San Francisco and to a world she has created around organised prostitution. Cyrus, who has been living from petty crime in San Diego, has his own routines with a private trainer and friends is unexpectedly visited at home by the police of the SFPD at his home as illustrated in the opening paragraph. Yes they quickly learn that their suspect Cyrus Colfer is blind and he learns that the murdered man, Earl Montgomery had been looking for him.

Thus begins the story as Cyrus moves back to San Francisco to try to learn what Montgomery had wanted to tell him about his mother’s death years earlier as he was still a child, that lead to his leaving San Francisco. Cyrus often unerestimated as a blind man, visits old members of the Clan that had employed his mother to try to solve the mystery of her death all those years before. He walks a thin line between working with the police and gaining the partial trust of the prostitution ring.

This was a long book, and pretty improbable, setting it in San Francisco seems to me to be an over complication, not one of my favourites for the prize.

First Published in French as “Le goût du rouge à lèvre de ma mère” in 2020 by Éditions DU MASQUE.
*** My translation

The quote as read in French before translation

Vous êtes vraiment sûrs de vouloir entrer? tentai-je alors que mon chien se fendait d’un second aboiement.
Les deux flics hésitèrent. Puis la femme trancha, d’un ton à peu près aussi agréable que du piment sur des parties génitales……
C’est ça ou on vous embarque.
Vous n’avez pas le droit.
Face à un suspect dans une affaire de meurtre, on a plein de droits. Laissez-nous entrer.
J’attachai Angus à la porte d’un placard en évitant ses coups de langue. Il lâcha un gémissement tragique.
Oh, fis-je, et je n’ai tué personne.
Jones, il est aveugle. La femme paraissait excédée par le constat.
Ça ne peut pas être lui, comment aurait-il pu réaliser une intraveineuse aussi parfaite? Bon sang, on vient de se taper huit cents kilomètres pour appréhender un suspect et il est aveugle!

Hannelore Cayre ‘ Richesse Oblige’

Quai du Polar 2021: Books shortlisted for the readers prize, Number 2

Hannelore Cayre: Richesse oblige (Métailié)


One thing’s for sure now: you can’t find a single 5 foot 1, within thousands of leagues in any direction, for less than 8000 francs. But don’t worry about it, we’ll rip you away from that damned conscription and I’m sure that pretty soon you’ll be able to thank your sister’s husband who has things in hand. As a former military man he knows the cabarets where these people drink and knows better than anyone how to talk to them……
Your brother in law has chosen Brittany where, it would seem he has old friends who owe him one. He’s written to them. Now we’re waiting.***


Hannelore Cayre, the author of The Godmother, has set this her latest crime fiction in two different time periods, both of which have in common unbridled capitalism. The first part of the story is set leading up to the 1870 Franco-Prussian war during the French Second Empire period under Napoleon III. The army is formed by conscription with a draft lottery being held as each age group is eligible , much like in the US during the Vietnam war. But the rich are rich even after the revolution, forget equality, when you are drawn, your only requirement is that someone physically eligible turns up on the enrolment day, for the rich this is known as “military replacement”, where they buy a poor person to replace them. But for the De Rigny family, with the war looming, as Antoine’s enrolment day approaches, well there aren’t many poor left as illustrated in the opening paragraph.

The present day, Blanche de Rigny, from Brittany, poor, wearing orthopaedic leg braces since a drunken accident works photocopying documents for the police, earning a bit on the side by selling lists of numbers from condemned drug dealers telephones to get by, when one day she accidentally finds out that her name is linked to a rich family. She slowly tracks down the link between her and this family which still make money in Africa without worrying how they make it. She tries to contact “her family” but they want nothing to do with her and then slowly the survivors of this rich family begin to die, one being lynched by a mob in Africa, another by a drug overdose…. until there are only two left, the old “doyenne” and Blanche, maybe the rich are no longer the hunters:


My bosses want me to ask you the following question unofficialy: If by extraordinary bad luck another unfortunate event were to take place, what would be your plans for the Trust?
It’s something to do with fiscal efficiency in an island paradise full of palm trees is that it?
Yes, the British Virgin Isles.
If that family pays people to manage their fortune and these people, of their own initiative, decide to send someone all the way over here to check a civil register, there must be a huge amount of money involved wouldn’t you say?
Yes
I love island life. Tell your bosses that, it may calm them……***


An interesting book from a historical perspective but not up there with The Godmother

First Published in French as “Richess oblige” by de Métailié in 2020
*** my translation

The quote as read in French before translation

Une chose est certaine à présent: on ne trouve plus à des milliers de lieues à la ronde le moindre cinq pieds un pouce à moins de 8000 francs. Mais ne t’inquiète pas pour cela, nous t’arracherons à cette maudite conscription et je suis sûr que tu pourras bientôt remercier le mari de ta sœur qui a pris les choses en main. Comme ancien militaire, il connaît les cabarets où ces gens boivent et sait mieux que quiconque leur parler……
Ton beau-frère a donc choisi la Bretagne où, paraît-il, d’anciens amis lui doivent des services. Il leur a écrit. Nous attendons.

Mes patrons me demandent de vous poser la question officieuse suivante: si par extraordinaire un malheur arrivait encore, quelles seraient vos intentions pour le trust?
C’est un truc d’optimisation fiscale dans une île paradisiaque avec des palmiers c’est ça?
Oui, aux îles Vierges Britanniques.
Si cette famille paye des gens pour administrer leur fortune et que ces derniers prennent sur eux d’envoyer quelqu’un jusqu’ici juste pour consulter un registre d’état civil, c’est qu’il y a énormément d’argent, non?
Oui.
J’aime beaucoup la vie insulaire. Dites ça à vos patrons, ça les rassurera peut-être….

Literary Quotes (1) Tournier

To be found in the smallest room in the house

1. Michel Tournier

Café amer au point de n’être plus buvable. Un grand brame. Deux grands brames. Aucun soulagement. La seule consolation de la matinée est d’ordre fécale. Je fais inopinément et sans la moindre bavure un étron superbe, si long qu’il faut qu’il s’incurve à ses extrémités pour tenir dans la cuvette. Je regarde attendri ce beau poupon dodu de limon vivant que je viens d’enfanter et je reprends goût à la vie.
La constipation est une source majeure de morosité. Comme je comprends le Grand Siècle avec sa manie de clystères et de purges! Ce dont l’homme prend le plus mal son parti, c’est d’être un sac d’excréments à deux pattes. À cela seule une défécation heureuse, abondante et régulière pourrait remédier, mais combien chichement cette faveur nous est concédée
 
 
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