What is done being more to do, one should automatically award the Goncourt prize to experienced writers. They would be allowed to breathe freely. Pierre Lemaitre is unleashed in Couleurs de l'incendie, which follows the Au revoir là-haut (Goncourt 2013) and is more successful, more fun. No importance if we have not read the previous book, or if we have forgotten the beginning of the adventures of the Péricourt family. The author takes care of the presentations with a certain tact towards us: "The readers who know Madeleine know that she had never been very pretty."Madeleine Péricourt pulls all the strings of this novel which counts beautiful ones. When the story begins, in 1927, the financial and political elite prepares to bury Marcel Péricourt, banker. The President of the Republic is past, the "funeral car is ready" in the courtyard of the mansion, when the son of Madeleine, Paul, 7 years, flows from the second floor and crashes on the coffin of his grand-father.--Translation by Liberation.
Anne Forestier finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time when she blunders into a raid on a jeweller's on the Champs-Elysees. Shot three times, she is lucky to survive - and morbidly unlucky to remember the face of her assailant. Followed home from her hospital bed, Anne is in grave danger. But one thing stands in her favour - a dangerously vengeful partner, carrying the scars of devastating loss, who will break all the rules to protect the woman he loves: Commandant Camille Verhoeven. Following the horror of Irene and the thrills of Alex, Camille is the heart-stopping final chapter of Lemaitre's multi-award-winning trilogy, soon to be the subject of a major American film. Drawn once again into a labyrinthine web with answers ever out of reach, Camille must draw on all his talent to face an enemy who threatens everything he holds dear.
For Commandant Verhoeven life is beautiful: he's happily married, and expecting his first child with the lovely Irene. But his blissful existence is punctured by a murder so savage that even the most hardened officers on the force are shaken to the core. In the face of the seemingly motiveless horror, only Verhoeven makes the vital connection - the crime scene resembles one described in a James Ellroy novel too closely for there to be any coincidence. As the stylised murders continue, Verhoeven traces the crimes' literary inspirations, and risks his superiors' ire by taking out adverts to inform the killer of his progress. Before long, the case develops into a personal duel, with each man hell-bent on outsmarting his opponent. There can only be one winner - whoever has the least to lose ...
"The year is 1918, the war on the Western Front all but over. An ambitious officer, Lieutenant Henry D'Aulnay-Pradelle, sends two soldiers over the top and then surreptitiously shoots them in the back to incite his men to attack the German lines. When another of D'Aulnay-Pradelle's soldiers, Albert Maillard, reaches the bodies and discovers how they died, the lieutenant shoves him into a shell hole to silence him. Albert is rescued by fellow soldier, the artist Edouard Péricourt, who takes a bullet in the face. The war ends and both men recover, but Edouard is permanently disfigured, and fakes his death to prevent his family from seeing him as a cripple. In gratitude for Edouard's rescue, Albert becomes the injured man's companion and caregiver. Finding that the postwar gratitude for the soldiers' service is nothing more than lip-service to an empty idea, the two men scramble to survive, ultimately devising a scam to take money for never-to-be-built war memorials from small towns. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Pradelle has married Edouard's sister Madeline and is running a scam of his own that involves the exhumation of war victims. In this sorrowful, heart-searching novel, the interwoven lives of these three men create a tapestry of the human condition as seen through the lens of war, revealing brutality and compassion, heroism and cowardice, in equal measure."--Provided by publisher.
Qui connaît vraiment Alex ? Elle est belle. Excitante. Est-ce pour cela qu'on l'a enlevée, séquestrée et livrée à l'inimaginable ? Mais quand le commissaire Verhoeven découvre enfin sa prison, Alex a disparu. Alex, plus intelligente que son bourreau. Alex qui ne pardonne rien, qui n'oublie rien, ni personne. Un thriller glaçant qui jongle avec les codes de la folie meurtrière, une mécanique diabolique et imprévisible où l'on retrouve le talent de l'auteur de Robe de marié.
Evidemment, je m'y attendais puisque j'en suis l'auteur mais... à ce point-là! Quelle vision, c'est à peine croyable... Son mari n'est plus que l'ombre de lui-même. Les vertèbres ont dû être salement touchées. Il doit maintenant peser dans les quarante-cinq kilos. Il est tassé dans son fauteuil, sa tête est maintenue à peu près droite par une minerve. Son regard est vitreux, son teint jaune comme un coing. Et il est tout à fait conscient. Pour un intellectuel, ça doit être terrible. Quand on pense que ce type n'a pas trente ans, on est effaré... Quant à elle, elle pousse le fauteuil avec une abnégation admirable. Elle est calme, son regard est droit. Je trouve sa démarche un peu mécanique mais il faut comprendre: cette fille a de gros soucis... En tout cas, elle ne tombe pas dans la vulgarité: pas d'attitude de bonne soeur ou d'infirmière martyre. Elle serre les dents et pousse le fauteuil, voilà tout. Elle doit pourtant réfléchir et se demander ce qu'elle va faire de ce légume. Moi aussi d'ailleurs.
