Note: About Eric Meunié, Auto Mobile and Fiction Complete Poetry 
How can a man (which the author, Eric Meunié, appoints: Eric Meunié) is found-t shovel it by hand on a beach, with nothing to possess a swimsuit and a towel, to dig the sand alongside the transvestite who moments earlier was massaging (all) in his trailer? Which road the little red rental car that was waiting, now inaccessible, a parking lot, she has followed the lead to destitution perfect, this drop in the sea? Embark
Auto Mobile Fiction is in fact (all the titles do not lie) to get into a car, and twists with her until her arrival, which is still perhaps not. Some roads are made to lose their tourist. But back to the first page. Slip even that which precedes (and is on page 7): I am sorry to appear, I am forced, it seems (I quote) that "this text owes much" to your servant. I do not know if this is correct, the sure thing is that I have seen this book before it is and, seeing him train, I knew it would be a book very unique and beautiful. That, leaving the top 7, I am here to confirm.
I disappear. Page 11: Landing in Saint-Raphael. Our rights should not be alone, a woman and a child were expected to be completed this summer table. Yes, but there is one, and we have to live anyway. A week ahead. A house also. And the red car, he would never leave much. Solitude offers a number of possibilities that can go to infinity, that is to say, sometimes to zero: with a guide to newspaper ads, it will leave in search of pleasure (relief), delivered not to himself but to the man who rid himself of its flaws, its sorrows, its history, this sort of man who is pure in us as a souvenir of the indeterminate, or the influence of the species. Squirting far from his love seems to Meunié Eric (the character) the safest way to lighten the weight. Meunié Eric (the author) takes care of him that shirk is long and complex, and it may go in unexpected ways, to the fullest deprivation: bathing suit, towel and transvestite. An acceptance of this forms a blessing arises in this triangle is one of the mysteries of
Auto Mobile Fiction, which is only sensible if you let walk with the narrator: he must enter in the car.
Because everything in this novel is driving case. The author holds the wheel tight. He leads a cracking pace, slow, slow down, restarts at will (including reverse). His mastery is such that his sentences seem to allow for free movement, without filter, the entire bric-a-brac of a spirit, that panic makes more and more agitated, rickety, upside down. People situations, landscapes, no light, the smallest detail go into this unstoppable movement which is woven a network of analogies which is a trap for the narrator and the reader. It comes very close as a writer rarely allows. It is on the verge of falling. It has a good mind, as the pleasure of this presence is strong. Only the irony of Eric Meunié (author), brought against his character, keeps us from saying, but here is what is so good, that's how it should be. And elegance of the writing leads us to clarify our sense, precision which defines the scope romantic: I am almost like this guy, it makes the same sound, we live in a manner similar things incomparable. Eric Meunié (both) concentrated in the small cabin of his vehicle making a living, and occasionally the bad literature, childhood, family, couple, child, and complex trauma, but he did not contemplate, touched the place, as in the so-called auto-fiction (he is more mobile), all this comes as your life comes when you read this and mine by writing them as which, without needing to be said, is there. The best literature says what is there, who did not need to be said. Not the story of a life, but its brilliance, the magic of its immediacy, not the serious, serious, tragic, but the grace - in the worst afflicted, no matter. Self Meunié Eric is one of those great ideas What physical adventure novelists (the sanatorium in The Magic Mountain, the Typhoon boat, or already in the car - and the hotel room - Lolita). It brings a man. It allows him to live in one week what he has already lived, and a little of what he has left to live. And brings us together with him.
Meunié Eric (writer) publishes simultaneously complete
Poetry, which brings together the notes he has written over twenty years, ranked in descending order (scroll down the book by its edge, you'll purify form). What the novel focused, this book scatters (rockets). Manufacturing fuel explosion. What is already stretched and vibrated slams into formulas, aphorisms, short stories, scraps of newspapers (never in sentences). Meunié which we described a Meunié undetermined, is determined differently. It is a moralist: "From generation to generation, is transmitted the same youthful energy and joy that is useless, never succeeds in its purposes, and that the time beat," which occasionally as appropriate in this kind is great philosopher: "The idea that an animal's death is the ambition of the sage. But it is also, we already knew, a novelist, which shows a tremendous capacity for expression, put the notes in the service of the sheer force of evocation, which, for irony this time Sovereign, the moralist remains close: "A couple entwines the dock with a sigh, then both get on the train" "She dreams that he is leaving. She wakes up crying. He was awakened by sobs. He goes, "" Look, "he said flanked by two guards, I just lost the hand." He looks at you, of course, do not worry, things are bound to view this kind of total book (poetry of all kinds, except poietic, no comedy here, its destruction only): "A man reads Freud the train. He occasionally throws his head and stared at some travelers, to verify, "" The actors have terrible stage fright. Spectators are fighting against sleep. "
The tone, however, dominates
complete Poetry is an intimate nature. We feel that the book out of which these fragments do not leave the author. Literature, for those who have the talent and the courage to do is also this: an appeal. Try it. You are mistaken, they lie to you, it throws you, get away, write in your filofax few harsh words and salient, it works at least since Horace. You will not forget, you'll simply find a better (life). Meunié here within (and outside) the hassle (yours) "Not only was miserable, but increasingly it's over" "I owe my solitude to sexuality"; "I try to admit it straddles me more." All this is not a radiant joy, I noted. But I invite you to find joy, great joy. Desolation, failure, sadness, longing and chuckle: we agree. But without an energy measure, which would have been rather weak Meunié if Eric had wanted to save something other than itself. Auto Mobile Fiction and Poetry full fruits appear in a manner unconscious strategy whose principal is to destroy, to leave nothing standing to leave a breath summarize all life (we sometimes feel like a lost man alone in the dark, who knows no other world outside his breathing, the cave resonates) to establish at least on this rock, human speech, able to rise again when there's nothing left.
Read these books. Get close to Eric Meunié. You will not appear suddenly on page 7 of
Auto Mobile Fiction, but you will discover the same dazzle me a great writer, and at the same time, what a great writer (always new experience): this rate, the occupation of your mind by an unprecedented pace, this different rate in the flow of your thoughts, your feelings, your memories ... Let you open the box in Meunié. Discover Eric Meunié. The literature has not finished with you.
Florent Georgesco
Auto Mobile Fiction, Editions POL, € 16, January 2006 - Full
Poetry, Publishing Exiles, € 17, January 2006
