Last year, I literally fell in love with Banyuls. From a small white house bohemian charm, perched on a rock beside the Mediterranean, where it has been kind enough to welcome me, and again this year ... A week to contemplate the sea, sleeping, hanging out, daydreaming, free internet access and in good company: I bring The Last watchman Britain Philippe Le Guillou (on his meetings with Gracq in Saint-Florent-le -Old), a gift from S. and The Art of the novel by Virginia Woolf , offered by A.
In Virginia, I've read a few pages, and here is a passage that made me smile while giving me thinking:
Most novelists have had this experience. Some Brown or Smith or Jones appears and tells them the most seductive, the most charming of the world: "Catch Me If You Can." Led by the wisp, they wade in volume by volume, spend the best years of their lives to this pursuit and generally receive very little money in return. Few catch the ghost, most of them must be satisfied a fragment of her dress or a lock of her hair.
Is this a way of saying the illusion of otherness that creates the fictional character from the person you'd think the least receptive to romantic illusion, that is to say, the novelist himself ?
Oh, I forgot the perfect holiday soundtrack, Lay Your Head Down (In My Arms) Keren Ann ...
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