Tingling Breast After My Period

The time given to me Jean-Francois Beauchemin

How could I delay too long to talk about good books read in the last few months? I start by choosing one at random (since there are several that I have to comment), I chose The time I gave Jean-Francois Beauchemin.

I was in my second book read by this author. A few years ago, The manufacture of the blade greatly affected me and many of my customers at the bookstore where I worked thought the same. The with my time given I found the personal style of the author, a style that suggests nothing but the player joined by her gentleness and quiet glow. Until two-thirds of the book around, I told myself prefer my previous reading of the author, until the final breath and take me by its depth. I excerpt here a few snippets:

(speaking of his mother)

"I realized many years later that she was trying to tell us, and that made her tremble because she was afraid to disappoint us, or to kill us in a form of magic, that love is a lonely thing. "

then there's this passage that speaks of writing and who joined me in particular:

" But the game was incredible for me my passage to the University ended one day, and I think due to work. I'd rate my chances: they were zero. I stowed in a drawer my two degrees in literary studies and began to learn my craft seriously. Ten years of writing left but true, a cheerful but stubborn toil passed. A pretty safe instinct guided me. But I remembered the instructions of my teachers who encouraged me to work from plans, compels me with the prospect of organizing a frame. I took my feet in these nets, these pitfalls handed me an old school background distracted but obedient. I decided to forget the end of it all: words in the end decided everything. I understand that writer is first a reader: read all these words and then stored in me every day since childhood appealed to others in fertilized soil. I loved their feel in the chest push, I correct that if necessary by a minimum of technical, by the action of an imagination always subject to my will. A dream domesticated result of this work. Lines that are still unclear, but more or less continuously, taking shape before me. I began to see the path of my life. "

Is not it beautiful? In fact, what about the book? Of love, family, a loving father, his relationship to music. But this background is not primarily responsible for the beauty of this novel. It's simply the way Jean-Francois Beauchemin to tell which is enchanting. Writers among us, it is probably the best master the subtle art of passing time and space which we pamper and love us. An intelligent and sensitive book which I shall return.