Kuessipan
Each paragraph is a snapshot of everyday life on the reserve, a description of a photo or a memory in the narrator’s mind’s eye, the writing “soft as a partridge’s belly.” And the result is quite beautiful.
Each paragraph is a snapshot of everyday life on the reserve, a description of a photo or a memory in the narrator’s mind’s eye, the writing “soft as a partridge’s belly.” And the result is quite beautiful.
Annabelle Larousse’s translation of this François Barcelo short story is one of a collection of six to be released earlier this year. It’s typical Barcelo: dark and funny, with a nod and a wink to a very serious theme (drug abuse) along the way.
François Barcelo is a difficult author to pigeonhole. Peter McCambridge takes a look at at his most recent work to examine his recipe for grisly deaths and belly laughs.
Photo credit: © Zélie photographe
I was born in Gagnonville. You wouldn’t have heard of it. It’s not on any of the maps any more. They tore it all down in ’85 when the mine closed. That’s where my dad worked, at the mine. He was union rep. So when it closed down he got seriously depressed. Then again, it might have been finding the neighbour who hanged herself in the shed three days before they razed the town to the ground.