Pirate Ships Labeling

Chronicle: The well of the perversion - Michael Vigneron

difficult to close such a book. It is dark and cruel, as announced back cover. I would add that sometimes it is unbearable with passages worthy of the Marquis de Sade, and especially with the deeply human journey crossed by three main characters. A thriller that makes one wonder about the daily violence and our society in a vacuum, through a provincial cop disillusioned by the justice system that console between the thighs of a prostitute whom he falls in love with a girl incest victim who shares with us his suffering and remorse through his diary, and John, a leader reduced to a homosexual relationship with a minor dormant.

Peeled scalpel, murders are linked. But the strength of the text is the lack of value judgments. There is no good, not evil. Everyone lives with his troubles, his mistakes, his past, each is embedded in everyday life. A little like Hugh Pagan.

Michel Vigneron is a cop and it feels, it transpires every page, through dialogues, hierarchical conflicts, and scenes of daily life as a police officer. I not talking about the morning coffee or the annual rating, I talk about the autopsy scene, glottis playing with a yo-yo in the discovery of the corpse fermented, this hyper-realistic scene of "slicing" committed by Gypsy with an old lady in a remote farm, I mean this kid who tries to escape sexual abuse from his father by pretending that his mentruation period is not over.

Thanks Michael. Well of perversion moved me guts. Thank you to Gilles Guillon, editor-in Ravet Anceau, which allowed me to read you.

Confirmation Letter To Friend

Between pink and black

It's been three weeks I reread my manuscript. Three weeks to scrutinize the error, polishing, rework some dialogue, thesaurus under his elbow to avoid repetition. Three weeks is just finally, compared with sixty years of Goethe, who has continued throughout his life to his work Faust.

Place the markers now, devotees and newcomers, a total of six or seven people, mostly gentlemen, some for history enthusiasts. Especially friends who have no qualms about saying that my work is poor if they see it as such. I am on vacation. I'll take the opportunity to read some books accumulated for months, review the saving hand loop of Thierry Henry, trying to understand why so many French came to believe that Treiber Musulin is innocent and that is a nice guy. I'll get an idea of cover, even though I already dream of two soldiers feldgrau that can be seen under the Eiffel Tower, through the crotch of a stilt-walkers dressed in pink t-suspenders to the forefront. Then a title, necessarily. Maybe "Between pink and black." Maybe not. I await the advice from my proofreaders. Write on the Occupation of France, the Paris police and cabarets invaded by media collaboration was become a necessity. I hope I have respected the spirit.

Between pink and black, the color range seems extensive. It is not, actually. Thierry Rose is the one that explodes the Brazilians in the quarterfinals of the 2006 World Cup. Thierry Black is the one that "crosses the Irish in 2009. To demonstrate these Parisians versatile roses in August 1944 during the liberation of Paris, although black fifty days earlier when they gathered in their thousands at the funeral of colleague Philippe Henriot. The world is like. Serge Lenz, before becoming the worst torturers, was a gentleman-burglar adulation. Others, before becoming the Grand Cross Legion of Honor received the Francisque hands of Petain. People, morality and sometimes forget the law, history rarely.

My next project? A story of cops, of course. Very contemporary, very Parisian, who probably will ring the return of Duhamel and Belhali.

Angela Pitts Nacktbilder

Paris earlier German

We have never spoken in Berlin and our relations with Germany that week. Berlin and the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Franco-German friendship and the presence of Angela Merkel, the Arc de Triomphe, and finally old statements by the New Berlin NDiaye, our new Prix Goncourt on the monstrosity of France in 2009.

This is great because in this week full of celebrations, I just close the last chapter of a historical thriller that begins precisely on 11 November, the year 1940. A thriller that I could title "Paris to the German time," indeed. As the Paris of the years of occupation saw the time zone of Berlin. The Paris (and France) the dark years, it is also a curfew at 23:00, they are warnings and raid shelters, they are the roundups of Jews, resistance fighters and communists, a collaborationist press, a population entirely devoted to Pétain (including in April 1944 when tens of thousands of cheering Parisians), are the queues at the shops, "toeing" which are sold to the German Reichsmark for some, it is torture Lauristion Street and Avenue Foch, Mont Valerian executions and Chateaubriand, the massacres of Maille and Oradour-sur-Glane. In short, a monstrous period, which historians have not finished analyzing and dissecting. Yes, the France of the 40s was monstrous.

The France of 2009 she resembles that of 1940? Beyond the controversy is the question that seems to be NDiaye. But perhaps because she, after all. For France in 1939 did not seem especially monstrous to his contemporaries. To think ...

We will never spoken Berlin and our relations with Germany this week. And so much more ...