Voici un roman qui m'a profondément ennuyé. L'auteur écrit bien mais rien de très excitant. le titre pourtant m'a immédiatement attiré. L'histoire est intéressante mais je déplore une certaine lenteur qui m'a lassée très vite.
Une auteur de romances très prolifique qui rencontre un véritable succès est atteinte d'une malade. Ses jours sont comptés, trois mois tout au plus. Elle prend alors la décision d'embaucher un nègre pour écrire sa dernière oeuvre. Ce livre n'est plus une romance mais une autobiographie qui se veut utile pour enfin dire une vérité terrible.
Elle fait appel à un autre auteur.
Nous apprendrons progressivement l'histoire de cette femme qui a perdu son époux et son enfant et les raisons qui la conduisent à cette ultime oeuvre.
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The last time I spoke to my mother, I was dressed in black and huddled against the wind, staring down at a fresh gravestone. She tried to hug me. She told me she loved me. In response, I told her the truth. I told her I hated her for turning Bethany and Simon against me. For calling me unfit. For siding with him. For taking my daughter from me. All unforgivable sins, ones that I could only punish her for with cruel silence, ignored calls, and spiteful words snarled beside a black hearse. I vowed, in that graveyard, to never speak to her again unless she found a way to return my daughter to me
Maybe that’s why I’ve waited until now, the moment when I won’t be around to see the carnage, to deal with the police, the consequences, the judgement. Two thousand words a day. Three months that are already whittling down. My stomach heaves, and I open my mouth, inhale deeply, a panic attack rising, my body suddenly hot, this office stuffy, the glow of the computer’s screen too bright. I can’t do it. There is no way, not enough time, not enough hours to dedicate to what is the most important novel of my entire life.
What’s happened to you, Helena?”
What’s happened to me? I have a story that I don’t have time to tell. I have an empty house that reeks of death. I have no friends, no family, and no one to ask for help. I’m dying, and it’s the best thing that has happened to me in a long time. I shrug.
. “I’ve got a tumor. It’s spread just about everywhere. The doctors gave me three months.”
I close my eyes and, despite every intention not to—feel the pull toward sleep. I hate Simon with my entire soul, and I love him with every other inch of my body, and neither really matters because he is dead, and I killed him.
Q&A with A.R. Torre, author of The Girl in 6E