Franck, his name is Franck because his mother and grandmother loved Frank Alamo (Biche, oh ma biche, Da doo ron ron, Allô Maillot 38-37 and all that) (yes, yes, it exists... ) and my name is Billie because my mother was pretty by Michael Jackson (Bi ...
Franck, his name is Franck because his mother and grandmother loved Frank Alamo (Biche, oh ma biche, Da doo ron ron, Allô Maillot 38-37 and all that) (yes, yes, it exists... ) and my name is Billie because my mother was pretty by Michael Jackson (Billie Jean is not my lover / She's just a girl etc.). Suffice it to say that we didn't go with the same godmothers in life and that we weren't scheduled to see each other one day...
Not only were Franck and Billie not programmed to hum the same choruses, but what's more, they had everything they needed in store to live a good life of well-crafted shit in misery - physical misery, moral misery and intellectual poverty. Absolutely everything. And then one fine day (their first), they meet.
They meet thanks to the play We don't joke with love by Alfred de Musset. Billie was drawn to play Camille and Franck, Perdican.
At one point, in this scene that they must learn by heart and declaim in front of the other students in their class, Camille says to Franck: Raise your head, Perdican! and at another, a little further away, Perdican ends up confessing to Billie: How beautiful you are, Camille, when your eyes come alive! well there it is, everything is there and everything is said: this book tells nothing other than an immense love story between two ugly ducklings, who, by dint of forcing each other to raise their heads and reminding each other that they are beautiful, end up becoming large, majestic swans.
In fact, it looks like Cyrulnik, but less refined. Where Boris would have used the words “chasm” or “resilience”, Billie, when she is happy, blurts out with a sneer: Et tac. Still screwed, life.
Well... Everyone has their own ailments and their own way of writing them...
A.G.
"Billie, my Billie, this little princess with a shattered childhood who makes her way through life with a shotgun in one hand and We Don't Mess With Love in the other is the prettiest thing that makes me has happened since I started writing.
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