Interesting tale but finish unsatisfactoy.
Read during Townsville trip. ( )

This book was really weird and sometimes hard to follow.  I'm not sure if this was due to being translated from French or the fact that the author was trying to write a more psychological thriller.  The story focused on the psychological makeup of Seraphin Monge--his need for revenge, his sexual obsession with his dead mother, his lack of connection with other humans, etc.  This plotline had its ups and downs because it dragged at some points.  This would have been fine (and earned 3 stars) except for the final chapter.  After reading it was left saying What the...?!" but not in a good way. " ( )

Ici, cela commence par l'assassinat de toute une famille dans une ferme près de Lurs, la famille Monge. Toute ? non, seul un bébé de trois semaines du prénom de Séraphin est épargné. En ce début de XXe siècle, le petit Séraphin est élevé par des Bonnes Soeurs avant d'être appelé sous les drapeaux pour accomplir son devoir de citoyen durant la Première Guerre mondiale, dont il reviendra indemne au pays et où il apprendra qu'il a hérité de la maison de ses parents puisque tous les terrains ont été vendus mais personne n'a voulu de cette dernière car ils la croyaient hantée.
Aussi, Séraphin, en côtoyant les gens du village, apprend-t-il ce qu'il est advenu de sa famille car personne, jusque-là, n'avait osé lui dire la vérité. Séraphin savait seulement qu'il était orphelin et rien de plus mais une fois au courant de ce qu'il est en réalité advenu de sa famille, assassinée cruellement à l'arme blanche, Séraphin n'aura plus qu'une idée en tête : découvrir la vérité et ce qu'il s'est réellement passé ce funeste soir. ( )

Au début du siècle, cinq personnes sont massacrées à coups de couteau dans une auberge de Haute-Provence. Seul un bébé de trois semaines échappe miraculeusement à la mort. En 1920, le survivant croit découvrir les coupables, mais deux d'entre eux, un nouveau riche et le propriétaire d'un moulin à huile, sont assassinés à leur tour avant que Séraphin Monge ait pu accomplir sa vengeance. Insensible à l'amour des filles, obsédé par le visage de sa mère qui hante ses cauchemars, tout entier voué à la découverte d'il ne sait quel secret, le justicier Monge entreprend par ailleurs de démolir la maison maudite de fond en comble…

There is a lot that I liked about this book. Not your traditional "crime story" it's probably best to flag it as a mystery. The mystery builds right from the start with the brutal massacre of an entire family - except for one. When that one orphan, now a man home from the war, returns to his family home, his agony and pain, left alone in the world, is beautifully illustrated in his manual, slow, stone by stone destruction of the house in which is family died; as is his planning of vengeance on those responsible.

Reading this book was a really odd experience for me - on the one hand I spent a fair amount of the book in a fugue of confusion, on the other hand, I found Seraphin's story and he, as a character, incredibly engaging. Sad, determined, damaged and yet powerful, this is a fascinating man. Perhaps part of the confusion for me, at least, comes with the translation. Magnan writes in the vernacular of this small area / town in France and much of that doesn't seem to have translated easily or well. The language in the book ended up feeling a little muddy, murky if you like. I always felt there was something in the descriptions of people and places, the dialogue that I wasn't quite a party too.

So whilst, there was definitely a lot I liked about the book, there was also a bit that I didn't. I most definitely didn't like the confusion. On the other hand I loved the ambiguity. I loved the characters, but felt I never really got to know them. I loved the place, but I felt I never quite got to go there.

I'd certainly not discourage anyone of a more adventurous or curious reading nature to try this book - quite the contrary in some ways. Perhaps it needs to be read as a fantastic, unusual, different style of book, that was translated too exactly. It always felt like somewhere, under the words, there was a beautiful story lurking. ( )