Nous mentons tous by Normand de Bellefeuille

By Normand de Bellefeuille

• Une building cinématographique qui réactualise certains grands récits des Métamorphoses d'Ovide.

• Un roman aux multiples facettes où le mensonge devient une quête d'amour et de vérité.

• Un livre dont le titre est déjà porteur de toutes ses ambitions.

Quitté par son amante qui fuit en Italie, un homme tente de reconstruire tout ce qui lui échappe, de reconquérir tout ce dont il a été dépossédé. Parce qu'il croit que cela atténue le hasard, il compte ses pas, comme il l'a d'ailleurs toujours fait, cherchant à trouver une mesure exacte dans l'organisation du monde.

Mal datée, los angeles première lettre que Raphaëlle lui envoie lui fait douter de tout ce qu'elle y raconte. Raphaëlle y inscrit «Venise», alors qu'il lui semble plutôt reconnaître Florence, Milan ou Rome. begin alors los angeles stratégie du mensonge, qui devient encore plus évidente lorsqu'il découvre, dans un vieil appareil photograph, une pellicule oubliée où Raphaëlle apparaît, trois ans plus tôt, en compagnie d'un homme qu'il devine être son amant.

En arrière-plan, un livre et un movie. Les Métamorphoses d'Ovide et son version cinématographique dont il a à réaliser los angeles bande-annonce.

Déchiré entre les lettres de Raphaëlle qui dissimulent et ces vieilles photographies qui révèlent, cet homme de quarante-sept ans en viendra à tout confondre : l'histoire que Raphaëlle, lui mentant, cherche à lui raconter, le texte d'Ovide, le projet de movie, los angeles bande-annonce qu'il compte en tirer et les petits récits de ceux et celles qui l'entourent.

Autant de lieux, autant de discours, autant de scènes où s'affrontent le mentir vrai et le véritable mensonge, l'impensable aveu et l'inévitable dissimulation.

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Additional info for Nous mentons tous

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You filthy beggar, get out of here, don't touch me, if you lay a finger on me I'll cane you to death . . and he'd go back to the window with the broken panes, stark . naked. The old women and the nuns didn't dare cross the court with the orange trees anymore. We decided that the best thing was to board up the shutters of his cell. But he always managed to break them down. Until one night, as Don Clemente slept, I walled up his window with bricks and cement, the first window I walled up in the Casa.

It was witch­ craft, black magic, and that's why the peasants were being crushed under the weight of endless misfortunes. Over the bone­ dry plains, where the animals swollen with thirst were dying off, the head of the landowner's daughter, flapping huge sinewy ears that were like bat wings, would fly after the yellow bitch dog­ it was warty and scrawny like the girl's nursemaid-that guided the chonch6n to a place indicated by the rays of their accom­ plice, the moon, on the other side of the hills.

I'm the seventh old woman. I'll take it upon myself to watch over the Azcoitia about to be born. Iris's - 50 vomit, which I washed from the kitchen tiles, anointed me. I keep it wrapped in a floor rag, with my books and my manu­ scripts, under the bed, where all old women keep their things. THE FIRST TffiNG I had to do was win them over. If I didn't find a way to dazzle them, I'd be accepted by them in name only, even though I'd groveled for them. I let a few days go by while I laid my plans, letting them go on barely talking to me and watching me on the sly.

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