I don’t read French, but the automatic translation sounds pretty cool:
There are books that are appreciated because they resonate with the actuality, others that we love because, precisely, they are totally inactive. Such is the case of Fred, of Clayton Lindemuth, who could not in any way obey this law of transitivity, which has become a critical facility, coupled with a commercial algorithm: “If you love … you will love …” For, Summer, Cataract City, by Canadian Craig Davidson (Albin Michel, 2014), In memory of Fred would be the only specimen in the generic category of “pitbull fighting, avatted bastons, romantic love and hanging”.
I guess it says I don’t avail myself of the book marketing technique “if you loved x, you’ll love this.” Because there aren’t many books that feature pitbull fighting, avatted bastons, romantic love and hanging.
I don’t know about you, but that’s hilarious.
Just an FYI, I don’t condone dog fighting. The book is a revenge story about a quirky character whose best friend, his dog, is stolen, fought, and left for dead. Evil doesn’t come easy to my protagonist Baer Creighton, but it comes.
I dig the end of the review, too:
One knows the essential: Clayton Lindemuth distills a literature not adulterated, a little foutraque and damn tonic.
Anyone who can give me a fluent translation of this entire review, which I can post, I’ll send you a signed copy of the French version of My Brother’s Destroyer, titled “En Memorie de Fred.” Send me an email via the link on the right side of the page.