By Guillaume Musso
Elle est son passé...
... il est son avenir.
Emma vit à long island. À 32 ans, elle proceed de chercher l’homme de sa vie.
Matthew habite à Boston. Il a perdu sa femme dans un bad twist of fate et élève seul sa fille de quatre ans.
Ils font connaissance grâce à net et bientôt, leurs échanges de mails les laissent penser qu’ils ont enfin droit au bonheur. Désireux de se rencontrer, ils se donnent rendez-vous dans un petit eating place italien de Manhattan.
Le même jour à los angeles même heure, ils poussent chacun à leur journey los angeles porte du eating place. Ils sont conduits à l. a. même desk et pourtant… ils ne se croiseront jamais.
Jeu de mensonges ? Fantasme de l’un ? Manipulation de l’autre ? Victimes d’une réalité qui les dépasse, Matthew et Emma vont rapidement se rendre compte qu’il ne s’agit pas d’un basic rendez-vous manqué…
Une aventure aussi mystérieuse que bouleversante.
Une intrigue virtuose aux frontières du réel.
Un suspense diabolique, extreme et captivant.
« Les personnages de Guillaume Musso sont dotés d’une fragilité extrêmement touchante et d’une humanité qui nous ficelle viscéralement à eux. Chez Musso, l’émotion a des accents majeurs. » Le Figaro journal
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The warrior’s bed was made ready for him at once; no trouble was spared. ’ The host ordered his men to depart. The beds of the guest’s pages lay in a circle around his own, with their heads next to it, as was Gahmuret’s custom. Tall candles stood there, burning brightly. It irked the warrior that the night lasted so long. The black Mooress, that country’s queen, Book I caused him to swoon again and again. He twisted and turned, time and again, like a bundle of willow twigs, his joints cracking.
Both their deaths will trouble me forever. Grief blooms upon my loyalty. ’ Parzival Gahmuret’s immediate thought was that, although she was a heathen, a more womanly and loyal disposition had never glided into a woman’s heart. Her chastity was a pure baptism, as was the rain which poured upon her, the ﬂood that ﬂowed from her eyes down upon her sable and her breast. Contrition’s cult was her delight, and true grief’s doctrine. She told him more: ‘Then, from across the sea, the King of the Scots attacked me with his army.
Gaschier the Norman brought him there––he was courteous, his father was a Frenchman. He was Kaylet’s sister’s son; he’d travelled in a woman’s service. Killirjacac was his name, a counterweight to all men’s beauty. When Gahmuret beheld him––their countenances attested their kinship, they resembled one another greatly––he asked the mighty queen to kiss and embrace him. ’ The host then kissed him himself––they were delighted to see one another. Gahmuret then said: ‘Alas, gentle youth, what were you doing here, being of such tender years?