A small novel from the Netherlands. A mystery novel with no mystery at all for the readers but only for the characters. A sad story too. Three fourteen year old kids in a summer camp in Belgium are going to sign up for their future in that one little summer month. One will end up a drug lord in the Netherlands. And the other two, due to their mediocrity and their lack of enterprising spirit will end up wanting what the drug lord can give them, money, when in their mid-life they will suddenly decide they have to become enterprising, and they will do what he asks them to do, pass drugs somewhere in a south-east Asian country. Pure accident, she travelling on a fake identity from the US, he travelling incognito from the Netherlands, having to pass a suitcase of heroin from one hired car to another, between two planes on an empty parking lot in the night. No real danger. Except that in this country living more or less under a dictator or at least a capricious hardly elected general known as General Suffering, which is funny in a Buddhist country since Suffering is the standard translation for Dukkha, the central concept of Buddhism, anything may happen. And anything happens. These two people who had not seen each other for thirty years, since they were fourteen, met, recognized each other but are imprudent in that recognition making them suspicious to some local tramps near by who join them once and for all in their entangled and intertwined guts. The rest is horror. The two tramps will vanish, into death and oblivion. An inoffensive one-legged kid will be accused, will confess and will be executed. And the drug will never surface anywhere. And who could care less or more? The book yet is sad because it ends with the husband and the two sons of the woman who never gets identified. These three men are mourning her, each one in their own ways, distant anyway. She just stepped out of their life and we wonder if she should ever have been in their life. That's sad because she was a good wife and a good mother, but she only left recollections that require her to be away to come back and be remembered. You have some people like that. They seem to be nothing but the instant when you meet them, day after day, without any time depth, past, nothing, and yet that past comes up when they have disappeared, a past that is in no real way emotional, just anecdotic. Sad indeed. That little book is sad.
Dr Jacques COULARDEAU, University Paris 1 Pantheon Sorbonne, University Paris 8 Saint Denis, University Paris 12 Créteil, CEGID