![]() I’ve never quite agreed with that, or certainly not in relation to the novel under review here. Whenever Céline’s work is discussed, it is invariably impressed upon you how hateful and irate it is. “The sadness of the world has different ways of getting to people, but it seems to succeed almost every time.”Īs the new year slouched into being, one of my first acts was to pick up Journey to the End of the Night by Louis-Ferdinand Céline. So as midnight on the thirty-first of December struck, I waved 2016 away with glee I watched it die with a sadistic smirk. By the end of the year, I expected the worst out of every situation, and I was never disappointed. I was on the run, while remaining stationary. Every sphere of my life became compromised, to such an extent that I was actually afraid. A quick kick to the shins. That sort of thing. But then, with generic horror film tempo, the bad began to escalate. Initially, it was only small things, relatively insignificant things. A sharp whack on the head when my back was turned. ![]() I didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at it funny, but 2016 took a dislike to me from the first moment. ![]()
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