Like a chronicler of the passing of time, Frédéric Beigbeder recounts the world of today in a few tender, funny and spicy stories, its fury, its excesses, while sharing its doubts and its joys with a certain jubilation and a touch of nostalgia.
Frédéric Beigbeder publishes a collection of short stories and takes a tender and disillusioned look at today’s world. Interview.
What if this book was the literary version of the piece you recorded with Bon Entendeur?
Frédéric Beigbeder: Yes, you are right. That’s exactly it! He’s the old fart who misses his youth. That’s it! You know, it’s funny because actually, that’s when we realize we’re old.
How was the idea of giving news born?
First of all, I haven’t collected short stories in twenty-seven years. These were the “Nouvelles sous ecstasy” that Philippe Sollers had published in his collection L’Infini, at Gallimard. It’s a genre that I love. I love reading news. I love writing them. It goes quickly. It’s light. It’s the art of bringing about a surprising fall. Frankly, it’s an absolute joy to write. And strangely, I wrote a lot of novels, essays, then the years passed and I found that now was the time to return to this mode of expression that I really place higher than anything. I find it so nice not to be bored.
Does it allow more freedom?
In any case, there is speed in the news. We don’t have time to dwell too much. You have to quickly establish a situation, a setting, characters. And for me, as soon as I get bored, I stop and move on to another story. That’s the luxury of news! So yes, the writing is very different.
And it allows us to talk about Paris under water, to meet Barbie, Santa Claus, the wife of Bashar el-Assad…
Exactly. To also talk about the last man on Earth, because there is no longer a single male baby born from 2050. And it also allows us to tell about all these meetings in London, in New York, in Bayonne. I almost want to say that, in a time when we complain about no longer having time to read, we must read news. Read ten-page short stories, you have plenty of time. And if the author is good, you have traveled in a few pages, in an airy and concise manner.
Is literature our last space of freedom?
Oh yes, I always thought so. For example, in the press, there are a lot of constraints. You have to ask permission from your editor-in-chief… Well, in fact, a writer doesn’t have all that. There are no meetings before writing a short story. I do what I want. And then people don’t have to read it: if they don’t want to, they don’t buy. We create a special relationship with the reader. The reader of a book has made the effort to go to a bookstore and buy the book. It’s a bit like a theater spectator. If he came, it is because he is rather benevolent.
Octave, your double, is disillusioned or pessimistic?
In fact, it depends on the subject. On AI, I am indeed very worried. On television, I paint a sort of rather pessimistic portrait of this medium that I know well. But overall, a guy who, every time he goes out, dreams of finding love, is rather an optimistic person.
The return of Octave Parango
There comes a point where it breaks. In general it doesn’t come suddenly, it’s more pernicious than that, like so many little signs that we don’t want to see. A cracking knee, a migraine that lasts longer than usual, a sneaky back ache or even that last drink that we refuse… Time passes, time flees from our hands like the microscopic grains that flee from the hourglass. The world is changing and so are we. And to keep track of this major change, who better than Octave Parango, the author’s double, to chronicle it? Twenty short stories that read like so many chapters and we find Octave’s incorrigible casualness in the face of the things of life, a neckline and its promises, the look of a girl we meet at the bar and the imagined, imaginary spells, which can also vanish in the same way. The Baron’s doors have closed, Bob Sinclar’s soundtracks will soon replace those of Bob Quibel in the Ephad common rooms, machines are invading us, social networks and their algorithms are modifying the great parameter of the free man, reducing brains. What then remains is literature, as the promise of an island preserved from the great modern fevers.
Speaking of the last man on Earth, the ending poem is not trivial…
Frankly, it makes me laugh to imagine that the last man on Earth, to whom, when asked what is the final message he wants to give to all humanity composed exclusively of women, quotes this one… We’re not going to “spoiler” but yes, it makes me laugh a lot.
Has the world become a little too serious?
I don’t know, because I also like seriousness. Sincerity is better than constant jokes. But I hope it’s nice to read a book where someone doesn’t take themselves seriously. There are a lot of things that I take seriously, but I try to have a form that is light, that looks easy, that looks frivolous. Let’s not forget that literature is a pleasure. There’s nothing obligatory about it, it’s there to amuse us, to move us, to hold up a mirror to us. You shouldn’t think of yourself as someone very intellectual. In any case, for writing short stories, especially not. You have to do this with a kind of grace.
Have you returned to Ibiza recently?
No, no (laughs). There are lots of people who say to me “But why this title?” In fact, it’s just another way of saying it was better before.
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