Andrée A. Michaud

In a highly suspenseful novel, acclaimed writer Michaud explores how chance can turn a man into a killer

Newly arrived at the Lac aux Sables campground, Max, Laurence and Charlie are enchanted by the area’s beauty and decide that they’re going to have a fantastic vacation. While little Charlie runs to go swimming, his parents open a bottle and toast to summer. Then a very serious incident occurs, followed by a second one that develops into an argument. Max is furious and insists that they leave immediately. But it’s nighttime, and a storm is raging. They’re distracted and go in the wrong direction, getting their enormous RV stuck down a narrow logging road that will lead them to something horrifying.

In this gripping thriller, Andrée A. Michaud deploys all her talent to make us feel the terror of this family that chance leads into a never-ending spiral.

Jean-François Beauchemin

A poetic, contemplative novel full of magnificent reflections

With the most exuberant literary unruliness, Mayron Schwartz, a Jewish, atheist, Neo-Darwinian writer, puts together something that resembles his memoirs. Like a stream of parade floats going by, the anecdotes flow from one to the next: the author brilliantly and poetically weaves the story of a life marked by love.

Why, in brief, write this book? Well, to paint, yes, a somewhat lasting portrait of my life, but on the basis of the lives of others, the way you build a barn with its four walls and its roof so that you can then fill it with hay, the hay being yourself—the nourishing, combustible, and perishable matter, of which you’re made. But what would I be without this metaphorical barn that is built upon the presence of others? Without Grandfather Aaron (central beam), Grandmother Shamira (roof), Grandfather Solomon (windows), Grandmother Hannah (loft for the tools), Papa (reinforced floor), Mama (eastern wall, facing the rising sun), Rivka (double door with hinged fittings), Father Labranche (hoist with pulley and rope, attached to the central beam), my friend Gabriel (skylight in the loft), my friend Mr. Vigneault (western wall, facing the setting sun), etc.? For now, I offer a phrase, this time a very autobiographical one: I am worth nothing without the others, not even the price of a squash at the village’s garden fair.