In a modest apartment in an anonymous French suburb, a woman lies on the floor, stabbed with 10 stab wounds. It was her neighbour, a 19-year-old young man who regularly helped her run errands, who murdered her when he tried to steal her bank card to settle a debt. At the dawn of a new literary cycle, Constance Debré abandons autofiction to offer a cold and sharp reflection on the violence inherent in the construction of otherness, the justice system and its insidious vision of the victim. “I am guilty yes, but I am guilty instead of you. Since someone has to bear the fault, since someone has to bear the pain. With her telegraphic and intransigent pen, the French writer refuses codes, extracts herself from place, name and genre to denounce the foundation of society: the dichotomy between good and evil. Offenses is a cry from the heart, whose few inconsistencies and rhetorical shortcuts in no way alter the striking force.
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