Third novel by Martin Talbot (Overfull, This confusion will be superb), my foreign language depicts an execrable character that we will follow with malicious pleasure and for whom we will manage to feel a little empathy. On the verge of having his tongue amputated, a man seeks a spokesperson. When this person learns that he has made racist remarks towards his neighbours, she declines the offer. Deprived of speech and taste, the narrator then takes the full measure of what he has lost. “I touch on another life. I am no longer the victim of my story, but the master of my destiny. With humor and wit, the director of Henry Henry engages in reflection on the meaning and weight of words, on the attachment to the mother tongue and on the value of speech. As he gives her the chance to redeem herself, the author gradually draws her character into a fantasy-flavoured narrative happily evoking Gogol’s short stories (The nose, The coat).
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