We must go, Casimir,
Virginie Beauregard D. and Delphie Côté-Lacroix
Shortage of housing, eviction, real estate escalation, so many words that testify to a glaring situation. It is, after all, a fundamental right: to be housed. Casimir, narrator and protagonist of this short novel in free verse by Virginie Beauregard D., is one of the victims of this crisis. In ten years of existence, it has never moved. His friends, his school, the bustling life: what he loves is close to home. However, one day, his mother receives a letter from the owner, announcing that they will have to move: “Is that how it works? / whoever decides to evict us has only / to blow a piece of paper into my mother’s bed / to upset our life that he doesn’t know? Fortunately, Casimir is an inventor, and he is ready to do everything possible to come out of this misfortune the greatest. A sparkling story, embedded in a topical subject and punctuated by the illustrations of Delphie Côté-Lacroix. (The short scale, in bookstores)
Missie,
Christophe Leon and Barroux
Officially, the Thirteenth Amendment abolished the practice of slavery in the United States. A practice that would have lasted, officially still, 246 years. Christophe Léon, with his short novel, however intends to show us another version of the story. He invites us to Tennessee, in 1929, offering his voice to a story inspired by George Junius Stinney Jr., a young black man unjustly accused of the death of two young white women. The young hero addresses a white interlocutor, Missié, in a sharp tone: “We are not made of the same paste. Even if the blood that runs through our veins is red for you as for me. Another lure, this blood, because yours didn’t flow often. My dad taught me something yours probably never taught you. Race is born out of racism, not the other way around. An intense and moving text, imbued with Barroux’s illustrations, which underline the atmosphere of the story without imposing on it. (From them, in bookshops)
The dark room,
Jonathan Becotte
The treasures are not all buried at the bottom of the oceans. Some even look like nothing, covered in dust and piled up in boxes soggy with humidity. These are the treasures that the narrator of The dark room, short novel in free verse by Jonathan Bécotte. His father having asked him to come and vacate the room of his childhood, he discovers objects there that bring up a myriad of memories, some of which are still burning: “To stir up memories is a funeral wake. // I feel like an archaeologist / Going to excavate a necropolis. / Except that the words buried there / Aren’t completely buried. // They can jump down my throat at any time, / Without warning. ” Carried by strong images and a panting breath, the narration invites us on the traces of a first love, where childhood borrows in turn the face of happiness, cruelty and bliss. (Leméac, in bookshops)
That works ! and other sports poems,
Francois Gravel and Laurent Pinabel
Sport is health, they say. But it’s also about equipment, competition and regulations. François Gravel rather wanted to approach the sport in an uninhibited way, not hesitating to run backwards or to prefer chocolate medals to gold-plated ones. His 25 flights therefore approach sport obliquely, with an offbeat humor patinated with an absurd varnish. Taking literally the idea that sport is above all a game, he approaches each sport as a new opportunity to have fun with language. So he offers us some really extreme sports: “Practice synchronized swimming / In a diver’s costume! // Are you a marathon runner? Try running on your hands! » A crazy universe that would be nothing without the remarkable contribution of Laurent Pinabel and his collages in black and white and yellow which, in an original way, deconstruct the sport and complement the text. (400 shots, September 19)
The highest branch,
Helene de Blois and Emilie Leduc
At what age do you stop climbing trees? Hélène de Blois’ new album could make you want to. Elsa takes great pleasure in contemplating the monstrous tree – twice the size of a diplodocus! — which rises in its courtyard. As she climbs its branches, she takes the time to admire the teeming life there. Once at the top, she spies on her neighbors and abandons herself to daydreams, where she stages the beginning of the world: “Lying on the highest branch, I imagine the time of yesteryear / when there was no no neighbors, no tomatoes or gardens / no swimming pools, no mad dogs running around in circles / and above all no houses. This tree of life, silent witness to many developments, is coming to the end of its cycle. Elsa is heartbroken when, very close to the cut stump, a tree shoot is reborn, in turn full of promise. A story of rebirths, brilliantly illustrated by Émilie Leduc. (Mr. Ed, November 8)