The first novel by Guillaume Bourque, Jerome Borromeo (Boréal, 2013), evoked the disappointed hopes, the fading arrogance and the crumbling of superficial ties that often accompany the mid-thirties crisis; all presented through the eyes of a character who is, to say the least, disillusioned and a little unsympathetic.
Although the tone and form are completely different, Robbie staysthe author’s third book, explores similar themes — loss of ideals and accumulation of bad decisions in mind — this time during another pivotal crisis in male existence: that of midlife.
The novel opens with the death of Robbie, who hits a tree with his motorcycle. Accident or voluntary action? His final message to his ex, “I love you”, leaves doubt. His childhood friend, Harold, haunted by memories and regrets, recently separated after a fanciful sexual escapade, returns to his native village and moves into the cabin located in Robbie’s mother’s yard. In this place where the two kids did the 400 tricks, Harold searches, in his friend’s phone and laptop, for traces of his last months.
Himself distressed by the end of a romantic relationship which suggested a different existence, Harold dizzies himself with large gulps of beer and plunges into Robbie’s archives in a mechanism of repressed introspection in which an identification with the deceased. Very quickly, the torments and pain of the dead reverberate in those of the living. Driven by an obsession that borders on perversity, Harold sets out to follow in his friend’s footsteps, to succeed where he failed, to lead his griefs to their finish line.
During this journey, embellished with a soundtrack and literature as devastated as himself – Leonard Cohen, Christian Mistral or the Colocs -, Harold reconnects with his childhood friends, develops a filial bond with the mother of the deceased, quietly resumes the control of his life to finally make peace with the untimely passage of time and the tears which inevitably cut his line.
If Guillaume Bourque does not always manage to make the motives and actions of his protagonist intelligible, he still skillfully pulls the strings of this complex quest which mixes temporalities, anecdotes and subjectivities. In doing so, he breathes a semblance of light – a raw and natural light – into this litany of failures and regrets, going beyond the banal bitterness.
Here, suffering, loss, loneliness and cynicism do not just exacerbate the antihero’s romanticism. They are disturbing, really, before proving necessary to make way for a serenity and an openness which will be the cornerstones of a resolution and a renewal which takes its source both in the past and in the future.