Guys Like Me

Guys Like Me

Language: English

Pages: 144

ISBN: 1939931150

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


"Fabre’s unexpectedly touching novel has a laugh of its own behind its low-key, smoothly translated narrative voice ... The city it evokes isn’t the Paris of tourists but of local people."—The New York Times

"Fabre is a genius of these nuanced, interior moments ... The story Fabre tells is that of every one of us: looking for meaning in the mundane, moving through our lives, our interactions, as if through the fabric of a dream ... How do we live? it asks to consider. And: What does our existence mean?"—Los Angeles Times

"Guys Like Me is a short, arresting tale that ...not only offers keen insights into the mind of its middle-aged protagonist, but also provides the reader with a unique tour of what everyday life in the low-key suburbs of Paris must truly be like."—Typographical Era

"Readers will take pleasure in this well-told tale with a satisfying ending."––Publishers Weekly

"The setting may be Paris, but it’s not the Paris of grand avenues and pricey cafés. In fact, Fabre’s hero is a recognizable everyman, from any country."—Library Journal

A smile like a soft flash of light . . . travels through this moving novel and tells, in words that are muted and profoundly humane, of life as it is."—Le Monde

"Fabre speaks to us of luck and misfortune, of the accidents that make a man or defeat him. He talks about our ordinary disappointments and our small moments of calm. Fabre is the discreet megaphone of the man in the crowd."—Elle

"In this novel one finds the intimate geography of an author who lays bare the essence of Paris and its outskirts."—La Quinzaine littéraire

Dominique Fabre, born in Paris and a lifelong resident of the city, exposes the shadowy, anonymous lives of many who inhabit the French capital. In this quiet, subdued tale, a middle-aged office worker, divorced and alienated from his only son, meets up with two childhood friends who are similarly adrift, without passions or prospects. He's looking for a second act to his mournful life, seeking the harbor of love and a true connection with his son. Set in palpably real Paris streets that feel miles away from the City of Light, Guys Like Me is a stirring novel of regret and absence, yet not without a glimmer of hope.

Dominique Fabre, born in 1960, writes about people living on society's margins. He is a lifelong resident of Paris, France. His previous novel, The Waitress Was New, was also translated into English.

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fake kindness I sometimes assume in order to do nothing. Jean was listening the way you listen to a story that’s somehow too mysterious to be really interesting. He nodded from time to time. If I’d been in Marc-André’s place, it would have irritated me. I decided not to mention the translation. He might have felt uncomfortable being indebted to both of us the same time, while Aïcha was talking to her mother in Beirut, shut up in their bedroom after eleven at night. Toward the end, he stammered

that he didn’t know what to say, but MarcAndré was only interested, so to speak, in the door of the bedroom, with his dark eyes. “Is everything all right, Marco?” After a while, as if he couldn’t hold out any longer, he excused himself. When he came back, he was looking straight ahead of him at the window to the balcony, trying to put on a bold front, but he seemed hurt. When Aïcha rejoined us, the embarrassment faded rapidly. It was a nice evening. We celebrated the news, even though we were

been able to answer her immediately. She drove in the nail: it’s as if you haven’t gotten over her, is that it? We were at her place, in Brochant, we’d actually had a nice evening. We were still trying to please each other, and perhaps to love each other, it was a gift when it came down to it, for a guy like me, but it was that thing about not getting over my wife that set me off. Why had her saying that gotten me so riled up? “She’s the mother of my son, we haven’t spoken for about five years, I

gotten into the habit of joking with her, and now she was openly ignoring me, as if I was in trouble with the law. I had to get a grip on myself. Nobody’s interested 105 Guys Like Me in a guy like you, old chap. Anaïs had found the original expression in Gatsby, old chap. I hated that expression. But I was finding it difficult to put on a brave face in the office. I made a few mistakes, and on two occasions, a file I’d approved came back onto my desk, after going up three floors, with a

took a couple of pills, I wasn’t tired enough yet. Most of the lights in the windows 32 Dominique Fabre opposite were off by the time I went to bed. It was two in the morning. I have nothing to say about the following day. The sky was gray, with a little sun. I went to see the Seine, which is often my friend on Sunday mornings. It was gray and didn’t seem angry with me. I went for a walk around the old places, I saw the little park where Benjamin took his first steps. Square Max de Nansouty,

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