The depth of this novel, carved with the blade of a plow. A child abandoned at the end of the First World War. The hypocritical morality of this period makes him a pariah, less than a Bastard. Taken in or rather exploited by peasants with withered hearts, he is not schooled, illiterate; in a way, the army will save him.
Loyal to the man who opened up the mystery of books and images to him, he searches for him amidst the chaos of 1940. The enemy strafes, more out of sadistic pleasure than necessity, the refugees. He travels down through France and discovers acts of cowardice. Jean Dolin is still in search of his friend, the schoolteacher.
Finally, he sees the sea, but he has not been taught about its immensity, and Jean vanishes quietly, silently, much like how he came into this world, a baby abandoned at birth. A poignant tale, that of a man, a plant growing with no roots and no name. It is worth noting that the State takes an interest in him when he is to do his military service, having ignored him throughout his childhood and adolescence. Jean, because he was found on St. John’s Night, and Dolin, because he was wailing in a sinkhole.
A hero that our selfish, individualistic, and xenophobic era should take as a model. And what if that baby was a part of us? Hush, above all don’t try to answer, only to understand.
