Viewport width =
April 23, 2007 | by  | in Books |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

The Professor’s History

The Professor’s History is at heart a story of self-discovery. Some old French guy skips the country in the middle of a war, and travels to North Africa to see exactly how bad his country screwed them over. He comes to realise that the Frogs have a lot to answer for and in his anger and guilt he decides to take the ultimate step and… write a book about it.

Oh dear Lord. Call the U.N. and warn the world. Not a book. Oh. Please. No.

Messud starts with promise, but then at the crucial moment of actually making a point she daringly snatches defeat from the jaws of victory. Do we feel let down? Heck, yes, we do.

The good thing about this book is that it once again illustrates that when old, boring, educated people go out into the world on a whim, they begin to see how everything they stand for is generally what is screwing the rest of the world up. The bad thing about this book is that it is just that- a story among many others that teaches an important life lesson that no one seems to care about.

CLAIRE MESSUD, published by Picador Shots

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Comments are closed.

Recent posts

  1. SWAT
  2. Ravished by the Living Embodiment of All Our University Woes
  3. New Zealand’s First Rainbow Crossing is Here (and Queer)
  4. Chloe Has a Yarn About Mental Health
  5. “Stick with Vic” Makes “Insulting” and “Upsetting” Comments
  6. Presidential Address
  7. Final Review
  8. Tears Fall, and Sea Levels Rise
  9. It’s Fall in my Heart
  10. Queer Coverage: Local, National, and International LGBTQIA+ News
Website-Cover-Photo7

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak English, had decided