On December 13, 1948, Albert Camus stood before a Pleyel Hall filled with young listeners and warned that dialogue had shifted from exchange to insult. He described a ritual in which opponents are treated as enemies, their humanity stripped away, and clear sighted discourse is lost. When one insults another, eyes are no longer needed to read tone or intent, and people disappear into silhouettes. Abel Quentin, a writer and criminal lawyer from Lyon, later noted that Camus spoke with striking loneliness during a time of widespread excommunication. He suggested Camus sought to teach the youth in Paris that nuance, compromise, and bargaining mattered, even in a century of upheaval. The words carry weight into the present, where social networks amplify ideological clashes and purge those deemed infidels. It is a dystopia of aggressive identity politics wrapped in a wakefulness culture that seems to demand absolute allegiance.
Quentin’s acclaimed novel, a finalist for major French literary prizes, embraces the restorative power of fiction. It follows the downward spiral of Jean Roscoff, a leftist academic who is divorced and struggles with alcoholism, who once advocated for SOS Racism during the 1980s. Roscoff attempts to revive a literary homage to an obscure American poet named Robert Willow, a fictional friend of the existentialist who has retired and settled in Étampes, a town just beyond Paris. The novel bears the French title Le voyant d’Étampes.
Roscoff’s decline begins when someone accuses him of omitting Willow’s African American heritage. He asserts that his race does not define him as an individual, a stance that challenges Sartre’s authority to speak about Blackness. He then finds himself caught between nostalgic progressive memories of the 1980s and the aggressive rhetoric of younger activists who view him as an obstacle. Accusations of fascism follow quickly. Confused and unsettled, he initially chooses not to defend himself, while receiving uncertain support from the political right. With disciplined prose and a steady narrative cadence, Quentin draws parallels with Houellebecq at times and with the heavy sadness found in the author of Annihilation. He captures the sharp edge of public discourse on social networks and offers a lucid depiction of ideas that were once considered progressive since the late 1960s. The pressures described are not merely about the moment but about a broader history of ideas. The work acknowledges those who once aimed to change the world and those who still do, and it casts a critical light on the difficulty of improving society.
Humor threads through The Visionary and sometimes lands with a sudden sting. The anti-hero’s missteps, blunders, and misfortunes provide relief from the intense scrutiny of today’s culture, as if the author built an escape valve into the analysis he presents. Roscoff is the gentle, romance-seeking elder who believes in a fading humanism, even when the world seems to have moved on. The narrative explores intergenerational tension and does not spare the contemporary distortions of identity that arise from the relentless deconstruction of gender and race stereotypes from the era of Sartre. It also critiques the evolving university and the rise of minority-driven activism, while gently mocking the new language of youth and its challenging codes. The author’s sharp pen reveals a defense of freedom of thought amid a modern storm. The novel closes with a reflection on the resilience of spirit, even in the middle of chaos. It is a vivid, provocative, and compassionate work that remains relevant to readers who observe the currents of public debate and the force of collective sentiment.