Connemara

The title of the novel reeks of peat and damp grass, and it’s everywhere—in prestigious business schools, at rural weddings, in youth clubs, and at quiet family dinners. Not surprisingly: in France, Michel Sardou’s song about the lakes of Connemara is known by almost everyone, if not everyone.
And the heroes of this story, too.

Hélène is soon to turn forty. She was born in a small town in eastern France and worked tirelessly to escape the provinces and build the life she’d dreamed of as a teenager, leafing through glossy magazines. But now that everything seems to be there—husband, two daughters, a successful career, and a large house—an unsettling emptiness won’t let her go, as if the best years were wasted.

Christophe has just turned forty, and he never left the town where he grew up. He is no longer the handsome guy he once was; he’s divorced, living in his parents’ home, having fun with his friends by coming up with ridiculous pranks, selling dog food, and stubbornly clinging to the dream of playing hockey again—like he did at sixteen, when he was a school star. From the outside, it’s pure failure, but Christophe is convinced that the best is still ahead.

Their story is a painfully contemporary, intensely honest novel about love, steeped in melancholy, hope, and anger. But Maté doesn’t write only about the feelings of two people: in this book, the voices of whole generations of French people can be heard. Their cries, laughter, tears, whispers, and groans blend into one shared song.