Mohamed Mbougar Sarr winner of the Goncourt prize: here is what we thought of “the Most Secret Memory of men” – Le Parisien

A surprise Goncourt. In any case unexpected from the general public. Because in the middle, “The Most Secret Memory of Men” by Mohamed Mbougar Sarr (Philippe Rey editions, 448 pages, 22 euros), crowned this Wednesday noon by the jurors of the prestigious literary prize, advanced in this re-entry flanked by a luminous sign “attention, phenomenon”. The proof: the novel of this young Senegalese of 31 years, author of three first opus noticed by the critics, had been selected in no less than eight lists, including the Femina and the Renaudot, in order to glean a nice autumnal distinction. It is the timpani he took down, succeeding “The Anomaly”, by Hervé Le Tellier, Goncourt Prize 2020 which will go down in history with its million copies already sold.

Without making a plan on the comet, “the Most Secret Memory of men” will surely sell less. Faced with Le Tellier’s metaphysical thriller, as effective as a Netflix series, this protean novel which sets out in search of a mysterious African writer who has evaporated into nature after the publication of a cult and hated book seems less suited to a mainstream success. . The fact remains that it will interest (captivate) lovers of literature who, especially in a flamboyant first part, will have a lot of opportunities to be amazed, stylistically.

“The Most Secret Memory of Men”, by Mohamed Mbougar Sarr. Editions Philippe Rey

Little flashback. This book, we had received at the beginning of the summer. Preceded by a good reputation, this dense paving of some 450 pages seemed to raise a finger confidently in the midst of the literary swell which, every year, pours onto the shelves of bookstores … and the offices of journalists. We first leafed through it, read a few lines here and there. Intrigued, yes, we were, and had stored it in the thick column (a tower, even) of our “books to read”. But time, for a literary columnist at the crossroads of summer and autumn, is a pipe dream and turns us into Alice’s rabbit. “Late, I’m late. »In extremis, feeling the odor of the coronation rising the tip of his nose, we caught up with him last weekend: started on Saturday evening,« the Most Secret Memory of men »was finished the following evening.

So happy ? Yes, rather. Disconcerted, too. Confused, that’s for sure. Because the pen of Mohamed Mbougar Sarr is elusive. He has no style, he has from styles. He doesn’t have a gender, he juggles with the genres. He doesn’t have a subject … You get the idea.

By staging his literary double Diégane Latyr Faye, a young Senegalese writer who sets out in search of this illustrious ancestor author of a book as mythical as it is incandescent, Mohamed Mbougar Sarr weaves a powerful reflection on the art of writing. What is a writer, what is his place in the world, in life? What is a good book compared to the events that constantly assail us?

Flashes of incredible purity

In this first part named above, hides flashes of incredible purity. “A great book has no subject and speaks of nothing, it only seeks to say or discover something, but that alone is already all, and this something is already all. “And further:” Time is murderous? Yes. It shatters in us the illusion that our wounds are unique. They are not. No injury is unique. Nothing human is unique. Everything becomes terribly common over time. This is the dead end; but it is in this impasse that literature has a chance to be born. Uppercut, KO, end of the match, applause from the audience (at least ours).

This novel is also a journey. In time: the reader being embarked in the baggage of the writer reviewing the dark hours of history, the damage of colonialism, the surge of Nazism. In space too, from Dakar to Paris, from Buenos Aires to Amsterdam. As with any trip, there are moments of exhilaration. Strong, intense. And a few long false dishes. Some will perhaps drop out, it would be a mistake as reading this “Memory” turns out to be an experience that is both singular and plural.

Flashes of incredible purity

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