Lie With Me is the story of a successful (unnamed) French novelist - the kind who appears on roundtable intellectual TV shows that Americans wouldn’t stay up for - who catches a glimpse of what he thinks is a past lover in a hotel. The “trick,” whatever it might be, need not be vivisected. Is it autofiction? A lightly fictionalized true story? A manipulative ruse designed to bond reader and novelist? Whatever it is, the story - imbued with the sprightliness of youth, the nostalgia of age, the deep internal echoes of regret - is all true, even if it’s not true. Lie With Me is designed to tempt you with such questions. I’ve dug around some, but my paltry French, mostly confined to curse words, hasn’t churned up much, and really it’s better this way.
I don’t want to know if French novelist Philippe Besson’s newest book - a best-selling, prizewinning sensation in his home country, out here this week in a translation by the actor and writer Molly Ringwald - is based on his real life.
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