Published by Albin Michel, Beigbeder's new book plays with mainstream ideas, taking us back to 2018, when French feminists attacked his house and car with pink insults reading "Here lives a rapist." His granddaughter's questions about this event inspired him to write the book.
Frédéric Beigbeder, author of 15 novels, 12 published in Bulgarian by Colibri, says the following about his latest autobiographical novel:
"Confessing in a book does not guarantee you forgiveness; move on if you're looking for anything in this text other than a person trying to understand himself." And Frédéric Beigbeder is doing just that – trying to understand himself, his past, the maddened world in which he lives. With brutal frankness and merciless humor, he settles his accounts with drugs, with alcohol, with, um, sex, reveals his attitude to excessive political correctness, to radical feminism that has degenerated into heterophobia, to the claims of all-knowing and all-powerful newly appeared prophets. Sparing no qualifications, no hiding what he disapproves of, making him a scoundrel accused of mortal sins, no striving for refinement and decency, Beigbeder surprisingly – and perhaps not – concludes his confession by declaring his love for this woman who among the sea of women chooses every god day to be his wife. And he wishes the women and men of the society of overconsumption and advertising a pleasant apocalypse.
It is the most sincere and strongest Beigbeder's book so far.