John Powers

It achieves some sort of apotheosis in Brigitte Giraud's haunting book Live Fast, which won France's top literary prize in 2022. a work of autofiction, Live Fast looks back at the death of Giraud's husband Claude in a motorcycle accident 20-odd years earlier and ponders the many things that might have prevented this calamity.

It achieves some sort of apotheosis in Brigitte Giraud's haunting book Live Fast, which won France's top literary prize in 2022. a work of autofiction, Live Fast looks back at the death of Giraud's husband Claude in a motorcycle accident 20-odd years earlier and ponders the many things that might have prevented this calamity.

It achieves some sort of apotheosis in Brigitte Giraud's haunting book Live Fast, which won France's top literary prize in 2022. a work of autofiction, Live Fast looks back at the death of Giraud's husband Claude in a motorcycle accident 20-odd years earlier and ponders the many things that might have prevented this calamity.

In the process, Giraud wanders the maze of life's great conundrum, the dance between chance and destiny. The basic facts are simple. On June 22, 1999, Claude, a 41-year-old music librarian, borrowed the ultra-powerful Honda CBR 900 Fireblade that his brother-in-law had left in his and Brigitte's garage while on vacation. Heading to pick up his son after school, Claude stopped at a red light.

In the process, Giraud wanders the maze of life's great conundrum, the dance between chance and destiny. The basic facts are simple. On June 22, 1999, Claude, a 41-year-old music librarian, borrowed the ultra-powerful Honda CBR 900 Fireblade that his brother-in-law had left in his and Brigitte's garage while on vacation. Heading to pick up his son after school, Claude stopped at a red light.

In the process, Giraud wanders the maze of life's great conundrum, the dance between chance and destiny. The basic facts are simple. On June 22, 1999, Claude, a 41-year-old music librarian, borrowed the ultra-powerful Honda CBR 900 Fireblade that his brother-in-law had left in his and Brigitte's garage while on vacation. Heading to pick up his son after school, Claude stopped at a red light.

When it turned green, he hit the gas, and the monster engine caused it to pop an unexpected wheelie, flinging Claude into oncoming traffic. Jarrell explores this tragedy not with a straightforward narrative, but like someone taking apart one of those Rube Goldberg contraptions that uses crazy, convoluted ways to accomplish a simple task.

When it turned green, he hit the gas, and the monster engine caused it to pop an unexpected wheelie, flinging Claude into oncoming traffic. Jarrell explores this tragedy not with a straightforward narrative, but like someone taking apart one of those Rube Goldberg contraptions that uses crazy, convoluted ways to accomplish a simple task.

When it turned green, he hit the gas, and the monster engine caused it to pop an unexpected wheelie, flinging Claude into oncoming traffic. Jarrell explores this tragedy not with a straightforward narrative, but like someone taking apart one of those Rube Goldberg contraptions that uses crazy, convoluted ways to accomplish a simple task.

Each chapter explains a step that, if it only hadn't happened, might have stopped the accident. These steps include everything from her grandfather's suicide, to her brother taking a sudden holiday, to the development of the Honda CBR 900, which she calls a bomb for kamikazes. This motorcycle was invented in Japan, but was considered so dangerous it couldn't be sold there.

Each chapter explains a step that, if it only hadn't happened, might have stopped the accident. These steps include everything from her grandfather's suicide, to her brother taking a sudden holiday, to the development of the Honda CBR 900, which she calls a bomb for kamikazes. This motorcycle was invented in Japan, but was considered so dangerous it couldn't be sold there.

Each chapter explains a step that, if it only hadn't happened, might have stopped the accident. These steps include everything from her grandfather's suicide, to her brother taking a sudden holiday, to the development of the Honda CBR 900, which she calls a bomb for kamikazes. This motorcycle was invented in Japan, but was considered so dangerous it couldn't be sold there.

But it could be exported to Europe. If only it hadn't been. Now, some of Giraud's if-onlys are far-fetched, like thinking that things might have been different if Stephen King, one of Claude's favorites, had been killed in his famous auto accident three days earlier.

But it could be exported to Europe. If only it hadn't been. Now, some of Giraud's if-onlys are far-fetched, like thinking that things might have been different if Stephen King, one of Claude's favorites, had been killed in his famous auto accident three days earlier.

But it could be exported to Europe. If only it hadn't been. Now, some of Giraud's if-onlys are far-fetched, like thinking that things might have been different if Stephen King, one of Claude's favorites, had been killed in his famous auto accident three days earlier.

Others are self-punishing, like asking what if she hadn't wanted to buy the house that contained the garage that stored her brother's motorcycle that Claude would die on. It's always important to blame something or someone, she writes wryly, even if that someone is you. Giroux gives all this what-if-ing a lucidity that might feel forensic, except for one big thing. It's not cold-blooded.

Others are self-punishing, like asking what if she hadn't wanted to buy the house that contained the garage that stored her brother's motorcycle that Claude would die on. It's always important to blame something or someone, she writes wryly, even if that someone is you. Giroux gives all this what-if-ing a lucidity that might feel forensic, except for one big thing. It's not cold-blooded.

Others are self-punishing, like asking what if she hadn't wanted to buy the house that contained the garage that stored her brother's motorcycle that Claude would die on. It's always important to blame something or someone, she writes wryly, even if that someone is you. Giroux gives all this what-if-ing a lucidity that might feel forensic, except for one big thing. It's not cold-blooded.

In Corey Stockwell's fine translation, live fast takes what could seem like an intellectual exercise, a strange sort of catechism, and slowly, touchingly infuses it with emotion. we start feeling Giraud's enduring love for her husband, a soulmate who becomes more real the more she writes.

In Corey Stockwell's fine translation, live fast takes what could seem like an intellectual exercise, a strange sort of catechism, and slowly, touchingly infuses it with emotion. we start feeling Giraud's enduring love for her husband, a soulmate who becomes more real the more she writes.