Victor BoulletDas Poppycock Talent
Published by: Frenetic Happiness
All text by Stian Gabrielsen
24 Pages
21 x 29,7 cm
Laser printed feuilleton
Edition of 50
Signed and numbered
2013
Price: £6.00
A continuation of...
Saturn The Flamingo
Yellow Pong Monger
New Campari
----
Das Official Press Release
New paintings by Victor Boullet and a new installment in the literary feuilleton "Mona"!
J---- is found on the street, beaten to an inch of his life. Left to die on a sidewalk in one of Paris' suburbs, it looks like J---- has simply been the victim an episode of random violence, that is until police investigator Isabelle Litty discovers a string of e-mails sent to J---- from someone who masks themselves as editor of the May Revue, Jeacques Heaulme. Heaulme himself denies any connection to the victim, furthering Litty's suspicion that J---- has been set-up, and that the fact that he is now in a coma is no mere accident...
Mona is in over her head having embarked on a very ambitious dinner menu, and with only two hopeless au pairs to help her out she has decided to go at it alone. But her favorite butcher, Michel on rue des Archives, is located on the other side of Paris and traffic is dense at rush hour. Stuck in a slow-moving cue, Mona falls asleep behind the wheel and wakes to find herself in a world of trouble. Will she get the ox-tails in time to prepare Escoffiers challenging soup recipe for her guests? And what will Lionel have to say about the condition of his Porsche?
While all this is going on, Victor Boullet is in Vienna attending a concert at the immaculate Musikverein with his favorite violinist Ann-Sophie Mutter and the London Philharmonic Orchestra. His immersion in the music is near complete, only impeded by the conductor, who's presence Victor feels bars his access to the divine Mutter.
Back in his hotel after the concert, a premonition of imminent pain and deformation haunts him as he drifts off to sleep, immersed in Schubert's tragic biography.
Mona was woken up by a slight thump.
She realized she had grazed the bumper in front of her. Immediately she straightened her back and shook her head to wake herself. She felt frightened. The car in front stopped. Mona stepped on her brakes. Someone got out. He looked angry. Jesus, she didn’t have time for this. What’s his problem? She had barely grazed his bumper, and he got out in mid traffic, strutting over like he owned the street. All kinds of unfriendly emotions were on the rise. He leaned down and knocked on her driver's side window. Mona ignored him and kept staring straight ahead. He knocked again. Mona turned slowly to face him.
He was in his forties with thin blond hair and a grey cotton suit. His face was bland, his eyes a pallid light blue, his cheeks drooping. He looked like he could be a banker. He signalled to her that she needed to roll down her window so they could have a conversation. Mona shook her head. He was saying something and pointing to his car. Mona shrugged and forced a condescending smile and said, - Je n’ai rien à foutre de toi, petit con, alors casse toi. She kept smiling as she said this, keeping her voice low so he couldn't hear it. The man was looking furious all the same.
The banker hadn't expected this kind of treatment. He stood up for a moment, the hunched position probably a strain on his weak back, and stretched, then he suddenly shot his hand out and grabbed the door handle and opened Mona's door. Mona was caught off guard but responded swiftly by grabbing the door handle on the inside with both hands and tried pulling it shut.
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