Alicia Drake

I knew I was in Paris, I knew that was the Seine beneath me, the sky above, but when I looked around for help, the grand apartment buildings of the Quai Voltaire stared back at me, indifferent. Alicia Drake, author of the critically acclaimed biography The Beautiful Fall, evokes contemporary life in the City of Lights lavishness of Edward St. Aubyn and the sophistication of Julia Pierpont's Among Ten Thousand Things. I Love You Too Much is a novel of extraordinary intelligence and heart, a devastating coming of age story told from the sidelines of Parisian perfection. In the sixth arrondissement everything is perfect and everyone is lonely. This is the Paris of thirteen-year-old Paul. Shy and unloved, he quietly observes the lives of the self-involved grown-ups around him: his glamorous Maman, Séverine, her younger musician lover, Gabriel, and his fitness-obsessed Papa, Philippe. Always overlooked, it's only a matter of time before Paul witnesses something that he's not supposed to see... Seeking solace in an unlikely friendship with rebellious classmate Scarlett and succumbing to the temptation of the numerous patisseries in his elegant neighborhood, Paul searches for unconditional love. But what will he do if he can't find it?

I Love You Too Much

Celine

She know it’s happening, that you are watching her. She's at ease with the deal: that she's the one who is and you are the one who admires. 

Gabriel, racing around the park, pissing against tree trunks, sniffing at all the girls, looking up their skirts until my mother yanks the lead tight, jerks the collar with her wrist, and he comes lying back to her side.

All the demonstrations come down the Boulevard Saint-Michel, all the strikes, the unions, gay pride, techno pride, they all take the same route.

I got really thin and after a while I wasn't hungry any more. The emptiness felt good, like I was winning. 

It will be Lou who is the object of desire, Lou who is the one everyone wants, her beauty, not yours, on the métro, on the terrace of the cafe, every day, everyone staring at her, not you, and no amount of clothing or money or dieting will change that. Wait until you feel that pain. Wait until all your power has gone.

my liquid rage, it will pour out like lava onto the table, it will melt the white plastic goblets; it will drip down onto my father's handmade leather shoes.

You, you, you. What about me? It’s in my head now and I can't get it out. You kept it from me, you hid it away all this time so that I had to go searching for it, searching and scrabbling around in the shit until I found the truth.'

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