2050, Paris n'est plus qu'un torrent de violences, le terrain de jeu de fanatiques déchus. L'air n'est plus respirable. Les hologrammes ont remplacé les hommes. Le travail n'est plus que le privilège de quelques-uns. Sous l'hégémonie de Dame Consommation, il est devenu interdit de fabriquer et réparer.
Ce livre est un signal d'alerte. Il est futuriste sans être fantaisiste. Un livre terrifiant de vérités aux premières pages et saisissant d'espoir aux dernières. Un très beau roman d'anticipation, empli d'humanité. Un bel appel au vivre ensemble et au retour à l'autosuffisance.
This is a true story.
Marc Vachon was born in Montreal in 1963. He went from one foster home to another. He knows the injustices that the weak must suffer in any society. He knows the violence, the abuse, and the emptiness that life can offer in so-called developed countries.
He dealt with it the only way possible: through drugs and crime. He turned into "a bad egg" as he puts it.
Until the day when, escaping an unbearable situation at home, he came across Doctors Without Borders (MSF) in Paris. Since he had some experience in construction, he was hired to supervise the logistics of a cholera camp in Niaminthutu, Malawi. From that point on, he drew on the survival instincts he picked up on the streets, delving into his work to forget the pain, never looking back. He made himself indispensable, quickly becoming the frontline logistician for MSF, moving mountains, commanding respect, afraid of nothing or no one, able to build shelters for tens of thousands of refugees in record time.
Power struggles often occur in the humanitarian sector, and Marc Vachon could never really accept them. They always seem to go hand-in-hand with injustice. This has inspired him to deliver a biting and fascinating review of humanitarian aid, or at least the way it is in the present "news-entertainment" era.