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By Pierre Guyotat

This can be the 1st English translation of French author, Pierre Guyotat's mythical novel, which was once lately incorporated in Le Monde's "100 maximum Novels of the twentieth Century." A violent collision of brutal war and sexual ecstasy, Guyotat is expounded to have hallucinated the subject material as a tender soldier through the Algerian warfare, the place the radical is set.

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Aravik's hands quiver in the tepidness of the guard's thighs. - I wounded her whereas falling down, with a knife. Button up. Aravik's hands capture the buttonholes, the place filaments of semen acquired - Come, persist with me. The protect pushes Aravik in the direction of the kitchens within the basement ; in the midst of the jap fa~ade, a window veiled with scarlet damask. -The leader slept within the bed room of the Queen of the evening within the inside of courtyard, a truck jam-packed with fuming manure slows down, a defend climbs onto the operating board, a woman, her head wreathed with an eyeshade of mica, is riding, the protect seizes her head, kisses her mouth, his palms sink into the slave's powdery hair, slide down below her gown, alongside her again, Aravik leans his abdominal opposed to the truck's wheel ; on the 4 corners of the dumper, sitting at the rail, 4 boys, arms crossed on their spades, are looking at the sky, the portal lined with moss and blades of grass - a seize the place red butterflies are suffering, below the gaze of the sleepy guards, squatting less than the French home windows ; the shield knocks the woman down lower than him, around the seat ; the engine goes, speeds up the orgasm, the safeguard will get up from the slave, her hand retracts contained in the glove, her head rolls at the springs, the shield will get off the truck ; the slave, one quick, remains mendacity, her gown tucked as much as the navel ; the men bending over the rails, glance through the cabin's home windows, the woman takes the wheel back, starts off, the truck crosses the courtyard, guards climb onto the working board, advisor the slave so far as the orchard ; the truck stops along a blazing garbage sell off ; the guards shout to the lads to get off, the men bounce down with their shovels : - positioned the manure the following. First, placed out the fireplace. there is no water. The slave will get down with the lads into the unload, the men strike the hearth with the flat of the shovels, stamp out the embers with their tennis sneakers ; the guards, sitting at the truck's working board, drink spirits from the bottle, their cocks swollen lower than the linen of the battledress, drowsy, eyes riveted to the slave's waist, breasts, abdominal, the lonely fall of apples breaking, from time to time, their seminal reverie ; the lads trample the fireplace down, their bare legs flip black, the embers fly, burn holes within the mild linen of the shorts, annoying the arms round the shaft of the shovels ; a boy, all of sudden, squats down, a hoop glitters, rolls at the flat of the shovel, he's taking it, a safeguard sees him, he rushes ahead, he hits the boy together with his weapon's grip, he knocks him down at the sticky embers, lays his foot at the boy's abdominal, moves the throat back, bends down, catches the hoop, thrusts it into the pocket of his battledress, over his breast, then he increases his weapon, fondles the set off, turns the weapon in the direction of the lads : -You've visible not anything, even less than torture ... the opposite protect looks, opens the guard's hand, is going during the pocket: - It belongs to the Queen of the evening, I observed it at her finger, the day gone by night, whereas she and the manager have been feeling the apples within the orchard, below the sixteen Tomb For 500,000 squaddies Pierre Guyotat 17 I I!

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