A new voice that capsizes thanks to a necessary and unifying poetry.
She is twelve years old and as many huts on la câliboire de calvasse de câlasse de câlique de caltor de ferme, which she loved more than anything else, on the trap lines, in the winding crossings where she learned to walk in the dark, to tame the worried steps, to live in the impassable countryside.
For Marie-Hélène Voyer, every place is a way of being, a way of saying—or not saying. Through a country that can only be built by living, she offers a formidable poetic journey through a country that can only be built by living, she offers a formidable poetic journey through a country that can only be built by living. The voice is cunning, densifies, transforms and adapts; the language of childhood slips in. In the mode of oscillation, a fascinating and anguishing Quebec rurality appears, a hollow and disappointing urbanity, and, ultimately, a salutary boreality.
