Je me suis toujours demandé ce que je ferais si quelqu'un attentait à l'un de mes enfants. Quel père alors je serais. Quelle force, quelle faiblesse. Et tandis que je cherchais la réponse, une autre question a surgi : sommes-nous capables de protéger nos fils ?
“Father is, in a way, a timeless father and son story, and therefore a story of good and evil. Remember Abraham.
I’ve been wanting for some time to write a story about a child, abused by someone outside of the family, whose father is forced to reexamine the way he himself was raised. So, when Edouard discovers who molested his son and confronts him, does he have the right to cross the lines of civil justice, a system that barely takes into consideration the devastation inflicted on the lives of these children? And when one finds out that the aggressor is a priest and one is caught up in the torment of these horrific affairs that the Church will do everything in its power to stifle, can one honestly remain silent? Does forgiving one’s abuser really bring solace to the victim?
Father is a tension-filled huis-clos between a priest and a father. The former a rapist, the latter, outraged. It lasts almost three days, three days of lies, cowardice and violence. Three days during which the father remembers the disintegration of his marriage, his son torn between mother and father, alone, making him the perfect prey for ogres like this priest. Three days during which the ancient story of sons sacrificed by their father plays out, starting with Abraham.”
A novel of anger. And therefore, of love.