The desire to carve out an “I” from a “we” — an individual self from a collective history — is a futile gesture.
Autobiography, Louis reflects, is a luxury the working class are rarely afforded.
Among the cats and sunsets and carefully curated cappuccino shots, Instagram finds itself home to a new literary phenomenon: Instagram poetry.
The book’s three-part structure, moving from “End” and “Middle” to “Beginning,” marks a departure from the well-trodden path of the broken-hearts poets club.
While the promise of a steamy romp through well-to-do Parisian society might help sell “Adèle,” this is not where the book’s originality lies.