In this new book, her fourth, author and artist Sylvie Laliberté lifts the veil on what swarms behind the apparent quiet and orderly life of a middle-class family.
She tackles, with her pen imprinted with candor and a certain detachment that hides a dull distress, the subject of mental illness, the taboos that surround it and appearances that one disguises so that it does not exist in the world. big day.
Relating her own story, she writes to her brother, who has just died suddenly: “My brother, you’re dead. I’m writing it to you, I don’t know if you know it: you’re really dead. I know, this is ridiculous. You’re so dead ”, she expresses at the beginning of this story, fragmented into short paragraphs in which we feel that the author is emptying her heart, in a way, in a cathartic exercise which also wants to denounce a reality that is too often overlooked.
From page to page, addressing her brother and realizing the strangeness of his now definitive absence, she remembers her childhood and her memories, to their father, a brilliant cultivated mathematician who, despite his psychotic crises, had succeeded. to keep his condition a secret by getting his family to “pretend” everything is fine.
She thus evokes how her brother and she had to bear the weight of this harsh reality that should not be named, having to preserve their bodies defending this imposed normality and the consequences they will keep from it. “People in general, normal, regular […] do not know the power of a person who is not well. They don’t know that people who are not doing well have a mission: to take us with them, where everything rocks and capsizes. Our father had a superpower: to dissolve reality. And we dissolve a bit with it. ”