Inhoudsopgave:
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\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eFinalist for the Man Booker International Prize 2015\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c/b\u003eButtologist is down on his uppers. His girlfriend, Original Colour, has cleared out of their Paris studio and run off to the Congo with a vertically challenged drummer known as The Mongrel. She's taken their daughter with her. Meanwhile, a racist neighbour spies on him something wicked, accusing him of 'digging a hole in the Dole'. And his drinking buddies at Jips, the Afro-Cuban bar in Les Halles, pour scorn on \u003ci\u003eBlack Bazaar\u003c/i\u003e, the journal he keeps to log his sorrows. There are days when only the Arab in the corner shop has a kind word; while at night his dreams are stalked by the cannibal pygmies of Gabon. Then again, Buttologist wears no ordinary uppers. He has \u003ci\u003estyle\u003c/i\u003e, bags of it (suitcases of crocodile and anaconda Westons, to be precise). He's a dandy from the Bacongo district of Brazzaville - AKA a \u003ci\u003esapeur\u003c/i\u003e or member of the Society of Ambience-makers and People of Elegance. But is flaunting sartorial chic against tough times enough for Buttologist to cut it in the City of Light?\u003c/p\u003e |
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