In “We are no longer normal people”, the journalist seizes a terrible news item which he retraces and attempts to decipher by filling in the gaps with fiction.
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First there are the facts. Or rather the news item. On August 14, 2017 at 8:10 p.m., a gray BMW crossed the intersection in the town of Sept-Sorts. She accelerates and deliberately crashes into the terrace of a pizzeria, aiming for a table where Sacha and Betty have just sat down with their three children for a family evening. The car has become a machine of death and the driver a murderer. He leaves behind dozens of injured people, five of whom are in absolute emergency. Among them, Angela and Dimitri, two of Betty and Sacha's children. Dimitri will escape, Angela will die in the restaurant while the killer, David P., is immediately arrested by the police.
Four years later, the trial of this appalling story begins. The author of the book, Justin Morin, is a journalist. He is sent to cover this event by the radio station which employs him. Justin is used to news stories, but this time, perhaps because he has become a young father, his natural empathy is different. “I think I can say today that it’s fear,” he writes. Obsessed by this story, he wants to know more, meet Betty and Sacha, understand the links that unite all these beings broken by too heavy events. He seeks to understand how parents survive, devastated by grief and absence. But he also wants to hear the accused's sister, Lisa, and scratch out other truths: why did David P. suddenly accelerate and who is this mute and vague boy? Lisa refuses, the reporter is unable to obtain this other point of view. He decides to use fiction to compose the figure of the assassin's sister, both protective and discouraged, strong and fragile. Only one guesses who David is.
Factually, the first part of We are no longer normal people manages to keep his distance while also distilling the most sensitive information. Justin Morin describes well the pain of loss, the time that does not pass, the anger then despair. But the second, romantic therefore, is more risky. Sometimes the author seems to jump into the void, looking for support that is slipping away. Then he regains mastery of the story by asking questions rather than seeking answers. The method, the bias, of this book, which is neither quite a “true crime”, nor really a novel, develops on a thread that does not break. The writing, carnal, steeped in concern, expresses the loyalty of the point of view, the sincerity of the author. Ultimately, Justin Morin betrays no one. But he knows he won't get to the truth, leaving behind the black holes of loss and the ghosts that will never speak.
