Three delightful legal curios remind us that when neighbours fall out, balance and judgment cascade out the window – or are defenestrated.
Let’s start with Monsieur Proust – who was sensitive beyond sensitivity. Yet even a cork-lined writing room couldn’t shield him from shoes on wooden floors and thin walls, from the harp-playing wife of an American dentist, Marie Williams.
Gallimard published the recently found letters as an epistolary novel, Lettres à sa voisine, last year. The catalogue descibes it thus::
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«C’est un vrai petit roman, fondé sur une surprise : la découverte de ces vingt-trois lettres