On 13 November 2015, Antoine Leiris’s wife, Hélène, was killed, along with 88 other people at the Bataclan Theatre in Paris, when three men armed with guns and suicide bombs opened fire on the unsuspecting crowd at a rock concert. Three days later, Leiris, a young journalist, wrote an open letter on Facebook addressed to his wife’s killers. Leiris refused to be cowed or to let his 17-month-old son’s life be defined by Hélène’s murder. He refused to let the killers have their way. ‘For as long as he lives, this little boy will insult you with his happiness and freedom,’ he wrote. Instantly, that short Facebook post caught fire. It was shared over two hundred thousand times and was reported on all over the world. In his beautiful and moving defiance of the terrorists who had killed his wife, Leiris became an international hero to everyone searching desperately for a way to deal with the horror of the attacks. You Will Not Have My Hate is an extraordinary and heartbreaking memoir about how Leiris, and his baby son Melvil, endured after Hélène’s murder. With courage, moral acuity, and absolute emotional honesty, Leiris finds a way to answer the question, how can I go on? This is the rare and unforgettable testimony of a survivor, and a universal message of hope and resilience. Leiris is guiding star for us all in perilous times.
Azt hiszem, nincs olyan ember a világon, akit ne rázott volna meg az a rengeteg terrortámadás, ami az utóbbi időben történt. Én nem igazán követem a híreket, igyekszem elzárkózni a híradó, hírportálok és hasonlók elől, mert a legkisebb dologtól is képes vagyok pánikba esni, de az ilyen horderejű dolgok így is eljutnak hozzám. Így került a kezembe ez a könyv, ami iszonyatosan szomorú és gyönyörű volt egyben.
A könyv a párizsi terrortámadás egyik áldozatának, Héléne Leirisnek állít emléket, és a férje, Antoine gyászáról szól. Nagyon meghatott a könyv, mert abszolút bele tudtam élni magam Antoine érzéseibe, amelyeket a felesége halála után, egyedül maradva a kisfiával vetett papírra. Rettenetesen szomorú volt olvasni a sorait, ahogyan a felesége hiányával és hirtelen egyedüli szülővé válásával küzdött, és elképesztő volt a lelki erejéről olvasni, ahogyan még így is igyekezett racionálisan szemlélni a dolgokat és hogy nem hajlandó megadni azt a terroristáknak, amire vágynak, vagyis nem hajlandó gyűlölni őket. Tetszett, hogy a feleségét a Holdhoz hasonlítja, amely körül ő és Melvil, a kisfiuk keringenek, és ami nélkül nem tudja, mit kezdjenek magukkal. Szívbe markoló volt.
Kedvenc idézetek
"And suddenly, I am afraid. Afraid that I won’t be able to meet people’s expectations. Will I no longer have the right to lack courage? The right to feel angry. The right to be overwhelmed. The right to be tired. The right to drink too much and start smoking again. The right to see another woman, or not to see other women. The right not to love again, ever. Not to rebuild my life and not to want a new life. The right not to feel like playing, going to the park, telling a story. The right to make mistakes. The right to make bad decisions. The right to not have time. The right not to be present. The right not to be funny. The right to be cynical. The right to have bad days. The right to wake up late. The right to be late picking Melvil up from the day-care center. The right to mess up the “homemade” meals I try to make. The right not to be in a good mood. The right not to reveal everything. The right not to talk about it anymore. The right to be ordinary. The right to be afraid. The right not to know. The right not to want. The right not to be capable."
"She was summer. Warm, alive, sometimes crushed by an oppressive heat wave. Sometimes threatened by an evening storm. But a season of freedom. In summer, the nights are short. We feel like loving."
"Tomorrow, we will go to see his mother. This book is almost finished. It will not heal me. No one can be healed of death. All they can do is tame it. Death is a wild animal, sharp-fanged. I am just trying to build a cage to keep it locked in. It is there, beside me, drooling as it waits to devour me. The bars of the cage that protect me are made of paper. When I turn off the computer, the beast is released."
"I called him that night, ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times. Probably while it was happening. Probably after. And when, at last, he picked up, I just wanted him to tell me that she was okay. That everything was okay. That she was with him. That maybe she was wounded, but she would survive. I wanted him to tell me that they’d been able to escape and run through the Parisian night. I imagined I could already hear the nervous laughter of two survivors. I waited for him to wake me from my nightmare."
★★★★★★★★★★ (10/10)