The attack on Charlie Hebdo told in a poignant book by one of his victims

The attack on Charlie Hebdo told in a poignant book by one of his victims

On January 7, 2015, he participated in the editorial conference of the weekly alongside Charb, Cabu, Wolinski, Honoré, Tignous, Elsa Cayat and Bernard Maris when killers burst, slaughtering twelve people. Philippe Lançon is not dead. A bullet ripped his lower face. Three years after the attack of Charlie hebdo, he publishes “The Lambeau” (Gallimard), a book of power and lucidity staggering.
“We put the stretcher in front of a man in uniform, a fireman probably […]. His vertical power and uniform reassured me. He looked at me and almost shouted, “This is a war injury!” ” … The man who tells is Philippe Lançon, journalist at Release and Charlie Hebdo . On January 7, 2015, he participated in the editorial conference of the weekly alongside Charb, Cabu, Wolinski, Honoré, Tignous, Elsa Cayat and Bernard Maris when killers shouting ” God is great ” bursting in total killing twelve people. Philippe Lançon is not dead. A bullet ripped his lower face. Three years after this attack, he publishes Thursday “The Lambeau” (Gallimard), book of a power and lucidity staggering. From Shakespeare’s dream to Charlie’s nightmare “From January 7, all the worlds in which I had lived, all the people I had loved began to coexist in me without precedence or propriety, with a mad intensity, proportional to the sensation that dominated: I was going to lose them, I had already lost them ” . The story begins the day before the attack. Cultural chronicler in Libé, Philippe Lançon is at the theater, in Ivry, to see “The night of kings” of Shakespeare. In this play, we remember the character of Malvolio, the puritan who, Philippe Lançon recalls, “Wants to punish men for their pleasures and feelings in the name of the good he thinks he is wearing, in the name of a god, thinks he is allowed to do all the harm he can to achieve it” . But this play tells us Shakespeare is just a dream. January 7 was beyond the nightmare. At the writing conference of Charlie where he arrives late there is talk of “Submission”, the latest novel by Houellebecq. Charlie’s writing is divided. Cabu rattles against “Houellebecq the reaction” . Philippe Lancon and Bernard Maris defend the novel tooth and nail. “I felt pieces of teeth” Just before 11:30 am, killers ended the discussions and ended life. Philippe Lançon tells the attack in about sixty pages sometimes unsustainable. “I turned my tongue in my mouth and felt pieces of teeth floating around” , he recalls. “I knew later that the newsroom was a pool of blood, but […] if I bathed in it, I hardly saw it” . But the most difficult is yet to come. Philippe Lançon tells the story of the slow and painful work of rebuilding his destroyed body. Bach music and morphine We sometimes stop reading because of our eyes screaming with tears. We continue because the pen of Lançon is carried by the grace when it evokes the nurses who watch over him, the doctors who take turns at his bedside, the policemen who protect him, his brother who does not leave him. You have to relearn everything, even write. You have to have transplants. Periods of hope and despair succeed one another. Sand lance is seen on a photo taken by his brother. This photo “Shows a skinny, shaggy man, shirtless, covered with wires, drains and pipes, his face bleeding and swollen …” . The music ( “Bach’s music like morphine relieved me” , he writes) and literature (especially Proust but also Mishima and Kafka) will help him resist. Women too, ubiquitous in the book, like the memories, dazzles and sorrows of the past, which help him to cling to the present. “The flap” is nothing less than a lesson in life. “Surgeons would help nature repair my body. I had to help this nature to strengthen the rest ” . The book ends on November 13, the day of the Bataclan attack. Philippe Lançon is in New York.

“It was again, as when awakening after the attack, a detachment of consciousness, and I felt that everything started again, or more exactly continued, in me and around me …”

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