THE ENDLESS WEEK

A family tragedy anchors this absurdist first novel by French poet Vazquez.

In an unnamed city, teenage siblings Salim and Sara live with their father, who cleans compulsively. The family is broke. The kids skip school and don’t have jobs. They sometimes look for their absent mother, visit their terminally ill grandmother, or post poems and videos online. Seeming traumatized and aimless, they scroll on their phones and hang out with a pill-popping friend, Jonathan, whose family died in a suicide cult, and a man called the roommate who burns things and fights a lot. Vazquez mingles their thoughts, conversations, emotions, and backstory, mirroring the frenzied brain rot and beauty of online life, forming an unreal but gripping portrait of digital-age despair and existentialism. Niemi’s translation speeds along terse and dense with endless chatter and poetic turns—“Do dead people have internet?” “For nature, time is nothing,” “Reality wasn’t fair, it wasn’t normal”—set against a backdrop of gruesome, real-world mortality, including many scenes of torture, disease, and bodily decay. The kids have no adult support or role models. The siblings’ father acknowledges he’s letting their grandmother die and offers useless life advice: “If you throw a cake in the forest, when you go back to the forest, you will find a cake. Share.” It’s a rigorously unsettling reading experience, without plot, tension, or character development. But the details and countless vignettes deliver an immense range of emotion. When the roommate asks Jonathan, “Do you actually have a religion, other than taking pictures of yourself?” he’s genuinely curious, not mocking. Amid so much emptiness, with immense appetites for meaninglessness, these young people are at least always talking and keeping a small circle of people close.

Grotesquely inventive and amusing, like a corner torn from a Hieronymus Bosch painting.