Fabre’s ability to act as a ‘discreet megaphone of the man in the crowd’ (Elle Magazine) will take you by surprise and leave an immutable mark on your heart. Edgar loves nothing more than listening to the birds in the trees, the squeaking of moles in nearby chalk quarries, the conversations trickling out of the carpeted offices surrounding his favourite park in the suburbs of Paris. He also listens to the hushed conversations of passers-by, strangers who whisper that he is ‘not all there.’ But what constitutes the supposedly insufficient character of Edgar’s interior life? Dominique Fabre gives himself over to Edgar’s way of seeing, his sensitivity, his innocence and wisdom, his longings and perceptions, his tentative interpolations into the social fabric of 1960s France, and in each passage we find a stirring answer.