The author – pen name GauZ’ – is the Ivory Coast born Patrick Armand-Gbaka Brede who in the late 1990s/early 200s was for a period an undocumented security guard in Paris but who is now a screenwriter and satirical newsletter writer in his home country.

The book itself is one that is very different from what one would expect to read in English literary fiction – which is what one looks for in translated fiction, although in this case largely because the book has a surprisingly un politically correct sense of observational humour which seems to set out to offend people of most nations, shapes, sex, races and religions – although I think there is some justification for this.

The novel effectively interleaves two strands which are very different in style but joined thematically (the legacies of French African colonialism as reflected by the lives of Black African security guards in Paris).

The first strand is the “engrossing inner life” (see opening quote) of a shop detective (possibly detectives) – a “Man in Black” working at a Camaïeu clothes store and then the ultra-trendy perfumier Sephora on the Champs-Élysées and features his aphoristic observations, as referenced above, on the shoppers and on consumerism - an approach which is justified by he at one point reflecting “When we do not understand “the other”, we invent it, usually with racist clichés.”

In the more serious part of this strand the guard reflects eventually that his role – protecting the perfumes of Liliane Bettencourt (principal shareholder in L’Oréal) in the shops of Bernard Arnault, principal shareholder of the LVMH group, which owns the Sephora brand makes him really no better than the despised “brutish, moronic Africans who were cruel and zealous in carrying out the orders of their White masters” in French Colonial Africa.

"What great moral imperative is satisfied by pursuing a perfume thief? How absurd is it to hunt down a man who has stolen from Bernard, the richest person in France, a frivolous frippery made by Liliane, the seventh richest? What zeal! What a preposterous lack of objectivity and judgement! This is probably how you contract “floko guard” syndrome."

The second strand is a connected series of more conventional narratives set in three sections: The Bronze Age (1960-1980), The Golden Age (1990-2000), The Age of Lead which feature a group of linked security guards in a different setting.

The first section features Ferdinand, who arriving in France in the early 1970s, uses a contact with his cousin Andre to get a job as a security guard in the old flour mills - Les Grands Moulins de Paris and starts to relatively prosper. Shortly after “The Crisis” hits France following the Arab oil embargo and the Presidential election causes a backlash against immigrants.

The second features Ossiri who scared of being deported as an undocumented immigrant also draws on home connections and ends up working in the same mills for Ferdinand who by now runs his own security company (which like a number of similar companies uses undocumented Black African immigrants to take on subcontracted security work perceived as low grade)

The third features Kartoum who lives for years in a poor ghetto but eventually also ends up at the flour mills working for Ferdinand as a dog handler.

None of these sections really function entirely satisfactorily as narrative though instead as vehicles for exposition. The first has potted historical lowlights of French African colony post independence politicians largely delivered by Andre (Ferdinand’s well connected cousin). The second section has a number of lectures on colonialism, delivered by Ossiri’s memories of his activist mother who returns to a slightly bewildered Ivory Coast fired up by anti-Westernism although her rejection of originally colonial imposed fashions ironically causes her to be dubbed “the White Woman”. And the third is more an examination of the ramifications of 9-11 on French attitudes to immigrants and on the Security profession (with an initial backlash against non-whites in security roles followed by greater than ever demand for their services).

Overall an odd combination – with the first strand easy but often, at least for an English literary fiction reader, uncomfortable to read and the second strand slightly tedious due to the exposition masquerading as fiction; but certainly a very distinctive book and an interesting longlist choice.

This is a gorgeously translated book that leans almost heavy handedly on the poetic. The structure is incredibly unorthodox but once you’re past that it’s a fine novella.

I don’t think it offers anything unseen but if you have an afternoon to spend there are worse ways to do it.