Kiss Me First - Couverture souple

Moggach, Lottie

Couverture souple

ISBN 10 : 1447233204 ISBN 13 : 9781447233206

Editeur : Picador, 2014

A propos du livre

Revue de presse :

'This is a book for anyone who's ever spent any time online, and for anyone who feels they over-engage with social media... Kiss Me First is brilliant, one of those books you read till 3am. Not only is it acutely perceptive about the online world - all of it, not just the weirder end - but Lottie writes both Tess and Leila with a skill that borders on telepathy... Kiss Me First works as a coming-of-age story, as a mystery, as a psychological thriller, as satire - and as a fantastic read. It's about women, families, relationships, intimacy and love, and it's bang on the money: Moggach has taken the online world's pulse and called it perfectly' Grazia

'An outstanding first novel about a young woman who, with the internet as her ally, steers another woman towards suicide.' Books of the Year, Observer

'I was gripped from the first page, moved throughout, and swallowed the book whole.' Erin Kelly, author of The Poison Tree

'Hailed as this year's Gone Girl, make room in your beach bag for this' Elle

'Unputdownable' India Knight

'A finger-on-the-pulse take on identity as an online life replaces the real thing... A brilliant debut that boldly heads into some very dark places... but Lottie Moggach's approach - less doom and gloom and more wit and warmth - means that her two lead characters leap off the page' Marie Claire

'Lottie Moggach's very modern thriller takes identity fraud to the next level... Kiss Me First is a remarkably clever novel that is gripping from start to finish' Books of the Year, Stylist

'Could this be the first coming-of-age novel for the internet generation? ... explores the dark side of friendship' Glamour

'A terrific success, captivating and consuming from the outset. Leila, our unreliable but compelling narrator, casts a powerful spell... This is a novel that gets darker with each turn of the page. The plot is intelligent, thought-provoking and asks questions about a huge range of pertinent topics including identity, ethics, mental health and the dangers of living a virtual reality. It's a high-speed train of a book that will have you clinging to the arm rests for the whole suspenseful, creepy jaunt... If you want a chilling thiller that is fast-paced, contemporary, intelligent and intriguing, this book is for you... a brilliantly dark look at the dangerous powers of the internet... thought-provoking and truly thrilling' Stylist

'Kiss Me First has deft, expert writing, a startlingly original plot, and two central characters cerebral, sheltered, obsessive Leila and charismatic, unstable Tess who leap off the page. This is a dark, disturbing, needle-sharp exploration of how the internet age is transforming our idea of reality and identity.' Tana French, author of In the Woods

'A coolly unsettling yet humane exploration of identity, on and offline' Books of the Year, Metro

'An exceptional debut... This really is the book that everyone will be reading.' The Bookseller

'Embraces new media with a playful vehemence laid out in a clean, crisp prose style... great panache, humour and engaging insight... However, while social media might be the framework for this novel, it is not the heart. This is the story of a socially isolated young woman, still grieving for the loss of her mother, who finds meaning, hope and perhaps love in the lives of others. Kiss Me First is a refreshing, skilfully-handled novel very much of our times' Booktrust

'A gripping psychological thriller about a woman who takes on someone else's identity online' Heat

'Riveting and thought-provoking, Kiss Me First is the intelligent novel of the social media age I've been waiting for.'

--Emma Chapman, author of How To Be a Good Wife

'Without doubt, this is one of our favourite books of the summer... dramatic and intriguing... an absolutely unputdownable page turner... Aside from the twists and turns of an entirely unpredictable story, the arresting characters are fascinating, exploring the complexities and contradictions of human beings. When your jaw doesn't drop at the dark, desperate and often horror-inducing behaviour of others, you find yourself squinting at an unpleasant reflection of yourself, and the way we can all behave when we're hiding behind a computer screen. Kiss Me First is a sharp, insightful and engrossing commentary on how human nature is adapting to life on the internet' Red

'A wow of a debut... It's a wonderfully gripping story about the clash between virtual and actual reality' Saga

'Unnvervingly claustrophobic and enormously moving... a metaphor for the creation of identity... Moggach has done a great job of folding these issues into a suspense novel that is classy, frightening and upsetting' Guardian

'What is identity in the digital age? And how do you know anyone is who they say they are? That is the dilemma that lies at the heart of this slippery tale, featuring the most unreliable narrator this side of Gone Girl. The first thriller to truly tackle the shifting sands of a life lived online, I couldn't put it down.' Sam Baker, Harper's Bazaar

'Cuts to the quick as it explores the power and limitations of a life lived online' Observer

'This summer's most exciting new novel... Already dubbed this year's Gone Girl, Lottie Moggach's Kiss Me First is an electrifying story about identity from a phenomenally gifted storyteller' Psychologies

'Moggach is fascinating on the psychology of simulated relationships; on the safety and control offered by virtual, as opposed to 'F2F', friendship. She's also good at evoking a particular kind of contemporary loneliness... A compulsive debut' Economist

'Dazzling... A clever novel that marks the arrival of a terrific talent' Woman and Home

'I tore through Lottie Moggach's Kiss Me First. Gripping, quirky, twisty quite a ride.' Harriet Lane, author of Alys Always

'This original and unsettling psychological thriller is already one of the most talked-about debut novels of the year... Worryingly convincing, Kiss Me First is a brilliantly twisty thriller that will make you wonder how well you really know your online friends' Irish Times

'I was fascinated by Kiss Me First its unique premise got my interest from the start and Lottie Moggach's confident and compelling writing sustained it. An impressive debut.' Jessica Ruston, author of The Darker Side of Love

'A dark psychological thriller about the threat social media poses to our sense of self... an engaging and suspenseful look at the subtle perils the web presents to the human condition' Financial Times

'A fascinating, unsettling and all-too-believable thriller' Easy Living

'Kiss Me First has all the hallmarks of a psychological thriller bestseller... complete with plenty of twists and turns. Disturbing and compelling in equal measures, this is a tightly plotted and irresistible debut which packs a hefty punch. One of those rare beasts: a true page-turner'

--Laissez-Faire magazine

'A gripping psychological thriller... Moggach's skill in plotting means readers won't anticipate the twists and turns built into the story, making for an intensely enjoyable reading experience. Memorable and fast-moving' Publisher's Weekly, starred review

'Lottie Moggach's psychologically terrifying debut thriller, Kiss Me First, will have you questioning your presence on the world wide web' Publishers Weekly

'Smart and darkly funny... a high-concept plot, a terrific narrator and plenty of big questions about human identity in an online world' Reader's Digest

'Lottie Moggach's very smart Kiss Me First is a moving coming of age story hidden within a harrowing mystery... The story's suspense will keep you reading, but it's Leila's surprisingly emotional journey toward selfhood that will stick with you long after you ve finished this wonderful first novel.' Scott Smith, author of A Simple Plan

'Witty, suspenseful, satirical and bold. A Patricia Highsmith for the Facebook age.' Polly Samson, author of Perfect Lives

'Lottie Moggach enters the literary scene with a bang in this very modern thriller that takes identity fraud to the next level... a gripping debut that will have you looking over your virtual shoulder as you de-clutter your friends list' Stylist

'Intriguing... disturbing... you won't feel quite the same in an internet chatroom after you've finished it' Evening Standard

'Fascinating... a clever concept with a truly human side' Londonist

'Gripping... The potentialities and pitfalls of contemporary communication are brilliantly explored here. Lost souls are deftly brought together... Kiss Me First is a profound examination of the processes of storytelling itself: all characters are in some way telling fictions - to each other and to themselves. Moggach cleverly raises the question: what happens if we start believing our own fictions? ... At the core of this engrossing novel is the question 'who are you?' ... the pining for real human contact - as opposed to virtual - infuses this narrative with powerful pathos and poignancy' Metro

'It's only when the introverted Leila assumes a suicidal woman's online identity that she learns how to be herself. The story straddles real life and virtual existence, the right to die and the need to live' Vogue

'As Moggach's debut chillingly demonstrates, the virtual world is scant protection from messy, utterly human emotions' People

'Chilling... Moggach sucks us into the rabbit hole of [Leila's] dangerous obsession with deftly timed twists and memorable characters' Entertainment Weekly

'A brave, poignant and humane novel about society's taboos and the cost of breaking them. Lottie Moggach has put her finger to the pulse of our times.'

--Liz Jensen, author of The Rapture

Extrait :

Excerpted from the hardcover edition.
It was a Friday night, about nine weeks into the project. Tess’s voice sounded normal, but I could see that she had been crying and her narrow face was pale. For the first few minutes of the conversation, she leaned her head back against the wall behind her bed, gaze turned to the ceiling. Then she righted it and looked straight at the camera. Her eyes were as I’d never seen them: both empty and terrified. Mum sometimes had the same look, toward the end.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“What about?” I asked, stupidly.

“I’m so fucking scared,” she said, and burst into tears. She had never cried in front of me; in fact, she had told me she rarely cried. It was one of the things we had in common.

Then she sniffed, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and said more clearly, “Do you understand?”

“Of course,” I said, although I didn’t entirely.

She looked straight into the camera for a moment and said, “Can I see you?”

At first I thought she meant, Could we meet up? I started to remind her that we had agreed that shouldn’t happen, but she cut me off.

“Switch on your camera.”

After a moment, I said, “I think it’s best if we don’t.”

“I want to see you,” said Tess. “You get to see me.” She was staring right at the camera, her tears almost dried up. She gave a small smile and I felt myself soften. It was hard to resist, and I almost said, Okay, then, but instead I said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She looked at me a moment longer. Then she shrugged and returned her gaze to the ceiling.

I will be honest here: I didn’t want Tess to see me in case I failed to meet her expectations. This isn’t rational, I know: Who knows what she thought I looked like, and what did it matter? But I had examined her face so carefully, I knew every nuance of her expressions, and I couldn’t bear the thought that, if I turned on the camera, I might see a look of disappointment pass over it, however briefly.

Then, still looking at the ceiling, she said, “I can’t do it.”

“Of course you can,” I said.

She didn’t speak for more than a minute, and then said, uncharacteristically meek: “Is it okay if we stop for today?” Without waiting for an answer, she terminated the call.
I admit that that particular conversation has replayed in my head several times since.

All I can say is, I said what felt right at the time. She was upset and I was comforting her. It seemed entirely natural for Tess to be scared. And when we spoke the next day, she was back to what by that stage was “normal”—calm, polite, and detached. The incident wasn’t mentioned again.

Then, a few days later, she looked into the camera and tapped on the lens, a habit she had.

“Do you have everything you need?”

I had presumed that we would go on communicating right up until the last moment. But I also knew it had to end.

So I said, “Yes. I think so.”

She nodded, as if to herself, and looked away. At that moment, knowing I was seeing her for the last time, I felt a sudden, intense rush of adrenaline and something akin to sadness.

After quite a long pause, she said, “I can’t thank you enough.” And then: “Good-bye.”

She looked into the camera and made a gesture like a salute.

“Good-bye,” I said, and: “Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“I don’t know.” She was looking down at something, her leg or the bed. I stared at her long, flat nose, the curve of her cheekbone, the lines around her mouth as delicate as fallen eyelashes.

Then she looked up, leaned forward, and turned off the camera. And that was it. Our final conversation.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 17, 2011

There is no Internet here, not even dial-up.

I didn’t anticipate not being able to get online. Of course I had done my research, but the commune has no Web site and I could find little practical information elsewhere beyond directions on how to get here. There were just useless comments in forums, along the lines of Oh, I love it, it’s so peaceful and beautiful. I know that communes are places where people go to get “back to nature,” but I understood that they are also where people live and work on a semipermanent to permanent basis, and so assumed there would be some facility to get online. Spain is a developed country, after all.

I understand that Tess had to head to a remote spot, but three-quarters of the way up a mountain, without a phone mast in sight—that’s just unnecessary. Of all the places in the world, why did she choose to spend the last days of her life here?

I admit, though, that the location is not unpleasant. I’ve pitched my tent in a clearing with extensive views over the valley. The surrounding mountains are huge and colored various shades of green, blue, and gray, according to distance. At their feet is a thin silver river. The farthest peaks are capped with snow: an incongruous sight in this heat. Now that we’re going into evening, the sky is darkening to a mysterious misty blue.

There’s a woman here dressed like an elf, with a top exposing her stomach, and sandals laced up to her knees. Another one has bright red hair twisted up on either side of her head, like horns. Lots of the men have long hair and beards, and a few are wearing these priestlike skirts.

Most of them, however, look like the people begging at the cash points on Kentish Town Road, only extremely tanned. I had thought I might not look too out of place here—Mum used to say I had hair like a hippie, center parted and almost down to my waist—but I feel like I’m from a different planet.

Nobody here seems to do very much at all. As far as I can see, they just sit around poking fires and making tea in filthy saucepans, or drumming, or constructing unidentifiable objects out of feathers and string. There seems to be little “communal” about it, aside from a collective wish to live in a squalid manner for free. There are a few tents like mine, but most people seem to sleep in tatty vans with garish paintings on the side, or among the trees in shelters constructed out of plastic sheeting and bedspreads. They all smoke, and it appears obligatory to have a dog, and no one picks up their droppings. I’ve had to use half of my supply of wet wipes cleaning the wheels of my suitcase.

As for the human facilities, I was prepared for them to be rudimentary but was shocked when directed to a spot behind some trees signposted shitpit. Just a hole in the ground, with no seat and no paper, and when you look down you can see other people’s waste just lying there. I had promised myself that, after Mum, I wouldn’t have dealings with other people’s excrement and so have decided to make my own private hole in some nearby bushes.

It is, of course, everyone’s prerogative to live their lives in whichever way they choose, as long as they do not hurt others. But—like this?

Back in London, I felt near certain she had come here. It all seemed to add up. But now I’m starting to have doubts.

Nonetheless, I told myself I’d spend a week here making inquiries, and that is what I shall do. Tomorrow I’ll start showing her photo around. I’ve prepared a story about how she is a friend who stayed here last summer and whom I’ve lost track of but believe is still somewhere in the area. It’s not actually a lie. I just won’t mention that I’m looking for proof of her death.

It’s almost half past nine now, but it’s still sweltering. Of course, I had researched the temperature, but I wasn’t fully prepared for what ninety degrees Fahrenheit feels like. I have to keep wiping my fingers on a towel to stop moisture from getting into my keyboard.

It was even hotter in August last year, when Tess would have been here. Ninety-five degrees; I looked it up. She liked the heat, though. She looked like these people, with their sharp shoulder blades. She might have worn a little top like the elf woman—she had clothes like that.

I’ve opened the flap of my tent and can see a rash of stars and the moon, which is almost as bright as my laptop screen. The site is quiet now, except for the hum of insects and what I think—I hope—is the sound of a generator somewhere nearby. I’ll investigate that tomorrow. Although I have a spare battery for my laptop, I’ll need power.

You see, this is what I’m going to do while I’m here: write an account of everything that has happened.

À propos de cette édition

• Éditeur: Picador
• Date d'édition: 2014
• ISBN 10: 1447233204
• ISBN 13: 9781447233206
• Reliure: Broché
• Nombre de pages: 352