An introduction, not entirely unfriendly (let’s take what we can get) to Eric Zemmour, that subtle observer and analyst amd reporter of French society and politics who, having taken the pulse of France and offered his diagnosis in Le Suicide français, finds himself now celebrated by those who recognize, as you do, and I do, and all sensible people do, that he is straightforwardly (and wittily) telling truths until now rarely and reluctantly recognized. And he can’t be rebutted; those who try — the emmanuel-todds and edwy-plenels of France, yesterday’s soixante-huitards, the day-before-yesterday’s bolsheviks — always end up looking, and sounding, ridiculous. And few in France want to become the butt of the bels esprits in a re-make of Ridicule.
