On his nose, Pierre Adrien wears round glasses that give him the air of someone who still has everything to do. But make no mistake: at not even 30 years old, this is an author who already has five books to his credit. A bibliography where the heroes advance on the breach. From the streets of Rome to the national roads of France, Pierre Adrian stages adventures to the letter and with a certain success, since he has already been awarded several major prizes, including that of the Deux Magots in 2016, for La Piste Pasolini. For Hast, the author explains why clothing is something that matters in his texts, and in life.
How important is the exercise of description in your books and, more specifically, what concerns the description of the silhouettes and the appearances of your characters?
When my latest book, Les Bons Garçons, came out, a friend told me that she felt like she was watching a film while reading it. I thought it was a great tribute. I belong to a generation of images. People my age feed a lot on visual elements. In my novels, to show a character, I need to focus on their silhouette, their body. And that involves moments of description of clothing. In Les Bons Garçons, in fact, my main characters are ragazzi from the northern districts of Rome, around Piazza Bologna, from the local fascist bourgeoisie in the 1960s. Profiles that are linked to a particular political outfit. The pariolini, as they are called, have their own clothes: a leather jacket and tight jeans, a polo shirt or a turtleneck depending on the season, ankle boots. On their noses, they have Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses - it's their trademark. These are elements that seem trivial, but which, in the book, absolutely had to be staged to get as close as possible to reality. In Les Bons Garçons, as in the other books I've written, clothing is always a marker. It says the social class to which one belongs, the movement.
For Les Bons Garçons, what kind of work did you do before writing to best represent your characters from a visual point of view?
I did a lot of research at the National Library of Rome. I went through old newspapers, I collected lots of period photos, especially of political demonstrations, where you could see the silhouettes of the people whose lives I wanted to tell. I was also inspired by what I could see in Italian films from the 60s and 70s, those of the director Ettore Scola, or in the last works of Pasolini. I even listened to podcasts in Italian on all these themes, where they talk precisely about clothing. The work of documentation is extremely important.
To conclude the Italian part of this interview, let's talk for a moment about the book you dedicated in 2015 to the director Pier Paolo Pasolini, La Piste Paolini. The man was flamboyant, with a style recognizable among a thousand...
There is a face in Pasolini, an extraordinary charisma. He is a pure provincial who went up to Rome to make a career. At the beginning of the 50s, he wore baggy, airless trousers and scruffy shirts. What is interesting about Pasolini is that he is constantly driven by a form of anxiety about death and love for life, for youth. He refuses to age and this is reflected in his clothes. At 40, he dresses as if he were twenty, with bell-bottom trousers, tight jeans, baggy shirts and perfectos and those unchanging sunglasses with smoked lenses. He wants at all costs to continue to please, to belong to what is young. More generally, I also find that Italy is the absolute country of the suit. When you look at old photos of Pasolini, or Marcelo Mastroianni, Alberto Sordi or Vittorio Gassman, there is a way of wearing a suit that is unique. For them, the jacket sticks to the skin. I am always fascinated by people who know how to dress elegantly in countries where it is very hot in summer. I often think of a short story by the author Dino Buzzati, The Bewitched Jacket: the story of a man who has a suit made by a small local tailor and as soon as he puts his hand in his pocket, a banknote comes out. There is all of Italy in there.
Apart from Italy, another of your hobbies is cycling. You practice it at a good level, and you have even written about it, with the publication in 2018 of the book Le Tour de France par deux enfants d'aujourd'hui. In the professional peloton, how can cyclists differentiate themselves from each other in terms of style, when they all wear the same uniform, from helmet to shorts?
In cycling, or on a bike, elegance goes beyond what you wear. It is above all a question of position. There are riders who are beautiful to watch pedaling. It all depends on how you sit on the bike, how you stand on the pedals, or when you are "dancing", going uphill. For example, I find that the young Dutchman Mathieu Van der Poel is a magnificent cyclist. He has a feline side. When he is standing on the bike, his shoulders are perfectly straight, his upper body does not move. This is also the case for the great riders of the Classics, such as the Paris-Roubaix and the Tour of Flanders. These guys only move their hips when they ride, it is extraordinary. That is fundamental elegance. Conversely, Christopher Froom, who is nevertheless a four-time winner of the Tour de France, has absolutely no interest from this point of view. Froom is hunched over on his machine. We must also talk about the physique of the riders. Before, they didn't have the same gears, and their bodies were more massive to move the bike forward. Today, since they're spinning a lot, they have slender bodies, their calf muscles have shrunk. It's quite strange. On the other hand, the introduction of mandatory helmets in 2003 erased the cyclist's face, and I think that was badly received in the peloton. It contributed to a sort of standardization of styles whereas until then, cyclists could stand out in this way: I'm thinking for example of Laurent Brochard's long hair or Marco Pantani's famous bandana. Today's fashion, if we really had to characterize one, I would say that it's wearing a sort of mask to protect yourself from the sun, like skiers. Consequence, also: we really don't see the faces of the athletes anymore, we don't see their expressions, their grins, their pain. The fashion of the peloton influences the Sunday riders. When I cycle around the Longchamps racecourse, on the outskirts of Paris, I come across a lot of guys who have all the gear, with the mask, and these very modern, refined jerseys, with long, almost aerodynamic shorts. For my part, I remain very classic, old-fashioned, with short shorts, like Fausto Coppi.
Do you think you have the look of a writer? And, by the way, would you be able to define what the look of a writer is?
I have a very urban style, which balances between partying and football. When I go to literary events, like fairs or award ceremonies, my way of dressing always clashes a little. Once, at the Nîmes biography fair, I arrived at the opening reception in Air Max sneakers and a loose sweater, even though it was very formal. The author Gonzague Saint-Bris, with his aristocratic demeanor, looked me over with a look of disgust, as if I had no business being there. It made me laugh, but I can understand: there are places, occasions, where I should make a little more effort, after all. That said, when Gonzague de Saint-Bris learned that I had won the Prix des Deux Magots, he was imtely more pleasant. Today, I have the impression that literature is moving from the very hushed, very classical Parisian Left Bank to the Right Bank. Writers of my generation have no problem presenting themselves as any person of their age, and that's a good thing. You don't need to play a Saint-Germain-des-Prés role to write. And then we mustn't forget that among the most recognized writers, some don't really have a style: Houellebecq doesn't resemble much, for example.
How are you dressed when it comes to sitting and writing?
When it comes to writing, I'm a morning person. I'm always very efficient right after waking up. So, I often find myself writing in my pajamas or Sergio Tacchini tracksuit. And wearing Birkenstocks. Comfort is the key. I only really get dressed at the end of the morning, after having cleared my head a bit by riding my bike. Before all that, I write. Ciao ragazzi!