Hélène Vandermeer
Domestic suspense, up close
Hélène Vandermeer always starts from an ordinary life and a detail that doesn't fit: an anonymous transfer of 400 euros, forty-three letters never mailed, twenty minutes of a morning run that go missing. Her narrators have a precise profession — archivist, interpreter, hotelier — and use it to piece together a family secret. Writing of almost accountant-like precision, and a truth that, on the final page, rarely points to the person you suspected.
My Husband’s Tuesdays
For six years he disappeared every Tuesday. I thought I knew my hus…
After the Beep
His wife has been dead for three months. At 2.17 a.m. the phone rin…
The Death Notice
One Tuesday morning, Claire Mathy receives her own death notice. Sa…
She Took My Place
After three weeks in hospital, Nadia finally comes home. A woman op…
What I Had Saved
They thought they had won. They simply had no idea what I was holdi…
Room 214
Her hotel has no room 214. Someone has booked it every November the…
The Twenty Missing Minutes
The same route, the same habits. But that morning, twenty minutes w…
Juror Number Seven
Thirteen days to judge a man. And one thing he cannot tell anyone.
The Third of the Month
For eleven years someone has paid her four hundred euros. She has n…
First Person
Her job is to say “I” while being somebody else. Once, she left thr…
The House With No Name
One house. Forty-three letters. A truth that waited fifty years.
The Woman in My Photos
The same woman appears in thirty years of family photographs. Nobod…