Gérard is an alcoholic and former crime reporter, gone back to live in the impoverished Montreal neighbourhood where he grew up. One night, his shoelace comes undone, delaying his return home and saving his life when his apartment building mysteriously blows up. Six of his neighbours are dead, others are missing. Plunged into a personal crisis, Gérard sets off looking for answers. Who were his neighbours and why was he spared? Is this his last chance to redeem himself?
Stories are sacred. I'm unsure about a lot of things in life, but I know stories are sacred. Stories are the only eternity an agnostic like me can believe in ...
An artist engagé, Émond’s indignation is felt on every page.
La Presse
I will be amazed if it takes you more than two sittings to get through Bernard Émond’s 8:17 pm, rue Darling in John Gilmore’s masterful translation. There’s something so assured and natural about the voice (which has more than a touch of the Raymond Chandlers about it) that you’ll be hooked from the first sentence (“My name is Gérard and I’m an alcoholic.”) As so often with Chandler, it’s difficult to watch events unfold without adding our own soundtrack of beating rain and atmospheric jazz. The characters have runny noses. They’re a little worn out, a little rough around the edges. None more so than our narrator. There are alcoholics, dirty dishes to be done, three ex-wives, and gallons of maudite booze … It doesn’t take much of a leap to picture Gérard narrating events off screen with a rasp to his voice and a smoker’s cough. It’s droll. It’s French-infused Montréal noir. Do yourself a favour: save it for a rainy day and savour every word.
Peter McCambridge, Life in Quebec Magazine