I'm not sure if there's a translated print of this book. Vincent Delecroix's book is, as the title says, 'a small eulogy of irony'.
It is not edited, as are many of Folio's books of this category. That means that the author was free to write his sentences as he wishes, no editor altered his stream of ideas. And that is something to be applauded, Bravo Folio for the unedited books, they give a certain degree of freedom which makes me feel closer to the author in many ways.
This book contains short paragraphs that aren't always related to each other, but do follow a certain line of thought. It contains a dialogue between the author, and a character, where they debate about the utility of writing about irony, and in the process they try to define it. They agree and disagree on many points, and it feels as if the author is battling with his other self in a detached non-schizoid manner.
It is a small pocket book. It is written with some spontaneity that allows one to wander and argue with the words of the author in one's head.
I enjoyed it, and laughed sometimes at the witty remarks. The author is quite clever, a quality I hold high. I'm so glad I bought this book and read it.
I don't wish to throw any spoilers, but all in all, the author finds irony to be both a strong quality, and a sign of weakness. He goes high and low, and then admits that irony cannot be determined in words, but through the effect it creates.
( )