Eric Zemour, slight, dark, a live wire, fell over his own words, they
were tumbling out so fast. He was fidgeting at the back of a half-empty
cafe one recent evening near the offices of Le Figaro, the newspaper
where he works, notwithstanding that detractors have lately tried to get
him fired for his most recent inflammatory remarks about French blacks
and Arabs on a television show. Mr. Zemmour, roughly speaking, is the Bill O’Reilly of French
letters. He was describing his latest book, “French Melancholy,” which
has shot up the best-seller list here. Continue
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/25/arts/25abroad.html?pagewanted=1&hp
