If, some gentle boy, from a loving family, were to be raised in the seemingly endless cycles of routine that mothers and fathers are guided towards, through the tradition created by the invisible hands of other mothers and fathers, never missing a day of living: breakfast at eight, school and work all day, dinner at seven sharp, scoldings quant on fait des betises, bashful apologies after the scoldings, tears and laughs, all those banalities in-between, unconsciously weaving the fabric of the...