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Platform [Anglais] [Broché]

Michel Houellebecq
4.0 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (1 commentaire client)
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Descriptions du produit

Extrait

1

Father died last year. I don’t subscribe to the theory that we only become truly adult when our parents die; we never become truly adult.

As I stood before the old man’s coffin, unpleasant thoughts came to me. He had made the most of life, the old bastard; he was a clever cunt. “You had kids, you fucker,” I said spiritedly. “You shoved your fat cock in my mother’s cunt.” I was a bit tense, I have to admit. It’s not every day you have a death in the family. I’d refused to see the corpse. I’m forty, I’ve already had plenty of opportunity to see corpses. Nowadays, I prefer to avoid them. It was this that had always dissuaded me from getting a pet.

I’m not married, either. I’ve had the opportunity several times, but I never took it. That said, I really love women. It’s always been a bit of a regret, for me, being single. It’s particularly awkward on vacations. People are suspicious of single men on vacation, after they get to a certain age: they assume that they’re selfish, and probably a bit pervy. I can’t say they’re wrong.

After the funeral, I went back to the house where my father lived out his last years. The body had been discovered a week earlier. A little dust had already settled around the furniture and in the corners of the rooms; I noticed a cobweb on the window frame. So time, entropy, all that stuff, was slowly taking the place over. The freezer was empty. The kitchen cupboards mostly contained single-serving Weight Watchers instant meals, tins of flavored protein, and energy bars. I wandered through the rooms nibbling a granola bar. In the boiler room, I rode the exercise bike for a while. My father was over seventy and in much better physical shape than I was. He did an hour of rigorous exercise every day, laps in the pool twice a week. On weekends, he played tennis and went cycling with people his age. I’d met some of them at the funeral. “He coached the lot of us!” a gynecologist exclaimed. “He was ten years older than us, but on a two-kilometer hill, he’d be a whole minute ahead.” Father, Father, I said to myself, how great was your vanity! To the left of my field of vision I could make out a weightlifting bench, barbells. I quickly visualized a moron in shorts—his face wrinkled, but otherwise very like mine—building up his pectorals with hopeless vigor. Father, I said to myself, Father, you have built your house upon sand. I was still pedaling but I was starting to feel breathless—my thighs already ached a little, though I was only on level 1. Thinking back to the ceremony, I was aware that I had made an excellent general impression. I’m always clean-shaven, my shoulders are narrow, and when I developed a bald spot at about the age of thirty, I decided to cut my hair very short. I usually wear a gray suit and sober ties, and I don’t look particularly cheerful. With my short hair, my lightweight glasses, and my sul- len expression, my head bowed a little to listen to a Christian funeral-hymn mix,* I felt perfectly at ease with the situation—much more at ease than I would have been at a wedding, for example. Funerals, clearly, were my thing. I stopped pedaling, coughed gently. Night was falling quickly over the surrounding meadows. Near the concrete structure that housed the boiler, you could make out a brownish stain that had been poorly cleaned. It was there that my father had been discovered, his skull shattered, wearing shorts and an “I ™ New York” sweatshirt. He had been dead for three days, according to the coroner. There was the possibility, very remote, that what happened was an accident, he could have slipped in a puddle of oil or something. That said, the floor of the room was completely dry, and the skull had been broken in several places. Some of the brain had even spilled onto the floor. In all probability, what we were dealing with was murder. Captain Chaumont of the Cherbourg police was supposed to come over to see me that evening.

Back in the living room, I turned on the television, a thirty-two-inch Sony widescreen with surround sound and an integrated DVD player. There was an episode of Xena: Warrior Princess on TF1, one of my favorite series. Two very muscular women wearing metallic bras and miniskirts made of animal hide were challenging each other with their sabers. “Your reign has gone on too long, Tagrathâ!” cried the brunette. “I am Xena, warrior of the Western Plains!” There was a knock at the door; I turned the sound down.

Outside, it was dark. The wind gently shook the branches dripping with rain. A girl of about twenty-five who looked North African was standing in the doorway. “I’m Aïcha,” she said. “I cleaned for Monsieur Renault twice a week. I’ve just come to get my things.”

“Well . . . ,” I said, “. . . well.” I managed a gesture that was intended to be welcoming. She came in and glanced quickly at the television screen. The two warriors were now wrestling right next to a volcano; I suppose the spectacle had its stimulating side, for a certain kind of lesbian. “I don’t want to disturb you,” said Aïcha. “I’ll only be five minutes.”

“You’re not disturbing me,” I said. “In fact, nothing disturbs me.” She nodded her head as though she understood, her eyes lingered on my face; she was probably gauging my physical resemblance to my father, possibly inferring a degree of moral resemblance. After studying me for a few moments, she turned and climbed the stairs that led to the bedrooms. “Take your time,” I said, my voice barely audible. “Take all the time you need.” She didn’t answer, didn’t pause in her ascent; she had probably not even heard me. I sat down on the sofa again, exhausted by the confrontation. I should have offered to take her coat. That’s what you usually do, offer to take someone’s coat. I realized that the room was terribly cold—a damp, penetrating cold, the cold of a cellar. I didn’t know how to light the boiler, I had no wish to try, now my father was dead and I had intended to leave right away. I turned over to FR3 just in time to catch the last part of Questions pour un champion. At the moment when Nadège from Val-Fourré told Julien Lepers that she was going to risk her title for the third time, Aïcha appeared on the stairs, a small travel bag on her shoulder. I turned off the television and walked quickly toward her. “I’ve always admired Julien Lepers,” I told her. “Even if he doesn’t know the actual town or village the contestant is from, he always manages to say something about the department or the region; he always knows a bit about the climate and the local scenery. Above all, he understands life. The contestants are human beings to him, he understands their problems and their joys. Nothing of what constitutes human reality for the contestants is entirely strange or intimidating to him. Whoever the contestant is, he manages to get them to talk about their work, their family, their hobbies—everything, in fact, that in their eyes goes to make up a life. The contestants are often members of a brass band or a choral society, they’re involved in organizing the local fair, or they devote themselves to some charitable cause. Their children are often there in the studio. You generally get the impression from the program that these people are happy, and you feel better, happier yourself. Don’t you think?”

She looked at me unsmilingly. Her hair was in a chignon, she wore little makeup, her clothes were pretty drab—a serious girl. She hesitated for a moment before saying in a low voice, a little hoarse with shyness: “I was very fond of your father.” I couldn’t think of anything to say. It struck me as bizarre, but just about possible. The old man must have had stories to tell: he’d traveled in Colombia, Kenya, or I don’t know where; he’d had the opportunity to watch rhinoceros through binoculars. Every time we met, he limited himself to making fun of the fact that I was a civil servant, about the job security that went with it. “Got yourself a cushy little number, there,” he would say, making no attempt to hide his scorn. Families are always a bit difficult. “I’m studying nursing,” Aïcha went on, “but since I stopped living with my parents I have had to work as a cleaner.” I racked my brains to think of an appropriate response: was I supposed to ask how expensive rents were in Cherbourg? I finally opted for an “I see,” into which I tried to introduce a certain worldly wisdom. This seemed to satisfy her and she walked to the door. I pressed my face to the glass to watch her Volkswagen Polo do a U-turn in the muddy track. FR3 was showing some rustic made-for-TV movie set in the nineteenth century, starring Tchéky Karyo as a sharecropper. Between piano lessons, the daughter of the landowner—he was played by Jean-Pierre Marielle—accorded the handsome peasant certain liberties. Their clinches took place in a stable. I dozed off just as Tchéky Karyo was energetically ripping off her organza panties. The last thing I remember was a close-up of a small litter of pigs.

* This word and all others marked with an asterisk appear in English in the original French edition.

Revue de presse

“A terrific writer, funny and prophetic . . . feverishly alive to the world around him.” – The New York Times Book Review

“Calculated to poke, prod, engorge, enrage and amuse. . . . It’s dangerous in the way that literature is meant to be dangerous—that is, it awakens neglected sensibilities.”—The New York Observer

“Houellebecq’s writing has a raw, disquieting brilliance. . . .It’s ‘genius.’”—The Washington Post

“Brilliant, charming, puzzling, annoying and sometimes downright repulsive.” —The Denver Post

“Full, acidic, self-flagellating . . . [Platform has] earned Mr. Houellebecq the status of conversation piece, agent provocateur and savage messiah.” —The New York Times

“Remarkable . . . hilarious. . . . [Houellebecq] writes from the soul of a despairing, acutely lucid bureaucrat on Viagra.” —Los Angeles Times Book Review

“Scaldingly honest . . . [Platform] takes no prisoners as to prevailing terms of politically correct or any-other-way-correct discourse. . . . It frequently uses jarring juxtaposition to dislocate us from complacencies, received wisdoms or even moderate comfort. . . . The analysis is broad and extremely knowledgeable . . . [with] quirky and sometimes horrific observations on everything from ecology to airport gift shops to incest. . . . Bracing.” —St. Louis Post-Dispatch

“The most potentially weighty French novelist to emerge since Tournier. . . . The trajectory of Houellebecq’s world view will be worth following.” —The New Yorker

“An outstandingly powerful and relevant novel about sex, death, and Islam.” —Hanif Kureishi

“Astute, graceful, sexually preoccupied, occasionally alarming. . . . Eviscerat[es] the cultural moment.” —The Baltimore Sun

“The characters in Platform are detestable. . . . And the hatred [Michel] expresses . . . is loathsome. . . . But what is wrong with this? Why should literature not be as cruel as life itself? . . . This book offers us an ‘I’ we can relate to–hate, love, fear–without being pointedly obstructed by the author’s tormented cosmology. . . . Moving.” —San Francisco Chronicle

“Brilliant. . . . Reads like a shot. . . . The excitement of Platform is the force with which Houellebecq says the unsayable, his determination to cut through moral equivocation.” —Salon

“[A] dirty novel of ideas. . . . Houellebecq’s sex scenes are hot and bountiful.” —Entertainment Weekly

“An extraordinary blend of pornography, satire and diatribe . . . Houellebecq is an undeniably gifted writer–I found myself reading on, even when the impulse to throw the book across the room grew strong.” —Charles Matthews, San Jose Mercury News

“Odd, subversive entertainment.” —The Boston Globe

“What’s at stake is the desacralizing of sex, its final leap into the realm of pure commodity, the role of implacable consumption in cultural imperialism. . . . It’s not the kind of book you only read once.” —The Village Voice

“Cynical and anomic . . . literary and complex.” –The Atlantic Monthly

“Shockingly vile and shockingly banal, written with an ear toward pissing off just about everyone. . . . Houellebecq’s novel is tough to put down no matter how much you’d like to. . . . Like good porn it’s increasingly difficult to draw your eyes away as it oozes toward climax.” —Austin Chronicle

“A work of considerable imagination and wit. Even when the reader is most repelled, he may want to view the writer with grudging admiration. . . . [Michel Renault’s rants] are very funny, and . . . very true.” —The Sunday Star-Ledger (Newark, NJ)

Platform cuts precisely to the core of every imaginable big-picture problem facing the world. . . . Houellebecq knows how to get a rise out of his readers. . . . His prejudices are serious, and current.” —American Book Review

“Houellebecq writes with an honesty and an anomic conviction that raises his novels, beyond any single troubling moment, toward genius.” —Toronto Globe and Mail

“The most important book of the year–and perhaps of the century thus far. . . . Dazzling and prescient. . .Houellebecq [is] one of the finest novelists of ideas alive.” —Evening Standard (London)

“Brilliant. . .A thrilling read, close to Swift’s A Modest Proposal in its impact.” —Daily Telegraph (London)

“Extraordinarily good. . . Houellebecq is one of the few novelists working in any language who properly understands the tensions of the present age. He is also utterly fearless in articulating this.” —New Statesman

“Houellebecq writes with humor as sharp as a razor’s edge. There is bravery and even bravado in [his] prose. He alone among contemporary writers is prepared to do what the likes of Orwell and Huxley did and put up a mirror to our past and project its reflection on the future.” —Financial Times (London)


Détails sur le produit

  • Broché: 272 pages
  • Editeur : Vintage; Édition : Reprint (13 juillet 2004)
  • Collection : Vintage International
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 1400030269
  • ISBN-13: 978-1400030262
  • Dimensions du produit: 20,5 x 13,3 x 1,5 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.0 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (1 commentaire client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: 1.315.555 en Livres anglais et étrangers (Voir les 100 premiers en Livres anglais et étrangers)
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Blood will boil! 27 décembre 2006
Format:Broché
I read this book on a recent vacation and was blown away. First of all, this book features some of the steamiest and smartest sex writing I've ever read. The author also offers a few interesting ideas about relationships, sex, culture, business, and politics. A great conversation piece, and a terrific read!
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Amazon.com: 3.8 étoiles sur 5  65 commentaires
20 internautes sur 23 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
3.0 étoiles sur 5 Welcome to the Wild and Erotic World of Michel and Valérie! 26 juillet 2003
Par Bookreporter - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Relié
A small conceit of the English translation of Michel Houellebecq's PLATFORM is that certain words and phrases the author originally used in English are boldfaced, presumably so that readers will know that they carried a sort of extra Anglo-Saxon punch in the original text. However, the boldfaced words also recall the talent of Frank Wynne, Houellebecq's translator. I mention these words because I otherwise might not have remembered that I was reading a translated text, so clearly and accurately has Wynne rendered the author's unmistakable, inimitable voice.
With that said, this is not a voice all readers will appreciate. Protagonist and first-person narrator Michel Renault lives a small, sour existence as a middle-aged, middle-management civil servant. His Paris contains no romance and less contentment, and so he travels --- but his coldly assessing eye hardly allows him to enjoy his journeys or his arrivals. Sex in a variety of forms preoccupies him, and it is through sexual experiences that he seems to at least feel alive. While the women on his tour mainly disgust him (the young and nubile he deems "sluts"; the older and more aware he derides in various ways), women whom he can pay for sex receive the small bits of appreciation he can muster.
Still, it is a fellow tour group member, Valérie, with whom Michel connects when back in Paris. Michel, whose barely restrained anger towards his recently dead father once prevented him from pairing off with anyone besides his own hand, finds Valérie's combination of submissive generosity and high-paying job as a tourism executive irresistible. Their relationship brings him so much contentment that his boss comments that he seems happy. Despite their calm domestic bliss, the pair (both of whom seem quite addicted to orgasm) soon finds themselves drawn to more and more extreme erotic adventures.
Most of the time, PLATFORM seems more like one for Houellebecq's extreme yet articulate views than it does a novel --- yet his frozen-eyed comments on capitalism, religion, and gender politics are uncomfortably close to the secret thoughts so many people have. When Michel and Valérie devise a plan to turn her company's tours into sex holidays, they return together to the Thailand where he once experienced the zipless pleasures of a remarkably sanitary sex worker...For a moment, it seems that everyone will be happy, even Valérie's dour boss, Jean-Yves (given his straitlaced viewpoint, Houellebecq seems to say that it's no wonder his wife moonlights as a dominatrix). But alas, an early discussion Michel has with his father's housekeeper-mistress, whose Muslim honor avenged resulted in Renault pére's murder, presages the tragic end of the resort community and Michel's brief personal paradise. That this paradise is based on Western woman's supposed boredom with the all-too-familiar sex-for-love equation and the purported eagerness of Eastern woman to trade sex for the simple things (groceries, reliability, good manners) makes Houellebecq's Utopia terribly disturbing --- and terribly thought-provoking.
--- Reviewed by Bethanne Kelly Patrick
8 internautes sur 9 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Absolutely wacky. I couldn't put it down. 3 janvier 2005
Par Simon - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Relié
This was one of most enjoyable books I have ever read, I plowed through it in just over a day last week; I simply couldn't put it down. Sitting on a flight reading Platform, I kept laughing out loud and interrupting my girlfriend, obliging her to read passages which were so good I just had to share them with someone. I'm not going to pretend to be able to shed too much light on the story's deeper meanings - if there are any - I would just say that Platform is a shocking and thoroughly entertaining look at the world through the eyes of a complete cynic and utter dead beat. Kind of like the movie Train Spotting, only without much of the feel-good factor. You probably won't enjoy this book if you are very sensitive or are easily prone to believing the worst about people and the world - if these are character traits of yours, this book will just depress you; better to leave it alone. Same thing if you're not comfortable with graphic sexual content. I will definitely be reading Mr. H's other books.
10 internautes sur 12 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Sex, terrorism and being given a second chance 21 octobre 2003
Par Un client - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Relié
Michel Houllebecq's Platform is a provocative, memorable and ambitious work that is absolutely cutting and acerbic in its tone and content. The lead protagonist is so beautifully drawn, and such a well-rounded, multi-dimensional character that the reader is just left reeling in awe at Houllebecq's skill in creating him. Michel, disaffected, detached and very cynical - eking out an existence of prepackaged pleasure on TV dinners, hollow friendships and porn - goes on a package tour of Thailand where he meets Valerie, a fellow, sexually free French girl. Both are sexually rapacious and predatory, so back in France they hook up, and together with her boss Jean Yves, they devise a scheme to develop a network of "sex Tourism" resorts to save their ailing travel company.
As the novel progresses Houllebecq charts Michel's growth, sexual responsiveness and "humanization" with a fierce awareness. This is an astute character study, where we witness a forty year old, lonely, and somewhat raffish individual being reborn and, in effect, being "humanized." Michel himself admits that his life with Valerie has radically changed him and that he is absolutely blessed and he feels fortunate at having been given a "second chance" at his age. The final part of this novel is absolutely shocking in its content, as Michel and Valerie suffer the effects of a devastating Islamic terrorist attack on their resort. In graphic detail the attack mirrors in many ways the recent Bali bombing, which is also kind of interesting.
This book isn't for everyone; some of the moralists may be put off by the startling and raw sexuality, but I think that the book is raising some serious questions about the way the West views sex, and also the way that sexuality has become a marketable, economic commodity. Bangkok 8 also raised these issues, but I think Platform does this much more successfully, because it goes further and postulates on a future where both women and men have given up on looking for romance and are so busy with their professional lives that they will increasingly seek to pay for sex in third world counties. Houllebecq proposes a grim bleak future as people from the moneyed; hard working, market driven and capitalist West will be unable to relate to one another sexually or in any other way, and will increasingly turn to populations from countries like Thailand in the search for physical and emotional intimacy. Sex is a product that can be exchanged for a price, and devoid of morality, it inevitably becomes just like other Western products.
I don't think Platform is particularly ant-Muslim, but I do think it is raising some series issues about the Islamic faith, and the religion's attitudes to matters of sexuality. This is not one of my favorite books of the year, yet it certainly deserves some attention, and Houllebecq should certainly be commended for tackling these issues with such honesty and candor. I will definitely look forward to reading more of his work.
Michael
7 internautes sur 8 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Provoking.... 26 novembre 2004
Par Matko Vladanovic - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Relié
Those of you who are interested in European discourse will remember the crusade on author of this book two years ago, which culminated in whole dossier published in Finkelkraut's European Messenger in which leading pens of Euro culture raised their voices trying to intelectually subdue this book and statements presented in it.

Inraged cries of every religious community out there, from islam to christianity ensured the succes to this book.

We are witnesses of methods of mass media so one should always look with scepticism too all kind of fusses that are raised towards todays literature. But this book really deserved it. And that, believe it or not is a good thing to literature.

Ever since the begining of time, writer was supposed to shock community, from Boccacio's Decameron to Flaubert's Madame Bovary. Sluggishnes of thought and slowness of mind that dominated Europe are finaly broken with this book.

Every concept out there is driven trough, you may almost call it Occham's razor, deconstructig society in general, not willing to admit any kind of supremacy to culture or historicism author tries to present the new world which even in today's democracy (whatever that means) stands out as twisted and pervert....At least to majority of people.

Read this book... It is a begginig of a new epoch....
9 internautes sur 11 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Powerful & courageous, 1 octobre 2003
Par Un client - Publié sur Amazon.com
Format:Relié
With "Platform", Michel Houellebecq has disproved the adage that you can't follow up a groundbreaking debut with something even better. If truth be told, I thought "Atomised" was original but wildly overpraised, but when I finished "Platform", it felt like a train had run through me. I was floored by its power, vision and courage. Unlike many books which peter out after a promising start, "Platform" gets better with each page and ends on a shattering climax and a devastating afternote.
Like "Atomised", the author speaks directly to us through the voice of the novel's protagonist (also named Michel), so you'd be forgiven for simply assuming that it's Michel Houellebecq himself who is telling the story. This perspective is reinforced by the author's unique trademark of making political and social commentary an integral part of the novel's plot. So when critics lambast Michel (the character) for being racist, anti-Islamic and all the rest of it, it's hard to escape levelling these same charges against the author.
But while it's tempting though surely missing the point to dismiss much of "Platform" as a diatribe against the lurid excesses of third world sex tourism, the madness of terrorism, etc, it isn't difficult to locate the tongue-in-cheek yet bitter irony in Houellebecq's view of the 21st century world. The pimps and whores of the third world regard the sex trade as a means of survival, and that's alright because everybody has a right to live, their customers - mostly pathetic human specimens in need of getting themselves a life like the early Michel and his failed bureaucrat friends - are driven to such levels of depravity and despair by their own society which makes gratification of their primal sex urge such a complicated and unattainable affair. So the graphic sex scenes featuring Michel, his bisexual girlfriend Valerie and many anonymous others in twosomes or threesomes are funny, absurd, sexy, yet strangely touching. Houellebecq has elevated sex to hyperbole in "Platform" to suggest that Western society may have dug its own grave on the subject of sex from playing too many mind games. Hence the need to "Look East" to rediscover their lost but false paradise.
Houellebecq's narrative voice can be distancing and alienating, especially when he's being cryptic during his periodic lapses into commentary, so the really big surprise is that by the end of the story, he has transformed Michel into a real human being and against our better judgement, we begin to feel for him and even find ourselves hurting badly over his loss.
"Platform", Houellebecq's sophomore effort is not only vastly superior to "Atomised", it is a truly great novel. I am tempted to call it a masterpiece. There aren't too many novels this powerful, daring and courageous. Don't miss it !
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