Biography

Freelance journalist and passionated with drama, she launched a cultural news magazine online called "vilain petit canard". She is also a theater and cinema critic for the 24 hour newspapers, L'hebdo and Matin Dimanche.

"My name is Clara Grand, I'm twenty-seven years old and I believe in God. Even more so: I believe in God and I am afraid of loosing Him. I love colours. The kitsch, especially.as it is unlike me. Well, not the one I am. To the other one? The one who became me? Certainly. She is cheerful, happy, female. I, Clara, am bulimic. My name is Clara Grand, I am twenty-seven years old and I love Frederick. The same age as me. He, Frederick, is anorexic. Almost always, when I eat too much I make myself sick. When I feel dirty, I masterbate. And God looks at me." (Back Cover)

Its been a long time since we've seen such a green fruit come out of Switzerland. One thinks of the stridency of Honegger, and daubed with insatiable and overpainted tarts of Pipilotti Rist, of the haunted scraps of Tinguely, where life and death sneer, fighting over pieces of cattle heads at the slaughter, bones, bits of flesh, in the extreme compassion of martyred bodies. (...)

There is a beautiful relationship between Anne-Sylvie Sprenger, young Swiss girl with a clear skin, and the monsters of the depth of Switzerland. A singularity full of God, like the madmen who signed so many vanities in the Helvetia of the sixteenth century. And gentle attention that we would like to say maternal, for a little lost soul that devours her reserves and the cold ashes of her lover on the threshold of the asylum, but where to stop?." (Jacques Chessex, Le Nouvel Observateur, January 4, 2007).

"Between 5 and 8 years of age, Clara was repeatedly raped. To hide the movement of the man who penetrated her, she eats, stuffs herself up , and vomits. Vomiting,
is expiating. (...) But Clara wants to have an orgasm to free herself.

She walks the hot streets of Lausanne, occasionally prostitutes herself. Her appetite devours her. Then she plunders the hostels of Saint-Valentin church, and, having put on her first communion dress now too small for her, swallows them to purify herself from within (sanctification): the Body of Christ in her bruised body.

Impossible here not to think of Bataille who explained that "the sacred is just a moment of communal unity, convulsive moment of communion ". (...) Vorace is devilishly well written. Strong, aggressive, immoral and terrible. It is the performance nt Roy, Le Monde des Livres, February 16, 2007)