We are then confronted with the problem of authenticity. Joël Dicker, the author, and Bernard de Fallois, his publisher, are real characters in a quasi-autobiographical novel narrated by a writer who greatly resembles Joël Dicker, who may even be Joël Dicker. Or not. And in this way, the novel turns in upon itself, like the ever-circling spirals of a gastropod shell.
Well put.
