Bearer of an illustrious name and nephew of a President of the Republic, Frédéric Mitterrand is born into the discreet gentility of Paris' haut bourgeois sixteenth arrondissement. Raised by an army of surrogates, he spends his summers in Evian and North Africa and his winters on Alpine slopes.

But, growing up in a time and environment where such things are not talked about, Frédéric struggles with a difficult secret. Wracked by a fear of abandonment and confused by his sexual urges toward other boys, he reaches out haphazardly for affection-with both comic and catastrophic results.

At age twelve, in the first of many capricious attempts to find his true identity, he sneaks into an audition for a major motion picture and gets a part. Thus begins a life steeped in celebrity, French cinema, and clandestine romantic liaisons. In later life, Mitterrand, a renowned critic, producer, and talk show host, seeks out old friends, servants, and loves, who reveal startlingly unexpected interpretations of his formative years.

Mitterrand's memoir is a Godard film come to life-a Nouvelle Vague Oh the Glory of It All. Now Minister of Culture, Mitterrand reveals his life as a denizen of the psychological underworld and gay icon in haute société.

Frédéric Mitterrand is a writer, television personality, filmmaker, and gay rights activist. In 2009, he was appointed Minister of Culture and Communication by French president Nicolas Sarkozy. He lives in France.

By now I’m beginning to understand what I’m up against. It’s an obscure, incomprehensible attraction that never lets up; a kind of game, too, with the capacity to make me happy or sad. I feel that there must surely be other boys like me but I’ve been unlucky because I haven’t met any. I know more or less where it will lead to, but I still can’t quite imagine the details. It’s funny, my brothers don’t talk about it in front of me. Well, sometimes they do, but always in a light, jokey tone that makes me feel less alone. But I latch onto everything their friends say, the oldest ones usually, whenever the subject comes up; their voices drip with scorn, insult, and mockery. In any case, I’m careful to toe the party line whenever they come for me . . . The descent into secretiveness, a permanent state of alert, has begun without my really being aware of it . . . Deep down, I don’t think it’s irreversible. At the Janson school there are girls, too, and I enjoy their company. We have play dates, pass each other notes; I dream up little infatuations and persuade myself it will all work out; it’s true, however, that I’m a little less sure of myself when they introduce me to their brothers. Everything’s mutable, I tell myself, nothing stays the same; maybe I’ll change the way my child’s body is growing and transforming itself—a little too slowly, to my mind.