Jean Delas

It’s hard to believe we’re saying goodbye to Jean. He left us on March 16th, 2026, at the wonderful age of 86, and the world feels a little less bright without his quiet wisdom and mischievous grin. I keep picturing him at the kitchen table, surrounded by stacks of books – not necessarily *reading* them, mind you, but thoughtfully arranging and rearranging them, a half-finished glass of red wine nearby. That was Jean. Always surrounded by beauty, always contemplating, always with a twinkle in his eye. He wasn’t one for grand gestures, but for the small, meaningful moments, the perfectly chosen word, the knowing glance that told you he understood. Jean dedicated his life to stories, as many of you know. As a publisher, he wasn’t just selling books, he was championing voices, nurturing talent, and believing in the power of words to change the world. He received the Legion of Honour in 2015, a recognition he accepted with characteristic humility, always insisting it was the authors, not him, who deserved the praise. But beyond his professional life, he was a devoted husband to his beloved wife, Sylvie, and a wonderfully present father and grandfather. He adored his children and grandchildren, always eager to hear about their lives, offering advice only when asked, and always, *always* with unwavering support. I remember him patiently teaching my daughter to play pétanque, his competitive spirit hidden beneath a gentle encouragement. He found joy in the simplest things: a perfectly ripe tomato from the garden, a lively debate over politics, a classical music concert, and, of course, a good bottle of wine shared with friends and family. He wasn’t a man of extravagant hobbies, but he poured his heart into everything he did. He had a knack for making everyone feel seen and valued, for drawing out their best selves. He listened intently, remembered details, and offered a quiet empathy that was incredibly comforting. So many young authors credit him with launching their careers, not just through publishing their work, but through believing in them when no one else did. Jean leaves behind a legacy of love, kindness, and a deep appreciation for the beauty in the world. He will be profoundly missed by Sylvie, his children, his grandchildren, and all who had the privilege of knowing him. He wasn’t just a publisher, or a husband, or a father – he was a truly good man, and we are all so much richer for having had him in our lives. We’ll raise a glass to you, Jean. *À votre santé.*