Shortly before his suicide, Swedish writer Stig Dagerman published an essay entitled Our need for consolation is impossible to satiate. As he died in 1954, he never knew the 1M, and something tells us that a few kilometers behind the wheel might have been enough to change his mind. With its relatively small size, mechanical gearbox (the only choice), hydraulic power-assisted steering (a far cry from the artificial and commonly detestable feel of electric units), self-locking differential and immoderate taste for drifting - if you've got the necessary talents - the machine is, all in all, an old-fashioned type of machine whose particularities seem ideally calibrated to help us survive the dark times we're living through. From six to twenty-one o'clock - or even longer in the free zone - this short-lived coupé (just over 6,000 units produced until summer 2012), which is already attracting collectors, can be a highly effective bulwark against all forms of gloom. All it needs is a bit of petrol, some roads with little traffic, some curves, and the joy of living and driving. Its physiognomy is unencumbered by any mannerism: big wheels, wide lanes, an expressive face that's literally shredded by the cooling scoops leave few illusions for the congenital stragglers who foolishly clutter up the left-hand lane - for all that, let's face it, the 1M is as much at home on the freeway as Franck Dubosc in a Xavier Dolan film. If you really like driving, now's the time to fall for it.