This paper discusses Boris Vian's novel J'irai cracher sur vos tombes (1946). Not only is this text replete with deceit, pretence and general mendacity, but it amounts overall to a systemic act of literary treachery by Vian. He takes the concept of 'fiction' to its ultimate extent by presenting the novel not as the work of Boris Vian, but as a translation, by Vian, of a novel by 'Vernon Sullivan', a Black American living in Paris. Scott intends to prove that this novel is of merit for those interested in translation in all its senses, since its self-declared (if entirely false) status as a novel "traduit de l'américain" is central to its nature.