The Paris Lawyer by Sylvie Granotier

First published in France in 2011; published in translation by Le French Book on July 2, 2012

Catherine Monsigny, a young lawyer, takes on the defense of Myriam Villetreix who is accused of poisoning Gaston, the man who apparently saved her from deportation by marrying her. Catherine sees the case as her springboard to fame, although she wonders how she will interest Parisian reporters in the murder of a farmer in a rural community in central France. It happens to be the same community where Catherine's mother was murdered when Catherine was only four years old. Catherine's mother was killed in a park where Catherine was found crying in a stroller. The killer was never identified.

As Catherine was growing up, her bottled-up father refused to talk to her about her mother. Her father always tried to replace the reality of her mother's death with a myth, casting her mother as a princess struck down by evil witches, and Catherine as a girl who is protected by fairies. Her memories of that day -- someone handing her the piece of cloth she had dropped -- might be false. She may have been too young to remember anything, as her father has always insisted.

Catherine is an introspective character. She is young and naïve. "She believes in everything she has not experienced." Yet she is also rebellious and adventurous, as she proves by bedding one of her clients early the novel, shortly after she gets him acquitted. She wonders whether she is (like some of the people she sees accused of sex crimes) a mere "consumer of flesh," unable to see her partners as anything other than objects of her desire. As the novel progresses, Catherine undergoes a maturation process, feeling by the end of the story that, at the age of twenty-six, she is "older than the rest of the world."

In part, The Paris Lawyer is a family drama. The primary focus is on Catherine as she discovers her mother's secrets, but it is also on Catherine's father, who coped with his wife's death as best he could (although not in the way that Catherine wanted) and lives in fear that his daughter no longer needs him. To a lesser extent, the story involves a different family drama, that of Myriam and Gaston, "two people mistreated by life" who either loved or despised each other, depending on the observer's viewpoint. More fundamentally, The Paris Lawyer is a thriller, cleverly woven from various plot threads in ways that are both obvious and subtle. Title notwithstanding, it is a psychological thriller rather than a legal thriller. Myriam's trial remains in the background for much of the novel, serving as a framework for the larger story.

Sylvie Granotier slowly builds a suspenseful atmosphere from a series of ambiguous incidents and flashes of buried memories. Through much of the novel, I was puzzled about where the plot was taking me, a pleasant departure from the stacks of predictable thrillers that substitute silliness for depth. The Paris Lawyer is ultimately a contemplation of guilt in all its different guises, but it is also a good story that ends with surprising revelations about the killers of Gaston and of Catherine's mother. Its only flaws (small ones, I think) are that the novel's denouement borders on melodrama and the story is more intellectually than emotionally engaging.

RECOMMENDED

Eléctrico W by Hervé Le Tellier

First published in French in 2011; published in translation by Other Press on June 18, 2013

The events described in Eléctrico W take place in Lisbon over the course of nine days. Antonio Flores is a photographer living in Paris, but during his childhood in Lisbon, he raced every day to catch a funicular tram called the Eléctrico W. One morning he missed the tram but met a girl called Duck, who eventually became his lover. Their romance ended with a forced separation after Duck's father discovered she was pregnant.

Antonio tells the story of Duck to Vincent Balmer, a journalist with whom Antonio has joined forces to cover the trial of Pinheiro, the "Mad Killer of Lisbon." Vincent, the novel's narrator, has an old flame of his own, a woman he loved despite her refusal to give herself to him. Of Irene he confesses: "the memory of her terrifies me because it's everywhere in me, ready to spring up as soon as I'm alone, when all it really is is regret." Vincent is chagrined when Antonio reveals that Irene was Antonio's lover before Antonio left Paris, and is even more discomfited by the news that Irene will be visiting Antonio in Lisbon.

Motivated by a combination of jealousy and confusion, Vincent embarks on a search for the long-lost Duck. Vincent's wanderings gives Hervé Le Tellier the opportunity to paint caricatures of Lisbon's colorful residents, including a surprising woman named Manuela Freire. Vincent believes he has bad luck with women, but perhaps (as Manuela suggests) his problem is his inability to recognize and seize the moment when a woman is giving him a chance. Vincent's interaction with the novel's female characters, as well as Antonio's momentary obsession with a young woman named Aurora, allows Le Tellier to explore various aspects of love and desire.

The perfect understatement of each plot thread adds to the novel's realism. The reader eventually learns that there is more to the story of Duck.  That story's completion gives Eléctrico W its final dramatic edge.

Le Tellier's elegant, atmospheric prose makes this a novel to savor. Le Tellier makes frequent reference to poets, both real and fictional, and there is a poetic sensibility to his phrasing and choice of words. One poem that Le Tellier quotes is, like Eléctrico W, about "lying and illusion and sincerity."  During the nine days, Vincent idly translates the fragmentary stories written by a (fabricated) poet who has appeared as a character in some of Le Tellier's other work. Le Tellier seems to be suggesting -- through the translated vignettes, Vincent's coverage of Pinhiero, and the character of Manuela -- that the line between fiction and reality is murky at best. Vincent is drawn, he tells us, to "unfashionable authors, the ones who failed to produce a major famous work by which they'll be remembered." Eléctrico W deserves a better fate than the forgotten books that appeal to Vincent. I wouldn't classify it as a major work, but if every good novel "is good in its own way" (as Vincent opines), Eléctrico W is good in many ways.

RECOMMENDED

Total Chaos by Jean-Claude Izzo

Published in French in 1995; published in translation by Europa Editions on May 7, 2013 

First published in 1995, Total Chaos is French literary noir. Three friends from the melting pot of Marseilles (whose parents spoke Italian or Spanish at home) bond in their youth over their outsider status and a shared love of poetry and old books. That, and their shared love of the beautiful Lole. The three friends once participated in a series of armed robberies, but their adult lives have gone in different directions. Fabio Montale became a cop. Manu is dead. Pierre Ugolini, having spent some time drifting, returns to Marseilles to avenge Manu's killing. It is a question of honor, and honor is all that matters in Marseilles. It doesn't end well for Ugolini, and that's where the story begins.

Montale's job is to preempt rioting in a neighborhood where the French regard everyone who isn't of French ancestry as a dirty Arab. When Leila Mouloud disappears -- an Arab student upon whom Montale has something more than a crush -- Montale assures her father that he will find her. At the same time, Montale is determined to understand what happened to Manu. Therein lies the plot -- such as it is.

Montale spends quite a bit of time revisiting the past -- too much time, as the story is often slow to move forward. Much of the novel seems directionless. A fair amount of the novel -- apart from Montale showing off his exquisite taste in food, alcohol, and music -- consists of Montale's internal monologue. Some of it (particularly the woeful condition of immigrants) is interesting, but his redundant thoughts did not always hold my attention. I expect a certain amount of existential angst in a noir protagonist, but Montale just won't shut up about his relentlessly downbeat view of the world. There are only so many times I can read things like "We were all like insects caught in a spider's web. We struggled, but the spider would eat us in the end" before I want to slit my throat. Or maybe Montale's, to put him out of his misery.

Montale is a classic noir character, the alienated tough guy with a soft heart. He doesn't fit in with the police -- he too frequently identifies with the outlaws, rooting for the underdog -- but he cannot abide the pain caused by crime. He's surrounded by corruption and despair (from which, conveniently enough, frequent sexual encounters provide his only respite). He easily falls in love but never holds onto it, perhaps because he doesn't really want it. He tells us, more than once, that he loves women too much. Eventually, his "I am so passionate, I love every woman I take to bed, including the prostitutes; I cook wonderful meals for them with fennel and garlic but I will never be happy" attitude starts to wear thin. Maybe it's a French thing. And maybe observations like this are a French thing -- "There in front of me was every man's dream: a mother, a sister, and a whore!" -- but even by noir standards, that's a little too cute for my taste.

There are things about Total Chaos I admired. Jean-Claude Izzo writes short, punchy sentences that are well suited to the story he tells. He captures the atmosphere of Marseilles -- its music, ethnic restaurants, and commuter trains full of tough-acting kids -- in vivid terms (the city is "an ancient tragedy in which the hero is death"). While there is the skeleton of a good story here, it is given too little flesh. I like the way the twin mysteries are eventually resolved, but the story is too often dull, and noir should never be dull. Montale does no detective work to speak of, opting to drift through the novel, making existential comments upon the seedy events he observes ("life didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was death"). Not quite all: sex and cognac and sex and well-prepared food and sex also matter to Montale. It's unfortunate that he's too awash in self-absorbed despair to recognize the pleasure in the things that obviously give him so much pleasure. Total Chaos is the first novel of a trilogy, but it failed to inspire me to read the other two. I'm not sure I would survive the experience.

NOT RECOMMENDED

The Train by Georges Simenon

First published in French in 1961; reviewed edition published in English by Melville House on July 19, 2011

Belgian-born Georges Simenon's The Train was first published in 1961. Marcel Feron lives in France, near the Belgian border, with his daughter and pregnant wife. On the morning of May 10, 1940, Marcel hears a radio broadcast announcing that Germany has invaded Holland and that tanks are crossing the Belgian frontier. Deciding to flee to the south of France, Marcel feels a "somber joy," for he isn't running from the invasion, but from responsibility. He is relieved that the welfare of his family will be in the hands of Fate rather than his own.

Women and children board the southbound train first, separating Marcel from his wife and daughter. He eventually boards one of the last freight cars but that car is later linked to a different train. Officials cannot tell Marcel where his wife and daughter have gone but he thinks of them "without overmuch anxiety, indeed with a certain serenity." Although Marcel tells us that he loves his wife, that she meets all of his expectations, he is happy to abandon the life he has built. It is as if "the world had recovered its savor." A break has occurred that causes him to live "on another level, where the values had nothing in common with those of my previous existence." Marcel believes he has surrendered to Fate.

If Fate is really a force, will we recognize it when it comes calling? During the train journey, Marcel befriends a formerly imprisoned woman named Anna. Feeling that he has also been released from prison, Marcel bonds with Anna. Were they fated to meet? Or is it Marcel's destiny to be with his wife and child?

The train, I suspect, is a metaphor. The train rolls down the tracks, transporting its passengers from station to station, its next destination determined by the progress of the Germans, the availability of food and lodging, and other factors that the passengers cannot influence. Marcel is happy to be borne along, to have decisions about the course of his life made by others. Marcel's journey on the train represents his idealized journey through life, a journey in which he is the passenger, not the driver. Once he is on the train, he has no worries; life just happens and he contentedly takes it as it comes. Marcel reinvents himself as a man who lives entirely in the moment.

Is this a good way to live? What Marcel sees as fate is in some sense an abdication not just of responsibility but of free will. Although there are costs to taking control of your life (including the burden of responsibility that torments Marcel) there are also benefits. Is it better (or even possible) to seize control of your life rather than taking life as it comes? Simenon poses these questions but leaves it to the reader to answer them, just as it is for the reader to decide whether Marcel is following fate or free will at the novel's end. Clearly he makes a decision (although, according to Marcel, not one to which he gives any thought) but whether the decision is to accept fate or to follow a path of his own choice is ambiguous, and I'm not at all sure that Marcel's opinions on the matter are the product of a reliably introspective mind.

This short, stimulating book tells a deceptively simple story while raising provocative questions. The ending holds a surprise that requires the reader to rethink one of the main characters. The Train is an intriguing character study with existential overtones but it is also worth reading for its fascinating story of people set adrift in newly occupied France. It is a buried treasure that has lost none of its power in the half century since its first appearance.

RECOMMENDED

Nana by Émile Zola

First published in 1880

You don't have to be a scholar of French literature (I'm not) to appreciate Nana. Set in the late 1860's and early 1870's, Zola's novel (the ninth in his Rougon-Macquart series) follows a talentless but beautiful stage actress whose physical charms (which she generously shares with upscale men) make her the talk of Paris. Nana is soon living well beyond the means of the various men who support her; their desire for her inevitably leads to their downfall, while the smiling Nana simply moves on to the next admirer.

Zola paints beautifully detailed portraits: the theater, the city, Parisian aristocracy and the crowds that clog the streets all come alive in vibrant color. The characters peopling the novel represent all the traits, good and (mostly) bad, that a sharp-eyed writer could hope to put on display: cruelty, lechery, indifference, pompousness, greed and corruption, occasionally offset by kindness and generosity. Zola was apparently saying something about the superficiality and decadence of society (Nana is ultimately doomed, as is the French empire), but from the modern reader's standpoint, the novel works as sort of an entertaining soap opera, a spoof of the upper class, an old school view of the sexual power women wield over men. Above all, it's often very funny. The novel is easy to read and well worth the time.

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