By Helen Constantine
ISBN-10: 0199579806
ISBN-13: 9780199579808
Following Helen Constantine's hugely profitable Paris stories, Paris Metro Tales bargains 22 impressive brief tales set all through Paris-all hooked up through the underground tunnels of its famed Metro.
The trip starts on the Gare du Nord, stops at 20 underground stations alongside the best way, and ends at Lamarck-Caulaincourt, every one tale resembling one of many 20 arrondissements of Paris. Readers are invited to discover their means in the course of the underground, altering trains whilst useful and imaginatively rising to learn a narrative it its unique atmosphere. The tales diversity from the 15th-century account of the stunning Saint Genevieve, customer saint of Paris, via stories by means of favourite writers reminiscent of Zola, Simenon, Balzac, and Maupassant. notwithstanding attached via the metro, the topics of those brief tales fluctuate generally: from Martine Delerm's gripping narrative of the final hours of Modigliani's mistress to Gérard de Nerval's wealthy evocation of the bustling industry in Les Halles within the 1850s, Colette's not likely involvement in a site visitors twist of fate close to the Opéra, and Boulanger's high-quality description of a blackly humorous event in Père Lachaise. as well as writers popular to the English-speaking international, this assortment additionally comprises French authors whose paintings merits wider recognition, together with Frédéric Fajardie, Martine Delerm, Marie Desplechin, Paul Fournel, and Claude Dufresne. each one tale is illustrated with a black-and-white picture and the publication contains a map and recommended itinerary throughout the metro procedure.
Perfect for enthusiasts of Paris Tales, connoisseurs of French fiction, and all brief tale fans, Paris Metro Tales deals infrequent glimpses of the darker aspect of the "City of Light."
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Additional info for Paris Metro Tales
Example text
He put the bowl at the foot of the bed. When I opened my eyes again, the stallholders were taking down their stands, in a sea of lettuce stumps and rotten fruit. I sat up, pulling my jacket around me. I saw the bowl of coffee at the end of the bed and got up. I glanced through the half-open door. He was sitting at the table in his dressing-gown. Pencil in hand, he was reading a book and making notes while a cigarette burned in the ash-tray. I was at peace, contemplating him in the midday sunshine, when the ringing of the telephone shattered the silence.
I hurriedly washed and rinsed in cold water. Sometimes my thoughts are so clear they hurt my eyes. All I could find to dry myself was one towel, a small white threadbare towel. Summer Rain n 29 I went into the kitchen. The window over the sink looked out on to a paved yard. An acacia tree leaned awkwardly in the corner. Under the acacia someone was mending his scooter. Seven o’clock. I drank a Nescafe´, sitting at the tiled table. Then I lit a cigarette. Contentment and fatigue took over, and made their way from my heart up to my brain.
When the answer-phone kicked in, Frank leaned over the speaker. Nothing. Beep. No message. ‘There, you see,’ he said triumphantly. ’ ‘So, they just wanted to know if I was there, or annoy me incidentally if I answered. But I didn’t answer it. ’ The telephone understood. Silent, like a beaten animal, full of mute reproach and hypocritical threats, it remained immobile. ‘I’m off to get dressed,’ said Frank, going into his bedroom. ‘Take a bowl from the table. The coffee’s hot. ’ I helped myself. I stared hard at the coffee, right to the bottom of my bowl.
Paris Metro Tales by Helen Constantine
by David
4.4