Georges Simenon is known better for his Inspector Maigret novels than his darker, more literary “romans durs.” The latter present a bleak, existential universe without much pleasure. But the short who-done-its are restful to read. The world is orderly, and Maigret is in charge. The best thing about them, aside from the brooding, intuitive Maigret, is the occasional paragraph like this. It is dawn in Paris after an all night investigation:
“All around them, workmen were eating their croissants, still sleepy-eyed, and the early morning mist spangled their overcoats with moisture. It was chilly. In the streets, each passer-by was preceded by a little cloud of steam. Windows were lighting up, one after the other, on the different floors of all the houses.” Continue reading “An exemplary sentence”