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خاکسپاری آقای بووه
مردی مسن ناگهان جلو غرفهی یک کتابفروشی در محلهی کهدولاتورنل پاریس جان میبازد.
هیچکس نمیداند آقای بووه واقعا کیست!
این مرد عجیبوغریب که با وجود ثروت کلانش در یک خانهی اجارهای ساده زندگی میکند چه رازی پس پرده دارد؟
چرا از زندگی پرزرقوبرق خود دست کشیده و به شخصیت یک بازنشستهی ساده و گمنام درآمده است؟
ژرژ سیمنون در این کتاب گامبهگام از زندگی پررمزوراز آقای بووه پرده برمیدارد و این معمای مهیج را با نیروی اسرارآمیز قلمپردازی خود حل میکند.
هیچکس نمیداند آقای بووه واقعا کیست!
این مرد عجیبوغریب که با وجود ثروت کلانش در یک خانهی اجارهای ساده زندگی میکند چه رازی پس پرده دارد؟
چرا از زندگی پرزرقوبرق خود دست کشیده و به شخصیت یک بازنشستهی ساده و گمنام درآمده است؟
ژرژ سیمنون در این کتاب گامبهگام از زندگی پررمزوراز آقای بووه پرده برمیدارد و این معمای مهیج را با نیروی اسرارآمیز قلمپردازی خود حل میکند.
185 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1950
4 people are currently reading
73 people want to read
About the author
Georges Simenon
2,739 books2,306 followersGeorges Joseph Christian Simenon (1903 – 1989) was a Belgian writer. A prolific author who published nearly 500 novels and numerous short works, Simenon is best known as the creator of the fictional detective Jules Maigret.
Although he never resided in Belgium after 1922, he remained a Belgian citizen throughout his life.
Simenon was one of the most prolific writers of the twentieth century, capable of writing 60 to 80 pages per day. His oeuvre includes nearly 200 novels, over 150 novellas, several autobiographical works, numerous articles, and scores of pulp novels written under more than two dozen pseudonyms. Altogether, about 550 million copies of his works have been printed.
He is best known, however, for his 75 novels and 28 short stories featuring Commissaire Maigret. The first novel in the series, Pietr-le-Letton, appeared in 1931; the last one, Maigret et M. Charles, was published in 1972. The Maigret novels were translated into all major languages and several of them were turned into films and radio plays. Two television series (1960-63 and 1992-93) have been made in Great Britain.
During his "American" period, Simenon reached the height of his creative powers, and several novels of those years were inspired by the context in which they were written (Trois chambres à Manhattan (1946), Maigret à New York (1947), Maigret se fâche (1947)).
Simenon also wrote a large number of "psychological novels", such as La neige était sale (1948) or Le fils (1957), as well as several autobiographical works, in particular Je me souviens (1945), Pedigree (1948), Mémoires intimes (1981).
In 1966, Simenon was given the MWA's highest honor, the Grand Master Award.
In 2005 he was nominated for the title of De Grootste Belg (The Greatest Belgian). In the Flemish version he ended 77th place. In the Walloon version he ended 10th place.
Although he never resided in Belgium after 1922, he remained a Belgian citizen throughout his life.
Simenon was one of the most prolific writers of the twentieth century, capable of writing 60 to 80 pages per day. His oeuvre includes nearly 200 novels, over 150 novellas, several autobiographical works, numerous articles, and scores of pulp novels written under more than two dozen pseudonyms. Altogether, about 550 million copies of his works have been printed.
He is best known, however, for his 75 novels and 28 short stories featuring Commissaire Maigret. The first novel in the series, Pietr-le-Letton, appeared in 1931; the last one, Maigret et M. Charles, was published in 1972. The Maigret novels were translated into all major languages and several of them were turned into films and radio plays. Two television series (1960-63 and 1992-93) have been made in Great Britain.
During his "American" period, Simenon reached the height of his creative powers, and several novels of those years were inspired by the context in which they were written (Trois chambres à Manhattan (1946), Maigret à New York (1947), Maigret se fâche (1947)).
Simenon also wrote a large number of "psychological novels", such as La neige était sale (1948) or Le fils (1957), as well as several autobiographical works, in particular Je me souviens (1945), Pedigree (1948), Mémoires intimes (1981).
In 1966, Simenon was given the MWA's highest honor, the Grand Master Award.
In 2005 he was nominated for the title of De Grootste Belg (The Greatest Belgian). In the Flemish version he ended 77th place. In the Walloon version he ended 10th place.
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Displaying 1 - 21 of 21 reviews
September 3, 2022
تقریبا هر هفته یک خبر عجیب و غریب منتشر میشود از یافتن یک فرد مرده در خانهاش بعد از ماهها. نوعی از تنهایی که قابل درک نیست. داستان سیمنون با مرگ مردی آغاز میشود که هیچکس او را نمیبیند و به جز خدمتکارش هیچ نزدیکانی ندارد. متاسفانه محتملترین پایانی که برای زندگیام تصور میکنم همین خواهد بود تنهایی و کتاب و تنهایی. نمیدانم چرا برای آیندهی خودخواستهام از متاسفم استفاده کردم. شاید تنهایی خودخواسته تاسفآور است. البته که بعد مشخص شد علت تنهایی آقای بووه و اینکه چه شخصیت عجیبی دارد و ابدا تنهاییاش عارفانه نیست. نبود کارآگاه مگرهی نابغه دو اتفاق را رقم زده... اولا در حضور مگره تمامی صحنهها در حضور اوست و نگاه راوی محدود است اما در غیاب او سیمنون میان شخصیتها و مکانها میچرخد و توانسته شخصیتهای بیشتری را خلق کند. دوما در حضور نابغهای مانند مگره تمامی دیالوگها متفاوتند و سنگینی صحنه به سمت اوست. اویی که هر کلامش ارتباطی با اطلاعاتمان دارد و مخاطبش بسیار مواظب لغاتش هست. اما اینجا در نبود آن نابغه همهی شخصیتها به یک اندازه جذابند. سیمنون در سرعت انتقال اطلاعات یک کلاس درس است. این که چگونه قطرهچکانی اطلاعات را به مخاطب بدهیم... نه آنقدر کم که مخاطب متن را بدون جذابیت بداند نه آنقدر زیاد که کشف و شهود را از او بگیریم. آقای بووه را یادم میماند
January 25, 2023
This is a relatively obscure Simenon, not a Maigret, and not a romans-durs, so a stand-alone, and, though invesigated by the police, certainly not the usual sort of detective novel or police procedural.
On a fine August morning at the Quai de la Tournelle, on the banks of the Seinse close to Notre Dame, an elderly man browsing cheap colour prints at a stall drops dead. Though M. Bouvet is well known and has lived there for many years he has never spoken of a family or of his past.
That would appear to be the end of the matter, but by chance, a student took a photograph of the scene including the dead Bouvet, and sells it to a newspaper, which prints it. Bouvet is recognised by an American woman who goes to the police with information that this man was her ex-husband, Samuel Marsh, who owned a gold mine in Congo. This is just the start of the unveiling of the many different faces of the so-called 'Bouvet'; a pimp, a criminal past, and an undercover intelligence officer in the war.
The past of the elusive Monsieur Bouvet has eventually caught up with him, but only after his death.
Its a good plot, but Simenon novels set in Paris, and especially on the banks of the river, have a particular atmosphere to them that is very special, a trait of his that few others, if any, have matched.
On a fine August morning at the Quai de la Tournelle, on the banks of the Seinse close to Notre Dame, an elderly man browsing cheap colour prints at a stall drops dead. Though M. Bouvet is well known and has lived there for many years he has never spoken of a family or of his past.
That would appear to be the end of the matter, but by chance, a student took a photograph of the scene including the dead Bouvet, and sells it to a newspaper, which prints it. Bouvet is recognised by an American woman who goes to the police with information that this man was her ex-husband, Samuel Marsh, who owned a gold mine in Congo. This is just the start of the unveiling of the many different faces of the so-called 'Bouvet'; a pimp, a criminal past, and an undercover intelligence officer in the war.
The past of the elusive Monsieur Bouvet has eventually caught up with him, but only after his death.
Its a good plot, but Simenon novels set in Paris, and especially on the banks of the river, have a particular atmosphere to them that is very special, a trait of his that few others, if any, have matched.
November 30, 2014
Genius, undimmed after 22 years.
*
As I have written elsewhere, this book has special resonance for me, as it was the very first book I ever bought from the Nilkhet market in Dhaka. Nilkhet, the largest second-hand book market in Bangladesh, was to occupy a central place in my life, becoming practically my second home for large swathes of the 1990s. I don't think a single week went by in that decade when I did not spent at least one lengthy session browsing through the shelves of the numerous stalls - usually I was there two or three times a week. It scarcely mattered that as a hard-up student, I did not have the resources to buy nearly as many books as I liked, and often had to content myself with the lower end of the scale - the tattered, the obscure, the neglected. Even in the estimation of the stall owners, I did not rate highly! I forget how many times I was brusquely asked: "Are you going to take that?" It was only after I started working and had money to spare that I could afford to buy whatever I liked, and the shopkeepers' treatment became more respectful!
But it all started with Inquest on Bouvet, a book I bought one sweltering afternoon in 1991, for the princely sum of 10 takas. I did not know the first thing about the writer, the decisive factor behind the purchase being the low price, but within 48 hours Simenon would become one of my firm favourites. Such was the spell cast by this book, a deceptively simple tale that starts with a death in Paris. One beautiful morning in the late summer of 1949, Monsieur Bouvet, a seventy-six year old gentleman, suddenly collapses while indulging in his favorite activity: browsing the open-air bookstalls of the Ile Saint Louis, looking for old prints and engravings, and chatting with the stall owners. Nothing out of the ordinary, perhaps, except that a young American student, backpacking his way through Europe, is on hand with his Leica and snaps the shot of the old man prostrated on the ground, prints scattered all about him. He takes it upon himself to sell the dramatic photograph to a newspaper, which places it on the front page of that evening's issue. And from there, the story takes off....
M. Bouvet had lived alone in a flat on the nearby Quai de la Tournelle, and no one ever knew him to have either friends or family. His scrupulously-kept flat is innocent of any trace whatsoever of his past. But once the photograph appears, people come knocking - wives, daughters, former lovers - who have recognized the old man as a lost figure from their past. Before you know it, you are caught up in a gripping story of false identities. Detectives from the Quai des Orfèvres - for once, they are led not by Inspector Maigret (perhaps away on holiday?) but by his able deputy Lucas - painstakingly excavate a dead man's mysterious past that takes you on a journey from the cotton mills of northern France in the 1880s to the anarchist dives of fin-de-siècle Paris, from the tropical heat of Panama to the brothels of Brussels, from the goldmines of the Congo to the spies' nests that infested Madrid during the First World War. It seems that Bouvet was not Bouvet after all - he was at one time or another Samuel Marsh, Gaston Lamblot, a spy named Corsico...
All this and much more in just 150 pages!
*
It is not hard to imagine the impact that the book had on a teenager in provincial Dhaka, encountering Simenon for the very first time. The romance, the mystery, the globe-trotting adventure! Suffice to say it was the start of an enduring affair that has lasted more than two decades. Everything that I have ever loved about Simenon was present in this earliest reading - first and foremost, the inimitable Simenon tone, mellow, lugubrious, even mournful, as if the writer and his characters are forever aware of the futility and tragedy that overshadow all the works of man, all his petty strivings and struggles. I was bowled over then, as I am now, by Simenon's miraculous ability to describe a scene, a character with the swiftest of brushstrokes - a poetic, economic style that depends crucially on just the right amount of detail, often obliquely presented, and a total lack of excess or embellishment. The result is a prose so evocative, so intensely atmospheric that it puts you immediately in mind of the great impressionist painters. Indeed Simenon himself, in his Paris Review interview, alluded to the influence of Impressionism and the strict discipline that operated behind his apparently effortless genius. If you want to know what Less is More really means, all you need to do is read Simenon.
It's been many years since that first, life-changing visit to Nilkhet. I have been to some of the locations in this book since - Lille, Brussels, Antwerp - but I've never been to Paris. Yet when I read Simenon, I feel that I really do not need to visit Paris after all, because the quintessential Paris - the timeless Paris of Monet, Sisley and Pissarro - is forever captured in these pages. What reality could ever top that?
*
As I have written elsewhere, this book has special resonance for me, as it was the very first book I ever bought from the Nilkhet market in Dhaka. Nilkhet, the largest second-hand book market in Bangladesh, was to occupy a central place in my life, becoming practically my second home for large swathes of the 1990s. I don't think a single week went by in that decade when I did not spent at least one lengthy session browsing through the shelves of the numerous stalls - usually I was there two or three times a week. It scarcely mattered that as a hard-up student, I did not have the resources to buy nearly as many books as I liked, and often had to content myself with the lower end of the scale - the tattered, the obscure, the neglected. Even in the estimation of the stall owners, I did not rate highly! I forget how many times I was brusquely asked: "Are you going to take that?" It was only after I started working and had money to spare that I could afford to buy whatever I liked, and the shopkeepers' treatment became more respectful!
But it all started with Inquest on Bouvet, a book I bought one sweltering afternoon in 1991, for the princely sum of 10 takas. I did not know the first thing about the writer, the decisive factor behind the purchase being the low price, but within 48 hours Simenon would become one of my firm favourites. Such was the spell cast by this book, a deceptively simple tale that starts with a death in Paris. One beautiful morning in the late summer of 1949, Monsieur Bouvet, a seventy-six year old gentleman, suddenly collapses while indulging in his favorite activity: browsing the open-air bookstalls of the Ile Saint Louis, looking for old prints and engravings, and chatting with the stall owners. Nothing out of the ordinary, perhaps, except that a young American student, backpacking his way through Europe, is on hand with his Leica and snaps the shot of the old man prostrated on the ground, prints scattered all about him. He takes it upon himself to sell the dramatic photograph to a newspaper, which places it on the front page of that evening's issue. And from there, the story takes off....
M. Bouvet had lived alone in a flat on the nearby Quai de la Tournelle, and no one ever knew him to have either friends or family. His scrupulously-kept flat is innocent of any trace whatsoever of his past. But once the photograph appears, people come knocking - wives, daughters, former lovers - who have recognized the old man as a lost figure from their past. Before you know it, you are caught up in a gripping story of false identities. Detectives from the Quai des Orfèvres - for once, they are led not by Inspector Maigret (perhaps away on holiday?) but by his able deputy Lucas - painstakingly excavate a dead man's mysterious past that takes you on a journey from the cotton mills of northern France in the 1880s to the anarchist dives of fin-de-siècle Paris, from the tropical heat of Panama to the brothels of Brussels, from the goldmines of the Congo to the spies' nests that infested Madrid during the First World War. It seems that Bouvet was not Bouvet after all - he was at one time or another Samuel Marsh, Gaston Lamblot, a spy named Corsico...
All this and much more in just 150 pages!
*
It is not hard to imagine the impact that the book had on a teenager in provincial Dhaka, encountering Simenon for the very first time. The romance, the mystery, the globe-trotting adventure! Suffice to say it was the start of an enduring affair that has lasted more than two decades. Everything that I have ever loved about Simenon was present in this earliest reading - first and foremost, the inimitable Simenon tone, mellow, lugubrious, even mournful, as if the writer and his characters are forever aware of the futility and tragedy that overshadow all the works of man, all his petty strivings and struggles. I was bowled over then, as I am now, by Simenon's miraculous ability to describe a scene, a character with the swiftest of brushstrokes - a poetic, economic style that depends crucially on just the right amount of detail, often obliquely presented, and a total lack of excess or embellishment. The result is a prose so evocative, so intensely atmospheric that it puts you immediately in mind of the great impressionist painters. Indeed Simenon himself, in his Paris Review interview, alluded to the influence of Impressionism and the strict discipline that operated behind his apparently effortless genius. If you want to know what Less is More really means, all you need to do is read Simenon.
It's been many years since that first, life-changing visit to Nilkhet. I have been to some of the locations in this book since - Lille, Brussels, Antwerp - but I've never been to Paris. Yet when I read Simenon, I feel that I really do not need to visit Paris after all, because the quintessential Paris - the timeless Paris of Monet, Sisley and Pissarro - is forever captured in these pages. What reality could ever top that?
September 3, 2023
Çok güzel bir kitap. Bir Komiser Maigret romanı olabilirmiş. Aynı çevrede ve bölgede geçen, birkaç Maigret romanı karakterinin de yer aldığı bir roman.
Roman süresince sürprizler birbirini kovalıyor. İlginç, merak uyandıran, akıcı, heyecanlı, sürükleyici bir hikaye.
Roman süresince sürprizler birbirini kovalıyor. İlginç, merak uyandıran, akıcı, heyecanlı, sürükleyici bir hikaye.
November 26, 2023
پیشتر از ژرژ سیمنون، یکی از کتابهای مگره رو خونده بودم اما گمون نمیکردم این کتاب هم حالت کارآگاهی داشته باشه. خلاصه این مدل کتابها، چیزهایی نیستن که من باشون ارتباط بگیرم.
September 24, 2021
A Maigret without Maigret. Monsieur Bouvet an elderly gentleman drops dead on a summer day near the book stalls by Notre Dame. There is no crime but Bouvet is a mystery and turns out to be a millionaire living in genteel poverty, a spy and a murderer.
The magic of the story is the atmosphere in Paris, the dogged detection of a french detective Monsieur Beaupere and layer upon layer revealed of the adventurous life of Bouvet.
The magic of the story is the atmosphere in Paris, the dogged detection of a french detective Monsieur Beaupere and layer upon layer revealed of the adventurous life of Bouvet.
November 10, 2017
قبل از هر حرفی موضعم را در برابر سیمنون روشن می کنم: من عاشق این نابغه ام. به نظرم از بهترین هاست و اگر عمری باشد دلم می خواهد همه ی دویست و اندی کتابی که نوشته را بخوانم. "نامزدی آقای ایر" را که می خواندم با خودم گفتم سیمنون بدون مگره همانی نیست که باید باشد. جای او خالی بود انگار که مدام پیپ بکشد و همراه همسرش برای شام بیرون برود. خواندن این کتاب اما به کلی نظرم را عوض کرد. حالا فکر می کنم "خاکسپاری آقای بووه" شاید ورود بهتری باشد به جهان سیمنون.
فصل پایانی بیشتر رمان های پلیسی شبیه به آن نت های با فاصله ای می ماند که در انتهای بسیاری از قطعات نواخته می شود، هر بار با قدرتی کمتر تا بالاخره در سکوت خاموش شود. معمولا اسرار جنایت پیش از این برملا شده و فصل پایانی فصل آرامی است که جریان روزمرگی را به تصویر می کشد تا داستان در بهت به پایان نرسد و جریان زندگی ادامه یابد. فصل پایانی این کتاب هم همین ویژگی را دارد: همه بازیگران به مراسم خاکسپاری ای می روند که باید خیلی پیش از این ها برگزار می شده. اما هنر سیمنون در این است که پیش تر می رود و آن ها را در ماشین هایی جداگانه دسته بندی می کند تا به ما نشان دهد داستان او فراتر از ژانر پلیسی و در واقع چیزی از جنس خود رمان در معنای اصیل آن است. تاکید او با پرسیدن اینکه آیا پیرزن چاق باید در ماشین دیگری می نشست، به وضوح نشان از این دارد که دسته بندی دیگری در میان است، آن هایی که بووه را می شناسند در اتوموبیل آخر می نشینند که "از سایر اتوموبیل ها جدا ماند، انگار به مراسم خاکسپاری فرد دیگری می رفت." (پیزن در پاسخ لوکا که می پرسد آیا آن موقع او را با نام لامبو می شناخته سکوت می کند.) این ها کسانی هستند که مرگ بووه به عنوان یک دوست برای شان اهمیت داشته و همه با هم در سوگ او گریه می کنند: سرایدار آپارتمان، استاد خیابان خواب و پیرزن فاحشه ی روزگار گذشته. برای دیگران اما، که هر کدام شان او را به نامی می شناسند، مرگ او از جهات دیگری اهمیت دارد و مادامی که منافع شان در خطر نبوده اهمیتی به ناپدیدی او نمی داده اند: همسر، دختر و شوهر او، خواهر او، سهام داران معدن، اینتلیجنس سرویس. به تمام این جزئیات به تفصیل در کتاب پرداخته می شود. در واقع از منظری پلیسی شاید داستان دلسرد کننده باشد: با وجود تمام بازپرسی ها و تحقیقات رمزگشایی از طریق شاهدی صورت می گیرد که از غیب می رسد. اما مسئله ی مهم تر فرقی است که میان بووه و دیگرانی که او بوده اند وجود دارد و برای همین نام کتاب می شود "خاکسپاری آقای بووه." بووه ی شاید تطهیر شده ای که با لبخند می میرد وقتی که عکس های رنگی دور و بر او پخش شده؛ آب شاید برای همین جریان داشته باشد در سرتاسر رمان: رود و باران و ماشین آب پاش.
فصل پایانی بیشتر رمان های پلیسی شبیه به آن نت های با فاصله ای می ماند که در انتهای بسیاری از قطعات نواخته می شود، هر بار با قدرتی کمتر تا بالاخره در سکوت خاموش شود. معمولا اسرار جنایت پیش از این برملا شده و فصل پایانی فصل آرامی است که جریان روزمرگی را به تصویر می کشد تا داستان در بهت به پایان نرسد و جریان زندگی ادامه یابد. فصل پایانی این کتاب هم همین ویژگی را دارد: همه بازیگران به مراسم خاکسپاری ای می روند که باید خیلی پیش از این ها برگزار می شده. اما هنر سیمنون در این است که پیش تر می رود و آن ها را در ماشین هایی جداگانه دسته بندی می کند تا به ما نشان دهد داستان او فراتر از ژانر پلیسی و در واقع چیزی از جنس خود رمان در معنای اصیل آن است. تاکید او با پرسیدن اینکه آیا پیرزن چاق باید در ماشین دیگری می نشست، به وضوح نشان از این دارد که دسته بندی دیگری در میان است، آن هایی که بووه را می شناسند در اتوموبیل آخر می نشینند که "از سایر اتوموبیل ها جدا ماند، انگار به مراسم خاکسپاری فرد دیگری می رفت." (پیزن در پاسخ لوکا که می پرسد آیا آن موقع او را با نام لامبو می شناخته سکوت می کند.) این ها کسانی هستند که مرگ بووه به عنوان یک دوست برای شان اهمیت داشته و همه با هم در سوگ او گریه می کنند: سرایدار آپارتمان، استاد خیابان خواب و پیرزن فاحشه ی روزگار گذشته. برای دیگران اما، که هر کدام شان او را به نامی می شناسند، مرگ او از جهات دیگری اهمیت دارد و مادامی که منافع شان در خطر نبوده اهمیتی به ناپدیدی او نمی داده اند: همسر، دختر و شوهر او، خواهر او، سهام داران معدن، اینتلیجنس سرویس. به تمام این جزئیات به تفصیل در کتاب پرداخته می شود. در واقع از منظری پلیسی شاید داستان دلسرد کننده باشد: با وجود تمام بازپرسی ها و تحقیقات رمزگشایی از طریق شاهدی صورت می گیرد که از غیب می رسد. اما مسئله ی مهم تر فرقی است که میان بووه و دیگرانی که او بوده اند وجود دارد و برای همین نام کتاب می شود "خاکسپاری آقای بووه." بووه ی شاید تطهیر شده ای که با لبخند می میرد وقتی که عکس های رنگی دور و بر او پخش شده؛ آب شاید برای همین جریان داشته باشد در سرتاسر رمان: رود و باران و ماشین آب پاش.
June 10, 2018
کتابی " ظاهرا" معمولی و عمیقا استثنایی.
یک روزی، همه چیز رو پیش تمام آدمهایی که میشناسنت رها کنی و بری جایی که کاملا غریبه ای. جایی که قادر باشی تعریفی به کلی متفاوت از خودت ارائه بدی؛ چیزی که واقعا در درون هستی؛ نه خصائصی که اشخاص به غلط تو رو با اونها میشناسن.( زندگی کردن برای خودت.) و چه چیزی لذت بخش تر از این وجود داره؟!
یک روزی، همه چیز رو پیش تمام آدمهایی که میشناسنت رها کنی و بری جایی که کاملا غریبه ای. جایی که قادر باشی تعریفی به کلی متفاوت از خودت ارائه بدی؛ چیزی که واقعا در درون هستی؛ نه خصائصی که اشخاص به غلط تو رو با اونها میشناسن.( زندگی کردن برای خودت.) و چه چیزی لذت بخش تر از این وجود داره؟!
June 4, 2020
This book is unlike any of Simenon’s other books. There is a death but no actual crime. The book is a real page turner with a complex plot and wheels inside wheels. Just the complex unfolding of a long and mysterious life. Worthy of Agatha Christie, but better. Lucas appears, but none of the other Maigret regulars.
April 19, 2022
This is quasi mystery novel of Georges Simenon in which there is no famous Commissaire Maigret.
An elderly man dies suddenly on the sunny August morning, almost in front of the house where he spent last 15 years of his life. Nobody knows much about him or his past,but in the following pages we learn a lot about his unpredictable and stormy life.
It is less a mystery and more a novel, where Simenon - who wrote a lot of novels that are not strictly detective stories - tends to present us with the unorthodox lifespan of an individual. I read four of five of these novels, and although they are interesting and I read them till the end, they always lack something. Characters are not plausible and are a bit wooden. There are often obvious preferences for some protagonists and anthipaties towards the others, which is not very pleasing for the reader. Simenon tends to be a moralist, which doesn't hurt when you have real crime novels, but when you read ones that are not - it is annoying. For example, Simenon obviously doesn't like Mrs March - for no obvious reason. Is it because she is rich? But Mr "Bouvet"'s sister is also rich, and she is among the "good" ones. How is that? Etc.
At the end, everybody (except Mrs March) is happy with the division of "Bouvet"'s wealth, because it is - sort of - just. But nobody cares about "Bouvet"'s offspring in Kongo and nobody gets a slightest idea that those children also perhaps deserve part of their father's heritage.
O, tempora, o mores!
However, time spent reading this little novel is not wasted. It is attractive, interesting, places around the Île de la Cité are charming as always, the old Comedie Humaine of Simenon is spinning around once again and his imagination is unsurpassable as usual. Perhaps his writing wasn't always capable of attaining the upper level of novel writing, but L'Enterrement de Monsieur Bouvet is quite pleasant little book.
An elderly man dies suddenly on the sunny August morning, almost in front of the house where he spent last 15 years of his life. Nobody knows much about him or his past,but in the following pages we learn a lot about his unpredictable and stormy life.
It is less a mystery and more a novel, where Simenon - who wrote a lot of novels that are not strictly detective stories - tends to present us with the unorthodox lifespan of an individual. I read four of five of these novels, and although they are interesting and I read them till the end, they always lack something. Characters are not plausible and are a bit wooden. There are often obvious preferences for some protagonists and anthipaties towards the others, which is not very pleasing for the reader. Simenon tends to be a moralist, which doesn't hurt when you have real crime novels, but when you read ones that are not - it is annoying. For example, Simenon obviously doesn't like Mrs March - for no obvious reason. Is it because she is rich? But Mr "Bouvet"'s sister is also rich, and she is among the "good" ones. How is that? Etc.
At the end, everybody (except Mrs March) is happy with the division of "Bouvet"'s wealth, because it is - sort of - just. But nobody cares about "Bouvet"'s offspring in Kongo and nobody gets a slightest idea that those children also perhaps deserve part of their father's heritage.
O, tempora, o mores!
However, time spent reading this little novel is not wasted. It is attractive, interesting, places around the Île de la Cité are charming as always, the old Comedie Humaine of Simenon is spinning around once again and his imagination is unsurpassable as usual. Perhaps his writing wasn't always capable of attaining the upper level of novel writing, but L'Enterrement de Monsieur Bouvet is quite pleasant little book.
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June 28, 2023Cela fait déjà plusieurs jours que je remets à plus tard la publication de mon avis sur ce roman policier, non pas que je n’ai pas apprécié ma lecture, bien au contraire, mais parce que depuis la fin du Book-Lanta 6, j’ai la tête dans le guidon, alors que je n’ai même pas de bicyclette !...
Vous savez mon goût pour les vieilles choses (promis, juré, craché, je ne vais pas faire de mauvais jeux de mots à propos de mes copines IG vintage), notamment pour les films en noir et blanc, les chansons françaises d’antan et, bien sûr, les vieux romans policiers où il n’y avait nul besoin des plus récentes technologies pour résoudre les crimes, donc, forcément, quand j’ai vu ce livre à moitié prix (oui, parce que celui ou celle qui a dit « quand on n’aime, on ne compte pas », ne faisait certainement pas des pieds et des mains pour boucler la fin du mois)…
Déjà, l’intrigue est savoureuse ! Sur le parvis de Notre-Dame, un vieux monsieur meurt alors qu’il s’apprêtait à ouvrir un carton pour regarder des images d’Épinal, au milieu des bouquinistes et d’autres marchands. Pas de balle, pas de poison. Une mort naturelle donc. Mais alors que l’on s’apprête à veiller le corps de celui qu’on appellait Monsieur Bouvet, boum ! Monsieur Bouvet n’est pas Monsieur Bouvet !
Le récit est rythmé, les hypothèses se succèdent, les éventuels héritiers aussi, on parle de Seconde Guerre Mondiale, des us et coutumes de l’époque (années 50), et alors la concierge de l’immeuble… Bref, je me suis ré-ga-lée !
Ah ! Et petite précision et non pas des moindres : ici, point d’Inspecteur Maigret !
Alors, Simenon et vous ? Si mais non ?!?
https://www.instagram.com/aliceintheo...
Vous savez mon goût pour les vieilles choses (promis, juré, craché, je ne vais pas faire de mauvais jeux de mots à propos de mes copines IG vintage), notamment pour les films en noir et blanc, les chansons françaises d’antan et, bien sûr, les vieux romans policiers où il n’y avait nul besoin des plus récentes technologies pour résoudre les crimes, donc, forcément, quand j’ai vu ce livre à moitié prix (oui, parce que celui ou celle qui a dit « quand on n’aime, on ne compte pas », ne faisait certainement pas des pieds et des mains pour boucler la fin du mois)…
Déjà, l’intrigue est savoureuse ! Sur le parvis de Notre-Dame, un vieux monsieur meurt alors qu’il s’apprêtait à ouvrir un carton pour regarder des images d’Épinal, au milieu des bouquinistes et d’autres marchands. Pas de balle, pas de poison. Une mort naturelle donc. Mais alors que l’on s’apprête à veiller le corps de celui qu’on appellait Monsieur Bouvet, boum ! Monsieur Bouvet n’est pas Monsieur Bouvet !
Le récit est rythmé, les hypothèses se succèdent, les éventuels héritiers aussi, on parle de Seconde Guerre Mondiale, des us et coutumes de l’époque (années 50), et alors la concierge de l’immeuble… Bref, je me suis ré-ga-lée !
Ah ! Et petite précision et non pas des moindres : ici, point d’Inspecteur Maigret !
Alors, Simenon et vous ? Si mais non ?!?
https://www.instagram.com/aliceintheo...
May 1, 2018
A wandering, disembodied narrator reveals, bit by bit, the history of an old man who passes away beside the Seine on a brilliant, baking, achingly hot summer day, as the residents of Paris, not least the neighbors, police, and lawyers who reconstruct this life, long to flee the empty city for their summer vacances.
Less a coherent novel than a series of pastiches. Simenon moves between modes and characters as his mystery demands: the implacable unknown persons investigator of the Police Judiciaire, pacing the streets in morticians' black; the venal society widow and her estranged daughter, scrapping over an absent husband's fortune; the weepy charwoman, a onetime prostitute of the Belle Epoque grasping painfully at her sad memories; the lonely concierge, who, in a surprisingly comic moment, conjures a lynch mob of Parisiens around the stranger she remembers from the Occupation as a Gestapo agent. Individually, these are insightful, even touching, sketches. As a whole, the layers of lives stuffed into the life of the deceased like tobacco into the ubiquitous pipes makes for a fun structure, if a fantastic one.
Less a coherent novel than a series of pastiches. Simenon moves between modes and characters as his mystery demands: the implacable unknown persons investigator of the Police Judiciaire, pacing the streets in morticians' black; the venal society widow and her estranged daughter, scrapping over an absent husband's fortune; the weepy charwoman, a onetime prostitute of the Belle Epoque grasping painfully at her sad memories; the lonely concierge, who, in a surprisingly comic moment, conjures a lynch mob of Parisiens around the stranger she remembers from the Occupation as a Gestapo agent. Individually, these are insightful, even touching, sketches. As a whole, the layers of lives stuffed into the life of the deceased like tobacco into the ubiquitous pipes makes for a fun structure, if a fantastic one.
August 11, 2025
This isn't so much a crime story as a false identity story. An old man (76 was old in 1950, what with the World Wars, Spanish Flu etc.) dies on the Paris street one day, and in the shadow of Notre Dame, in public view. He is carried to his lodgings and the landlady notifies authorities, agreeing to care for him.
Then women start coming forward saying that they knew him / married him / were related to him under different names. Oh, and some of those names had money attached, in the form of mines, gold coins, interests in the Belgian Congo etc. The story follows along with quiet amusement, trailing the papers and interests.
Memorable for the explanation at the end, not for much else. There is a detail stated and revisited at the very start, which never occurs again, nowadays the editor would insist someone gets a puppy to raise at the end to tie up the story. But all the police care about is their paper trail and the body. This is a quick read and does not engage the emotions.
Then women start coming forward saying that they knew him / married him / were related to him under different names. Oh, and some of those names had money attached, in the form of mines, gold coins, interests in the Belgian Congo etc. The story follows along with quiet amusement, trailing the papers and interests.
Memorable for the explanation at the end, not for much else. There is a detail stated and revisited at the very start, which never occurs again, nowadays the editor would insist someone gets a puppy to raise at the end to tie up the story. But all the police care about is their paper trail and the body. This is a quick read and does not engage the emotions.
June 9, 2025
Voilà un roman dur vraiment très « Maigret » avec Quai des Orfèvres, mort et enquête, concierges, et même Lucas qui apparaît. Une enquête autour d’une mort naturelle toutefois. Ici, c’est l’identité du mort qui semble mystérieuse.
Un petit roman parisien pas trop dur aux rebondissement multiples mais avec guère de suspense ou de mystère, les éléments s’ajoutant simplement les uns aux autres. On a vu Georges plus inspiré durant sa période étasunienne
https://www.noid.ch/lenterrement-de-m...
Un petit roman parisien pas trop dur aux rebondissement multiples mais avec guère de suspense ou de mystère, les éléments s’ajoutant simplement les uns aux autres. On a vu Georges plus inspiré durant sa période étasunienne
https://www.noid.ch/lenterrement-de-m...
January 19, 2019
Un vieux monsieur est mort. Cette mort naturelle qui avait l'air sans importance va déclencher un tourbillon de questions pour savoir qui était vraiment cet homme !
Tout au long de cette histoire, la sympathie que l'on a pour ce viel homme n'en est que renforcée et c'est avec une grande empathie que l'on quitte les personnages de cette histoire.
Tout au long de cette histoire, la sympathie que l'on a pour ce viel homme n'en est que renforcée et c'est avec une grande empathie que l'on quitte les personnages de cette histoire.
May 29, 2020
ماجرای مرگ آقای بووه اونقدر هیجان انگیز نوشته شده بود که کاش ژرژ سیمنون کتابی هم درباره گذشته
اقای بووه می نوشت. یه داستان پلیسی عالی که همچنان چراهایی رو برای خواننده باقی میگذاره، در واقع خواننده رو ترغیب میکنه که بیشتر از آنچه که هست از شخصیت اصلی بدونه.
اقای بووه می نوشت. یه داستان پلیسی عالی که همچنان چراهایی رو برای خواننده باقی میگذاره، در واقع خواننده رو ترغیب میکنه که بیشتر از آنچه که هست از شخصیت اصلی بدونه.
June 2, 2021
I liked the idea of this one a lot (the unknowability of a person who has lived a long life) and could imagine it as a great film in the right hands. As a book, it feels a little overwound and overlong. I'm glad I read it, but it's not in his top 30 or even top 50 by any means.
February 8, 2017
Whilst I love a good golden age crime conundrum that lets you wallow in a sea of clues and red herrings whilst you try and puzzle out the murderer, there's also something to be said for the complete bonkersness of Georges Simenon's novels.
Narrative and character are the things for him and given he wrote at a fair lick - nearly 500 novels - I guess that left little time for intricate plots. Instead gloriously drawn characters loaf around Paris, spending more time in the bar than at the crime scene, there's usually some mulling and at the end of a propulsive 200-odd clue-free pages, the culprit seemingly gives themselves away by accident.
Inquest on Bouvet is all this and more: Instead of Maigret necking a Marc, there's a sprawling cast grappling with an unlikely number of stories all related to the most charismatic corpse on record.
Narrative and character are the things for him and given he wrote at a fair lick - nearly 500 novels - I guess that left little time for intricate plots. Instead gloriously drawn characters loaf around Paris, spending more time in the bar than at the crime scene, there's usually some mulling and at the end of a propulsive 200-odd clue-free pages, the culprit seemingly gives themselves away by accident.
Inquest on Bouvet is all this and more: Instead of Maigret necking a Marc, there's a sprawling cast grappling with an unlikely number of stories all related to the most charismatic corpse on record.
January 2, 2024
When an elderly art and book enthusiast drops down dead on the Quais beside the Seine, it seems a simple enough matter of finding the relatives, and arranging the funeral, but a dramatic photograph snapped by a passing American tourist, showing the dead man, finds its way into the newspapers, and soon there are many conflicting claims as to who Monsieur Bouvet really was. One thing is clear, he was not Monsieur Bouvet ...
This short novel is something of a curiosity. It is certainly written by Georges Simenon, and it has many of the hallmarks and the setting of a Maigret novel, though with, perhaps, a greater emphasis on character, but Maigret himself is wholly absent! It is more a mix of pyschological observation and a mystery, than a detective novel, though the detectives, apparently Maigret's subordinates and associates, are certainly among the central protagonists. This was written during Simenon's American sojourn, and first published in 1950.
An intriguing and carefully-crafted tale, which keeps the reader guessing throughout its gentle thread. Its 152 pages in the Penguin edition makes for a single sitting, if the seat is a comfortable one, and the cafetiere well-insulated.
Perhaps a 6.7/10?
This short novel is something of a curiosity. It is certainly written by Georges Simenon, and it has many of the hallmarks and the setting of a Maigret novel, though with, perhaps, a greater emphasis on character, but Maigret himself is wholly absent! It is more a mix of pyschological observation and a mystery, than a detective novel, though the detectives, apparently Maigret's subordinates and associates, are certainly among the central protagonists. This was written during Simenon's American sojourn, and first published in 1950.
An intriguing and carefully-crafted tale, which keeps the reader guessing throughout its gentle thread. Its 152 pages in the Penguin edition makes for a single sitting, if the seat is a comfortable one, and the cafetiere well-insulated.
Perhaps a 6.7/10?
June 28, 2012
Monsieur Bouvet has a crucial role in the story, but it isn't him who forms his character, but many other people who appear after he died. The Japanese translation was little dull, but I liked the development.
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May 27, 2019cool
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