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Bed of Nails
Guerin is not your typical policeman. Sitting in a dingy office at the back of a vast Parisian police station, he reviews the files of suicides to check that their deaths really were self-inflicted. He lives and works under a cloud of suspicion: the suicide of a former colleague is blamed by everyone in the force on his maverick methods of investigation. Guerin's two most recent suicide cases share striking similarities. Both concern young men who died naked in very public places. He is convinced the two deaths are linked, but his intuition is ridiculed by all but his loyal assistant, Lambert. Increasingly obsessed by this morbid coincidence, Guerin encounters John Nichols, an American former psychiatrist who has been called to Paris to identify the body of a friend, yet another suicide. As the bizarre death cult tightens its vice-like grip on the city, Guerin and Nichol's parallel investigations uncover evidence of shocking abuse, both in the upper echelons of the police force and at the US embassy. Antonin Varenne is a new and powerful voice in crime fiction; Bed of Nails engages with the violence at the heart of society, and the darkest elements of human nature.
288 pages, Paperback
First published April 15, 2009
20 people are currently reading
255 people want to read
About the author
Antonin Varenne
20 books17 followersNé à Paris en 1973, Antonin Varenne n’y restera que quelques mois avant d’être enlevé par ses parents pour vivre aux quatre coins de France, puis sur un voilier. Il n’y reviendra qu’à vingt ans, pour poursuivre des études à Nanterre.
Après une maîtrise de philosophie (Machiavel et l’illusion politique), il quitte l’Université, devient alpiniste du bâtiment, vit à Toulouse, travaille en Islande, au Mexique et, en 2005, s’arrime au pied des montagnes Appalaches où il décide de mettre sur papier une première histoire. Revenu en France accompagné d’une femme américaine, d’un enfant bilingue et d’un chien mexicain, il s’installe dans la Creuse et consacre désormais son temps à l’écriture.
Après une maîtrise de philosophie (Machiavel et l’illusion politique), il quitte l’Université, devient alpiniste du bâtiment, vit à Toulouse, travaille en Islande, au Mexique et, en 2005, s’arrime au pied des montagnes Appalaches où il décide de mettre sur papier une première histoire. Revenu en France accompagné d’une femme américaine, d’un enfant bilingue et d’un chien mexicain, il s’installe dans la Creuse et consacre désormais son temps à l’écriture.
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October 23, 2024
SINDROME DI SAN SEBASTIANO
Il San Sebastiano di Andrea Mantegna è forse quello più trafitto, col maggior numero di frecce. Si trova al Louvre e la collocazione francese sembra particolarmente corretta in quanto i cugini d’oltralpe hanno una fascinazione per questo martire che supera perfino la nostra. In questo romanzo si sostiene, con una certa logica a mio avviso, che il martirio fu protratto in quanto gli arcieri carnefici erano affezionati al militare romano Sebastiano, loro commilitone non ancora santo, e preferivano ferirlo anziché ucciderlo.
Andare a dirigere la Sezione Suicidi due anni prima non è stata esattamente una promozione per Guérin. Tutt’altro: l’ufficio è composto solo da lui e il suo assistente, un lungagnone con scarpe come pinne che veste sempre in tuta da calciatore, è collocato in un sottotetto, ci piove dentro, non ha finestre, e una delle due stanzette è tutta archivio dei casi insoluti.
E poi, come si fa a risolvere un caso di suicidio? Perché se si intuisce che quella morte nasconde un delitto, il caso passa ad altra sezione (Omicidi, Anticrimine…).
Come mai Guérin si trova lì, a dirigere in pratica se stesso e una quantità di scartoffie?
Perché è un poliziotto acuto e mentalmente raffinato che non guarda in faccia nessuno se non la Giustizia, e quindi ha indagato dove non doveva, sugli affari sporchi della famiglia (leggi: la stessa polizia), e la finta promozione è un modo come un altro per isolarlo e metterlo fuori gioco.
Oggi, si direbbe mobbing, credo.
L’ufficio del commissario Guérin è all’interno di 36 Quai des Orfèvres.
Epperò, quello che sembrava il delirio di un omino che zoppica, ricopre il suo storto corpicino con un eterno impermeabile giallo appartenuto alla madre (prostituta), si porta dietro un testone pelato piena di escoriazioni sanguinanti che lui continua a grattarsi e scorticarsi (non mi è chiarissimo se sono segno dell’affetto del suo pappagallo che parla come un frequentatore di bordelli – d’altra parte cos’altro poteva imparare a dire, considerato che apparteneva alla madre prostituta?! – pappagallo che gli si poggia sulla spalla e col becco gli incide lo scalpo, oppure se il pappagallo non fa che peggiorare una situazione iniziata da un tic nervoso di Guérin che si gratta mentre ragiona pensa elabora), le apparenti farneticazioni mentali di Guérin nascondono una verità.
Uno dei suicidi su cui s’indaga è a opera di Alan, ex militare USA nella prima Guerra del Golfo, arruolato dai servizi segreti, ex torturatore, ex mangiafuoco e fachiro, ora eroinomane dedito alla Body Suspension Art, di cui in questa foto si vede un esempio. Il suicidio avviene in scena, trafitto dai ganci di sospensione.
Anzi, più di una: i casi vengono a galla come i nodi vengono al pettine, la verità guadagna in definizione e chiarezza, le soluzioni affiorano. Perché Guérin è bravo.
E il suo assistente lungagnone non così scimunito.
E il terzo protagonista di questo romanzo, un non meno eccentrico trentenne americano laureato in psicologia, alle spalle collaborazioni con i servizi segreti del suo paese, che vive nei boschi del Lot in una tenda da nativo indiano procurandosi il cibo con l’arco, vestendo come David Crockett, il terzo protagonista è un personaggio molto riuscito, perfino più dei primi due: tenace, a sua volta acuto e dotato di ottimo intuito, perseverante, affezionato (al morto, alla verità, alla libertà).
Un’altra forma di arte di cui si parla in queste pagine è l’Action Body Painting: corpo nudo dell’artista che sbatte e rimbalza sulla tela lasciando impronte di colore.
E quelle che iniziano come due vicende a montaggio parallelo, una a Parigi, l’altra che parte dai boschi del sud della Francia, come le rette parallele fanno solitamente in apparenza, e cioè, incrociarsi, qui le due rette s’incrociano a tutti gli effetti, diventano per un tratto una sola, convergono.
Ma il personaggio più riuscito, il mio preferito su tutti, è l’ex detenuto che vive come guardiano dei Giardini del Luxembourg dentro una baracchina in compagnia del suo mastino bastardo, ed è talmente rassomigliante a Edward Bunker, che David Crockett finisce col battezzarlo proprio Bunk’.
Le Jardin du Luxembourg.
Un’umanità che si divide tra pesti, dolenti, solitari, interiormente ammaccati da storie ed esperienze di sofferenza, da una parte, e dall’altra corrotti rapaci marci fino al midollo. Un mondo che si muove con lentezza, e improvvise violente accelerazioni. Il tutto condito da una buona scrittura e migliore ironia.
Anche se la caratterizzazione vince alla grande sulla definizione della trama, anche se il finale è di rara luminosa cupezza, è un peccato che la soluzione sia un trionfo di verità e giustizia come nei fatti non succede mai.
Almeno da questa parte delle Alpi.
Antonin Varenne è laureato in filosfia, accanito viaggiatore, ha pubblicato due romanzi non di genere prima di questo, col quale ha trovato il suo primo grande successo.
Il San Sebastiano di Andrea Mantegna è forse quello più trafitto, col maggior numero di frecce. Si trova al Louvre e la collocazione francese sembra particolarmente corretta in quanto i cugini d’oltralpe hanno una fascinazione per questo martire che supera perfino la nostra. In questo romanzo si sostiene, con una certa logica a mio avviso, che il martirio fu protratto in quanto gli arcieri carnefici erano affezionati al militare romano Sebastiano, loro commilitone non ancora santo, e preferivano ferirlo anziché ucciderlo.
Andare a dirigere la Sezione Suicidi due anni prima non è stata esattamente una promozione per Guérin. Tutt’altro: l’ufficio è composto solo da lui e il suo assistente, un lungagnone con scarpe come pinne che veste sempre in tuta da calciatore, è collocato in un sottotetto, ci piove dentro, non ha finestre, e una delle due stanzette è tutta archivio dei casi insoluti.
E poi, come si fa a risolvere un caso di suicidio? Perché se si intuisce che quella morte nasconde un delitto, il caso passa ad altra sezione (Omicidi, Anticrimine…).
Come mai Guérin si trova lì, a dirigere in pratica se stesso e una quantità di scartoffie?
Perché è un poliziotto acuto e mentalmente raffinato che non guarda in faccia nessuno se non la Giustizia, e quindi ha indagato dove non doveva, sugli affari sporchi della famiglia (leggi: la stessa polizia), e la finta promozione è un modo come un altro per isolarlo e metterlo fuori gioco.
Oggi, si direbbe mobbing, credo.
L’ufficio del commissario Guérin è all’interno di 36 Quai des Orfèvres.
Epperò, quello che sembrava il delirio di un omino che zoppica, ricopre il suo storto corpicino con un eterno impermeabile giallo appartenuto alla madre (prostituta), si porta dietro un testone pelato piena di escoriazioni sanguinanti che lui continua a grattarsi e scorticarsi (non mi è chiarissimo se sono segno dell’affetto del suo pappagallo che parla come un frequentatore di bordelli – d’altra parte cos’altro poteva imparare a dire, considerato che apparteneva alla madre prostituta?! – pappagallo che gli si poggia sulla spalla e col becco gli incide lo scalpo, oppure se il pappagallo non fa che peggiorare una situazione iniziata da un tic nervoso di Guérin che si gratta mentre ragiona pensa elabora), le apparenti farneticazioni mentali di Guérin nascondono una verità.
Uno dei suicidi su cui s’indaga è a opera di Alan, ex militare USA nella prima Guerra del Golfo, arruolato dai servizi segreti, ex torturatore, ex mangiafuoco e fachiro, ora eroinomane dedito alla Body Suspension Art, di cui in questa foto si vede un esempio. Il suicidio avviene in scena, trafitto dai ganci di sospensione.
Anzi, più di una: i casi vengono a galla come i nodi vengono al pettine, la verità guadagna in definizione e chiarezza, le soluzioni affiorano. Perché Guérin è bravo.
E il suo assistente lungagnone non così scimunito.
E il terzo protagonista di questo romanzo, un non meno eccentrico trentenne americano laureato in psicologia, alle spalle collaborazioni con i servizi segreti del suo paese, che vive nei boschi del Lot in una tenda da nativo indiano procurandosi il cibo con l’arco, vestendo come David Crockett, il terzo protagonista è un personaggio molto riuscito, perfino più dei primi due: tenace, a sua volta acuto e dotato di ottimo intuito, perseverante, affezionato (al morto, alla verità, alla libertà).
Un’altra forma di arte di cui si parla in queste pagine è l’Action Body Painting: corpo nudo dell’artista che sbatte e rimbalza sulla tela lasciando impronte di colore.
E quelle che iniziano come due vicende a montaggio parallelo, una a Parigi, l’altra che parte dai boschi del sud della Francia, come le rette parallele fanno solitamente in apparenza, e cioè, incrociarsi, qui le due rette s’incrociano a tutti gli effetti, diventano per un tratto una sola, convergono.
Ma il personaggio più riuscito, il mio preferito su tutti, è l’ex detenuto che vive come guardiano dei Giardini del Luxembourg dentro una baracchina in compagnia del suo mastino bastardo, ed è talmente rassomigliante a Edward Bunker, che David Crockett finisce col battezzarlo proprio Bunk’.
Le Jardin du Luxembourg.
Un’umanità che si divide tra pesti, dolenti, solitari, interiormente ammaccati da storie ed esperienze di sofferenza, da una parte, e dall’altra corrotti rapaci marci fino al midollo. Un mondo che si muove con lentezza, e improvvise violente accelerazioni. Il tutto condito da una buona scrittura e migliore ironia.
Anche se la caratterizzazione vince alla grande sulla definizione della trama, anche se il finale è di rara luminosa cupezza, è un peccato che la soluzione sia un trionfo di verità e giustizia come nei fatti non succede mai.
Almeno da questa parte delle Alpi.
Antonin Varenne è laureato in filosfia, accanito viaggiatore, ha pubblicato due romanzi non di genere prima di questo, col quale ha trovato il suo primo grande successo.
February 21, 2016
I was searching for the book about the making of Blade Runner - Future Noir - on my library catalogue and this strange little existential French noir popped up in the search results. No question I was just going to read it immediately, science fiction noir can be a rich vein of the classic storytelling tropes in new and interesting environments afterall.
Except this is not the future, this is not science fiction and the idiot librarian who catalogued this book has clearly made a mistake. Not that I'm complaining as Antonin Varenne's deconstruction of some of the classic obsessive detective full of quirks and foibles was one of the most interesting and different novels I've read in quite some time. At least before it became just another excuse to use the CIA as the bad guys, at which point it all became very obvious. But much like the great films of the French Poetic Realism movement/style/tendency Varenne was largely concerned with characters living on he edges of society and offers a fatalistic view of life. Defeat clutched from the jaws of victory sort of stuff.
His detective, much like Dirk Gently meets Columbo, is a mess of a man, dedicated to his profession and his scruffy mack, believes in the interconnectedness of all things and that this "Big Theory" can solve everything. Naturally he's a pariah in a modern, aggressive, metropolitan police force. He's investigating suicides that he believes are a series of murders and that's what leads him to the secondary protagonist's storyline - classic crime novel trope ahoy! - an American dropout living in the woods in rural France who is informed that his best friend has just committed suicide during his "S&M club" skin piercing stage act. With a few other interesting major supporting characters thrown in Varenne leads you on an interesting investigation that threatens to be one thing then becomes another, and the whole thing is full of philosophical pondering, complex characterisation and bleak scenarios. I'm a big fan.
Except this is not the future, this is not science fiction and the idiot librarian who catalogued this book has clearly made a mistake. Not that I'm complaining as Antonin Varenne's deconstruction of some of the classic obsessive detective full of quirks and foibles was one of the most interesting and different novels I've read in quite some time. At least before it became just another excuse to use the CIA as the bad guys, at which point it all became very obvious. But much like the great films of the French Poetic Realism movement/style/tendency Varenne was largely concerned with characters living on he edges of society and offers a fatalistic view of life. Defeat clutched from the jaws of victory sort of stuff.
His detective, much like Dirk Gently meets Columbo, is a mess of a man, dedicated to his profession and his scruffy mack, believes in the interconnectedness of all things and that this "Big Theory" can solve everything. Naturally he's a pariah in a modern, aggressive, metropolitan police force. He's investigating suicides that he believes are a series of murders and that's what leads him to the secondary protagonist's storyline - classic crime novel trope ahoy! - an American dropout living in the woods in rural France who is informed that his best friend has just committed suicide during his "S&M club" skin piercing stage act. With a few other interesting major supporting characters thrown in Varenne leads you on an interesting investigation that threatens to be one thing then becomes another, and the whole thing is full of philosophical pondering, complex characterisation and bleak scenarios. I'm a big fan.
March 5, 2017
Negdje između 3 i 4 zvjezdice. Radnja mi je malo premračna,stil pisanja mi se jako svidio. Mislim da bi ovo bio dobar film.
June 30, 2012
I have not read a crime thriller as utterly compelling and emotionally powerful as ‘Bed of Nails’ for many years and, having been promised a unique crime reading experience by those lucky enough to have read this before publication, I would implore that you seek this out and prepare for an unparallelled master class in crime writing. A novel that metaphorically slaps you round the face from the opening scene of a harrowing suicide and a plot that continues to pummel the reader’s senses throughout, plunging you unreservedly into the seedy underbelly of Parisian life, police and foreign diplomatic corruption and a twisting thriller peopled by a cast of beguiling and emotionally flawed but totally engaging characters. Being reluctant to divulge any further details of the plot, I would say that this a novel that is best approached from another angle entirely and for the following reasons:
There’s that awful reviewer’s cliche that ‘this is a book that stays with you long after the final page is turned’ but I would absolutely endorse this statement in relation to this novel. The ending is so emotionally bleak for all the main protagonists, but you have engaged with them so much during the course of the book, gravitating between moments of violence to tenuous but touching interludes of human connection that it genuinely strikes a powerful chord. As the denouement unfolds with such devastating consequences for the characters , there is a calm and understated depiction of human frailty. In the death of one character in particular, whose violent end is tinged with a moment of complete serenity, there is a beautifully wrought and succinct juxtaposition with a solitary image that is wholly resonant of the natural world . With assured vignettes like this at absolutely the right moments, the manipulation of language to suit the change of tempo and tone in the plot, and the deeper philosophical context, this crime novel just draws you in and adds to your sense of this being more than a thriller, but a literary exploration of the boundaries of mainstream crime writing. Simply wonderful...
There’s that awful reviewer’s cliche that ‘this is a book that stays with you long after the final page is turned’ but I would absolutely endorse this statement in relation to this novel. The ending is so emotionally bleak for all the main protagonists, but you have engaged with them so much during the course of the book, gravitating between moments of violence to tenuous but touching interludes of human connection that it genuinely strikes a powerful chord. As the denouement unfolds with such devastating consequences for the characters , there is a calm and understated depiction of human frailty. In the death of one character in particular, whose violent end is tinged with a moment of complete serenity, there is a beautifully wrought and succinct juxtaposition with a solitary image that is wholly resonant of the natural world . With assured vignettes like this at absolutely the right moments, the manipulation of language to suit the change of tempo and tone in the plot, and the deeper philosophical context, this crime novel just draws you in and adds to your sense of this being more than a thriller, but a literary exploration of the boundaries of mainstream crime writing. Simply wonderful...
February 6, 2019
English: Had I not been reading this for my french class, I wouldn't have finished it. The plot never seemed like it was going anywhere. Most of the main characters were annoying, crazy, or stupid (with the exception of the dog, Mesrine, and Bunker). By the end of the book, I had no desire to finish it, and didn't really care what happened.
Français: Si ce livre n'était pas requis pour mon cours de français, je ne l'aurais pas fini. L'intrigue n'a jamais semblé aller nulle part. La plupart des personnages étaient ennuyeux, cinglés, ou stupide (à l'exception du chien, Mesrine, et Bunker). À la fin du livre, je n'avais aucune d'envie de le terminer, et je me fichais de ce qui s'était passé.
Français: Si ce livre n'était pas requis pour mon cours de français, je ne l'aurais pas fini. L'intrigue n'a jamais semblé aller nulle part. La plupart des personnages étaient ennuyeux, cinglés, ou stupide (à l'exception du chien, Mesrine, et Bunker). À la fin du livre, je n'avais aucune d'envie de le terminer, et je me fichais de ce qui s'était passé.
October 7, 2021
Krimić kome nedostaje prave napetosti. Nakraju mi je djelovao više ko studija beznađa, izgubljenosti suvremenog društva. To samo po sebi ne bi bilo loše da ni prvi dio postavljen ko klasičan krimić, pa ta dva djela nekako ne spoje se u jednu cjelinu.
March 26, 2018
Varenne has conjured up a group of odd characters in this dark, quirky and philosophical story. Guerin is the police headquarters’ chief suicide investigator and is piecing together links between recent suicides that forms the plot for the early part of the novel at least. His parrot abuses his visitors at home, and his sidekick, Lambert, is unpopular with his other colleagues and an outsider. The parallel storyline is of an ex American diplomat living off the grid in rural France who is in Paris after the death of an old friend, an ex Marine with PTSD who last work was in an S and M bar as a torture artist. Few things are as they seem and this is certainly not a straightforward detective story. The stories within the story are a feature of the novel, and it is therefore best approached in a different way by the reader. It falls between the noir and literary genres, it’s philosophical aspects meeting with the emotional bleakness of the characters and the seedy underbelly Of Parisian life.
October 9, 2014
It's possible to believe, at least for the first few pages, that Bed of Nails is another quirky policier in the spirit of the Commissaire Adamsberg series by Fred Vargas – and then it starts to sink in: these characters aren't Gallic eccentrics, they are truly damaged. Guérin, the chief detective in charge of suicides, scratches his head so hard he leaves bloody scars across his scalp, while the suicide at the center of the story is a performance artist who spears himself onstage. The beautiful blond (required in every noir novel) runs into walls, a pet parrot plucks himself, and I won't even start with the crimes of the corrupt police department. Varenne's pacing didn't quite work for me, but somehow he's managed to write a book that's completely bleak yet still has moments of desolate charm. French fiction…
March 10, 2013
Uno dei più tristi romanzi che io abbia mai letto. Negativo, pessimista e quant'altro.
Trama un po' cervellotica, ma ben scritto
Trama un po' cervellotica, ma ben scritto
January 9, 2019
Non sapevo bene cosa aspettarmi da questo libro. Mi ci sono incaponito, però, nel trovarlo. Era comparso nello stream pesantissimo di consigli che ogni tanto mi popuppano "in da face" e mi ha subito attirato.
Insomma avevo anche letto la sinossi e tutto avrei pensato fuorché quel che poi si è rivelato: un libro francese, così francese nel midollo che ad ogni fine capitolo mi veniva l'impulso di andare a controllare se in bagno avessi ancora il bidet.
Fin da subito la sensazione è quella di sedersi ad uno di quei pranzi eterni in cui le portate arrivano col contagocce e sono tutte annunciate con nomi impronunciabili che però fa fighissimo declamare. Come se esibendo un "fantasia di arrosto in letto di rugiada gargantuesca accompagnato da patate del sole di orione in tramonto sulla costellazione di andromeda" tu possa sfamarti senza pensare che alla fine ti stanno servendo uno stronzino di carne con contorno.
Varenne è francese. Scrive un libro francese, da francese, in quello stile francese così pieno di dettagli e particolari che a volte danno decisamente un po' troppo la nausea. Se fosse un film, questo libro, sarebbe un film leeeentissimo in bianco e nero, muto, con i dialoghi scritti su fondo nero in quel fuori sincrono a volte esasperante. Ma, mettiamoci un bel "ma", devo anche dire che alla fine la storia ha il suo bel perché. Alla fine in un qualche modo ti prende e ti coinvolge fino alla fine, mentre vorresti schiaffeggiare Varenne per dirgli "eddai e muoviti, smettila di descrivere anche il colore del dorso dello scarafaggio che passava per strada quella mattina!".
Per onore di cronaca, il libro, è un bel noir in cui ci si capisce all'inizio poco, poi qualcosa e alla fine qualcosina, con però qualche punto interrogativo che rimane aperto. I personaggi vedono l'eccentrico e nevrotico Guérin, a capo della "Sezione Suicidi" della polizia parigina, rimanere invischiato con il suo vice Lambert in una storia che coinvolge morti troppo singolari per essere scollegate e la crociata personale di un altro personaggio, il buon ammeregano a Parigi John Nichols. Che gran caduta di stile chiamare un americano John. O Jack. O insomma, qualsiasi nome un po' meno scontato poteva andare bene.
Ecco l'avete capito, questo libro ti fa diventare una sorta di vecchio brontolone imbruttito, perché alla fine ti lascia in bocca l'amaro gusto dell'insoddisfazione, con la catarsi che ormai si è andata a far friggere ben prima delle ultime pagine.
Non lo boccio su tutta la linea perché è scritto bene, perché si capisce che l'autore è un peso massimo della sega mentale applicata al racconto ossessivo compulsivo dei dettagli (ed è una dote che, a scanso di equivoci, per una mia deviazione mentale mi ritrovo ad apprezzare anche quando fine a sé stessa) e perché i personaggi vengono rappresentati bene, un po' ti ci affezioni anche se a diversi tratti vanno a scadere nel mix macchietta-luogo comune che buonanotte suonatori.
Concludo con la benedizione urbi et orbi.
Consigliato agli amanti del cioccolato fondente nero senza speranza.
https://www.rossettimarco.com/2019/01...
Insomma avevo anche letto la sinossi e tutto avrei pensato fuorché quel che poi si è rivelato: un libro francese, così francese nel midollo che ad ogni fine capitolo mi veniva l'impulso di andare a controllare se in bagno avessi ancora il bidet.
Fin da subito la sensazione è quella di sedersi ad uno di quei pranzi eterni in cui le portate arrivano col contagocce e sono tutte annunciate con nomi impronunciabili che però fa fighissimo declamare. Come se esibendo un "fantasia di arrosto in letto di rugiada gargantuesca accompagnato da patate del sole di orione in tramonto sulla costellazione di andromeda" tu possa sfamarti senza pensare che alla fine ti stanno servendo uno stronzino di carne con contorno.
Varenne è francese. Scrive un libro francese, da francese, in quello stile francese così pieno di dettagli e particolari che a volte danno decisamente un po' troppo la nausea. Se fosse un film, questo libro, sarebbe un film leeeentissimo in bianco e nero, muto, con i dialoghi scritti su fondo nero in quel fuori sincrono a volte esasperante. Ma, mettiamoci un bel "ma", devo anche dire che alla fine la storia ha il suo bel perché. Alla fine in un qualche modo ti prende e ti coinvolge fino alla fine, mentre vorresti schiaffeggiare Varenne per dirgli "eddai e muoviti, smettila di descrivere anche il colore del dorso dello scarafaggio che passava per strada quella mattina!".
Per onore di cronaca, il libro, è un bel noir in cui ci si capisce all'inizio poco, poi qualcosa e alla fine qualcosina, con però qualche punto interrogativo che rimane aperto. I personaggi vedono l'eccentrico e nevrotico Guérin, a capo della "Sezione Suicidi" della polizia parigina, rimanere invischiato con il suo vice Lambert in una storia che coinvolge morti troppo singolari per essere scollegate e la crociata personale di un altro personaggio, il buon ammeregano a Parigi John Nichols. Che gran caduta di stile chiamare un americano John. O Jack. O insomma, qualsiasi nome un po' meno scontato poteva andare bene.
Ecco l'avete capito, questo libro ti fa diventare una sorta di vecchio brontolone imbruttito, perché alla fine ti lascia in bocca l'amaro gusto dell'insoddisfazione, con la catarsi che ormai si è andata a far friggere ben prima delle ultime pagine.
Non lo boccio su tutta la linea perché è scritto bene, perché si capisce che l'autore è un peso massimo della sega mentale applicata al racconto ossessivo compulsivo dei dettagli (ed è una dote che, a scanso di equivoci, per una mia deviazione mentale mi ritrovo ad apprezzare anche quando fine a sé stessa) e perché i personaggi vengono rappresentati bene, un po' ti ci affezioni anche se a diversi tratti vanno a scadere nel mix macchietta-luogo comune che buonanotte suonatori.
Concludo con la benedizione urbi et orbi.
Consigliato agli amanti del cioccolato fondente nero senza speranza.
https://www.rossettimarco.com/2019/01...
December 8, 2014
noir police prodedural set in paris. the question is: does usa use S&M folks to "practice" their torture and black sites? of course they do.
December 21, 2022
I have mixed feelings with this one. Intrigued by the two stories told by these eccentric characters but thoroughly confused by whose narrative was being told chapter to chapter until I realized there’s a third character’s narrative. At one point I thought the third narrative was from a dog’s pov, that’s how confusing this was at the beginning. Once I had the narratives down, then the stories were allowed to grow and pull you into the plot.
This is where things got more confusing because you’re reading and thinking how are these stories related? How are they going to interweave together to form a consolidated story? Well, isn’t that the kicker. I’m not going to spoil the story on how the narratives come together but the reasoning doesn’t make sense and to come to find out at the end of the story that is what the author was going for was baffling. I actually laughed in befuddlement and wanted to finishing reading this book but only had a few pages left so I powered through.
Would I recommend this to anyone, honestly no. I think this is for a niche audience and while I was mostly intrigued by the story while reading it, I was let down when I finished it.
This is where things got more confusing because you’re reading and thinking how are these stories related? How are they going to interweave together to form a consolidated story? Well, isn’t that the kicker. I’m not going to spoil the story on how the narratives come together but the reasoning doesn’t make sense and to come to find out at the end of the story that is what the author was going for was baffling. I actually laughed in befuddlement and wanted to finishing reading this book but only had a few pages left so I powered through.
Would I recommend this to anyone, honestly no. I think this is for a niche audience and while I was mostly intrigued by the story while reading it, I was let down when I finished it.
December 4, 2018
Pas le meilleur roman que j'aie lu cette année... Pas mal surtout à cause des personnages, marginaux bizarres et intéressants, mais l'histoire se traînait un peu et ne commence à vraiment bouger que vers la fin. Des flashs d'humour ici ou là, mais un roman très noir. Cependant, page 133, j'ai bien rigolé en voyant tous les noms sur la liste des suicidés !
January 6, 2019
Fantastic!
I'm ever on the trail of new detective fiction, and this novel was like a first encounter with Dale Cooper or Harry Hole or Veronica Mars; if you like them, you may well like this novel. +Paris.
I'm ever on the trail of new detective fiction, and this novel was like a first encounter with Dale Cooper or Harry Hole or Veronica Mars; if you like them, you may well like this novel. +Paris.
December 14, 2018
Confermo la media delle recensioni mediocri.
Trama lenta nella parte centrale e finale un po' troppo pesante a mio avviso
Trama lenta nella parte centrale e finale un po' troppo pesante a mio avviso
Want to read
December 31, 2018Synopsis: Guerin is not a typical policeman. He reviews suicides to check that they were really self-inflicted. He finds two strikingly similar.
did-not-finish
August 22, 2019Something got lost in translation
January 5, 2020
Boring. Long. Slow moving.
May 9, 2020
Scritto anche bene, ma Guerin vorrebbe essere una versione psicolabile di Adamsberg, e non se ne sentiva il bisogno. E poi è inutilmente pessimista e cupo.
January 13, 2021
Like some mysteries there was a dual story going on. It took over 1/2 of this books efforts to make the point of intersection. Even so it was very confusing.
August 3, 2023
P
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Read
May 2, 2024Es liest sich als hätte man nur die Hälfte übersetzt und den Rest einfach weggelassen 🤷🏼♀️
August 21, 2025
Trovato nel book crossing in ufficio, ce lo rimetto subito; brutto e mal scritto, confusionario, fintamente letterario
May 19, 2015
This is a great one. Very dark, very sad, but funny in the right places, deeply touching, ultimately heart wrenching.
Difficult too. The underlying theme is complex. Through a bleak cop story set mainly in Paris in the present, the author seeks to understand the role and soul of ‘the torturer’ as war’s most potent and poisonous weapon. What kind of human ends up in this role, and how? Where must such a corrupted human logically end, regardless of the righteous cause? This aspect of the book is lucid, painfully relevant and well written - but I still to read those passages more than once.
There are two protagonists (three, if you count a dean man who can't speak but is vividly present):
Inspector Richard Guerin is an eccentric outcast amongst the ranks at 36 Quai des Orfevres (the central police building in Paris, and Ministry of Interior police HQ for all of France). He has been put in charge of investigating suicides. His squad consists of himself and Lambert, a naive but loyal assistant. As the story begins – with an incredibly horrific scene - we understand Guerin’s assignment is a punishment. But for what? We won’t know till near the end.
John Nichols is an American from California living in a tent in the southwest on a piece of land inherited from his French-born "hippie" mother. Nichols is a PhD in Psychology who has turned his back on the world. But when he receives word from the US embassy in Paris that John Mustgrave has died – an apparent suicide – he heads back into civilization to officially identify his ‘old friend’s’ body and take care of the paper work involved in sending him home to Kansas.
Mustgrave is revealed as a broken American character. Blame it on his role in the US military as a CIA trained torturer. His apparent suicide during a bizarre S&M performance in a murky Paris nightclub is suspicious. Nichols, who focused his abandoned research on Mustgrave, seeks to know more. The corruption within the murder squad at 36 Quai des Orfevres which Guerin has been quietly laboring to prove is equally strange and leads to the same S&M club.
Sunny, hippie-strewn California. Deeply “American” Kansas. The back streets of Paris, where dark sub-cultures, exiles in hiding, criminals and cops of all stripes interconnect… In themselves these locations point in the direction of a police novel that is also a morality tale enacted on an Uber level. With slow, tragic inevitability the separate paths of a grimly dreamy French cop and two burned-out Americans(one live, one dead) cross.
5 stars. I would call this a poetic police story of the highest order. The only French reference I can give which might resonate is that Bed of Nails is translated by Sian Reynolds, who does such a great job with the voice and tone of huge star Fred Vargas. I am happy to have found this book. (There is one other listed translated "thriller" by Antonin Varenne - Loser's Corner. I will look for it.)
Difficult too. The underlying theme is complex. Through a bleak cop story set mainly in Paris in the present, the author seeks to understand the role and soul of ‘the torturer’ as war’s most potent and poisonous weapon. What kind of human ends up in this role, and how? Where must such a corrupted human logically end, regardless of the righteous cause? This aspect of the book is lucid, painfully relevant and well written - but I still to read those passages more than once.
There are two protagonists (three, if you count a dean man who can't speak but is vividly present):
Inspector Richard Guerin is an eccentric outcast amongst the ranks at 36 Quai des Orfevres (the central police building in Paris, and Ministry of Interior police HQ for all of France). He has been put in charge of investigating suicides. His squad consists of himself and Lambert, a naive but loyal assistant. As the story begins – with an incredibly horrific scene - we understand Guerin’s assignment is a punishment. But for what? We won’t know till near the end.
John Nichols is an American from California living in a tent in the southwest on a piece of land inherited from his French-born "hippie" mother. Nichols is a PhD in Psychology who has turned his back on the world. But when he receives word from the US embassy in Paris that John Mustgrave has died – an apparent suicide – he heads back into civilization to officially identify his ‘old friend’s’ body and take care of the paper work involved in sending him home to Kansas.
Mustgrave is revealed as a broken American character. Blame it on his role in the US military as a CIA trained torturer. His apparent suicide during a bizarre S&M performance in a murky Paris nightclub is suspicious. Nichols, who focused his abandoned research on Mustgrave, seeks to know more. The corruption within the murder squad at 36 Quai des Orfevres which Guerin has been quietly laboring to prove is equally strange and leads to the same S&M club.
Sunny, hippie-strewn California. Deeply “American” Kansas. The back streets of Paris, where dark sub-cultures, exiles in hiding, criminals and cops of all stripes interconnect… In themselves these locations point in the direction of a police novel that is also a morality tale enacted on an Uber level. With slow, tragic inevitability the separate paths of a grimly dreamy French cop and two burned-out Americans(one live, one dead) cross.
5 stars. I would call this a poetic police story of the highest order. The only French reference I can give which might resonate is that Bed of Nails is translated by Sian Reynolds, who does such a great job with the voice and tone of huge star Fred Vargas. I am happy to have found this book. (There is one other listed translated "thriller" by Antonin Varenne - Loser's Corner. I will look for it.)
April 21, 2013
Am Anfang war ich sehr angetan von diesem Krimi. Sehr gute Sprachfabulierkunst und ein Hintergrundthema, das sehr interessant ist, nämlich wie Menschen zum Folterer gemacht werden können bzw. die Auswirkung von Folter auf den Gefolterten und den Folterer gewürzt mit ausgezeichneten psychologischen, zeitgeschichtlichen und politschen Hintergründen.
Diese an sich hervorragende Grundkonstellation ist aber verpackt in ein Werk mit völlig abstrus entwickelten Figuren, die sich komplett ambivalent und konfus verhalten, so kommt es zumindest mir vor. Nie konnte ich nachvollziehen, warum die Person plötzlich wütend, traurig oder verrückt reagierte. Vielleicht ist dies der geheimnisvolle französische Stil, den ich nicht verstehe, aber die einzelnen Figuren rittern fast darum, wer seinen irreparablen Dachschaden am skurillsten durch psychisch auffällige Verhaltensweisen verdrängt. Mir fällt kein einziger Protagonist ein, der ohne extrem verhaltensauffällige Traumata auskommt - Moment! Der Barman in einem Dorf auf dem Lande und vielleicht ein Hippiepärchen als Neben-Nebenfiguren, was wahrscheinlich ausschliesslich daraus resultiert, dass sie nur nicht ausführlich genug vom Autor beschrieben wurden.
Die zwei Handlungssträge sind auch total wirr und fast zufällig miteinander verwoben. Hintergründe und Motive werden überhaupt nicht ausreichend aufgedeckt. In diesem Sinne irrte ich bis zum Schluss durch diesen französischen Krimi der wie der typische Film noir und wie das Gesicht von Jean Gabin geheimnisvoll, ausdruckslos, nebulös, überintellektuell bzw. überhauptnichtintellektuell und unbefriedigend auf mich wirkte. Schwupps löste sich auch der Mordfall und die "Hintergründe" auf und doch habe ich das ungute Gefühl, da steckt irgendwo noch noch ein tieferer Sinn dahinter, den ich nicht verstanden habe. Oder auch nicht :D
Abschliessend stellt sich mir die Frage: Sind Franzosen so?
Diese an sich hervorragende Grundkonstellation ist aber verpackt in ein Werk mit völlig abstrus entwickelten Figuren, die sich komplett ambivalent und konfus verhalten, so kommt es zumindest mir vor. Nie konnte ich nachvollziehen, warum die Person plötzlich wütend, traurig oder verrückt reagierte. Vielleicht ist dies der geheimnisvolle französische Stil, den ich nicht verstehe, aber die einzelnen Figuren rittern fast darum, wer seinen irreparablen Dachschaden am skurillsten durch psychisch auffällige Verhaltensweisen verdrängt. Mir fällt kein einziger Protagonist ein, der ohne extrem verhaltensauffällige Traumata auskommt - Moment! Der Barman in einem Dorf auf dem Lande und vielleicht ein Hippiepärchen als Neben-Nebenfiguren, was wahrscheinlich ausschliesslich daraus resultiert, dass sie nur nicht ausführlich genug vom Autor beschrieben wurden.
Die zwei Handlungssträge sind auch total wirr und fast zufällig miteinander verwoben. Hintergründe und Motive werden überhaupt nicht ausreichend aufgedeckt. In diesem Sinne irrte ich bis zum Schluss durch diesen französischen Krimi der wie der typische Film noir und wie das Gesicht von Jean Gabin geheimnisvoll, ausdruckslos, nebulös, überintellektuell bzw. überhauptnichtintellektuell und unbefriedigend auf mich wirkte. Schwupps löste sich auch der Mordfall und die "Hintergründe" auf und doch habe ich das ungute Gefühl, da steckt irgendwo noch noch ein tieferer Sinn dahinter, den ich nicht verstanden habe. Oder auch nicht :D
Abschliessend stellt sich mir die Frage: Sind Franzosen so?
May 25, 2016
Antonin Varenne managed to create a one of a kind noir with Sezione Suicidi. It is packed with mysterious and dark characters who all have their own very serious issues. The detective for example is a complete weirdo. He's got a lot of strange quirks like his idea of everything being interconnected. He keeps looking for connections between random events and tries to draw meaning from that. He also gets some kind of anxiety attacks when he loses control and starts scratching his head until it bleeds. The other main character is a loner who lives in the woods of France on his own. There is a serious sadness that surrounds these guys. Their struggle seems very real and this book takes itself very seriously most of the time so you never get the feeling that things are going to get better for them. You can also find some very interesting settings that are perfect for this kind of story. There is a suicide of a fakir who dies on stage in an S&M club. How crazy does that sound?
It is a noir filled with so many great aspects but the main problem of this book is that it is not very focused. Plot wise it is extremely brave and daring because there are a lot of plot lines which in the end don't really end up having much to do with one another. This makes it very unpredictable because you simple cannot guess what's about to happen next but it also makes it quite tough to stay engaged. It took me quite some time to finish the book and I was quite surprised by that because I expected it to be a two days read. It may be a short book but it is very challenging for sure. I can't think of another short noir that is stacked with so many big ideas.
It is a noir filled with so many great aspects but the main problem of this book is that it is not very focused. Plot wise it is extremely brave and daring because there are a lot of plot lines which in the end don't really end up having much to do with one another. This makes it very unpredictable because you simple cannot guess what's about to happen next but it also makes it quite tough to stay engaged. It took me quite some time to finish the book and I was quite surprised by that because I expected it to be a two days read. It may be a short book but it is very challenging for sure. I can't think of another short noir that is stacked with so many big ideas.
August 7, 2011
Au premier coup d'oeil, la couverture et le résumé ne sont guère alléchants. Et pourtant, ce roman noir, plus que noir, est divinement impitoyable, juste et captivant. C'est l'histoire, d'un côté, d'un lieutenant et de son adjoint, deux bras cassés confinés au service des suicidés, et qui commencent à relever plusieurs cas suspects sans véritablement mettre un nom à ce malaise. C'est ainsi qu'ils font la connaissance d'un trappeur franco-américain, appelé à la rescousse pour régler les formalités administratives suite au décès de son ami, un fakir qui s'est vidé de son sang alors qu'il était en représentation. Une mort douteuse, donc. John commence à fourrer son nez dans les affaires louches de son pote, aidé de loin par le lieutenant Guérin, lui-même hanté par ses propres démons liés à une guerre des barbouzes. C'est tout simplement bluffant, ça se lit tout seul, le désespoir des uns faisant presque le bonheur des autres, parce qu'il ne faut pas se voiler la face, l'auteur dresse un portrait attachant de ses personnages, alors même qu'ils ne sont pas parfaits mais tout cabossés, avec des bleus partout. Ce n'est pas joli-joli, c'est au contraire insolite, sombre mais ça le fait. Cela coule tout seul, la fin est terrible mais parfaitement réussie, à sa façon l'auteur a su tirer son épingle du jeu, et ce serait mentir que de ne pas reconnaître qu'on savoure davantage la forme au fond de l'intrigue.
July 18, 2024
Ça commence très fort dès les premières pages du livre. Plongée en apnée dans l'univers glauque et sordide de la brigade "suicides" où officient le lieutenant Guérin et son stagiaire Lambert.
Après une nouvelle vague de suicides très suspecte, Guérin sent bien qu'il est sur le point de mettre le doigt sur quelque chose d'important. Durant la même période, le fakir Alan (américain) se donne la mort pendant une représentation. Prévenu par l'ambassade américaine, son ami John se rend alors à Paris pour identifier le corps. Mais à peine a-t-il mis les pieds dans la capitale qu'il est pris en chasse par deux types pas très commodes qui lui réclament de rembourser une dette d'Alan. Par un concours de circonstances, John va rencontrer Guérin et l'enquête de ce dernier va prendre une nouvelle direction.
C'est un roman très noir où l'atmosphère étouffante prime sur l'intrigue policière. Les personnages sont cabossés, brisés pour certains, l'histoire les mène au bord du gouffre et chaque nouveau chapitre enfonce le clou un peu plus loin. L'écriture d'Antonin Varenne y est pour beaucoup ; une narration rythmée, des mots qui claquent, de courtes phrases souvent non verbales, le tout donnant une impression de noirceur exacerbée.
Un très bon roman dont je ne suis pas certaine toutefois qu'il séduise les amateurs de romans policiers dans la veine classique. Ici, l'intrigue est secondaire et certaines questions restent en suspens, mais le récit est hypnotisant.
Après une nouvelle vague de suicides très suspecte, Guérin sent bien qu'il est sur le point de mettre le doigt sur quelque chose d'important. Durant la même période, le fakir Alan (américain) se donne la mort pendant une représentation. Prévenu par l'ambassade américaine, son ami John se rend alors à Paris pour identifier le corps. Mais à peine a-t-il mis les pieds dans la capitale qu'il est pris en chasse par deux types pas très commodes qui lui réclament de rembourser une dette d'Alan. Par un concours de circonstances, John va rencontrer Guérin et l'enquête de ce dernier va prendre une nouvelle direction.
C'est un roman très noir où l'atmosphère étouffante prime sur l'intrigue policière. Les personnages sont cabossés, brisés pour certains, l'histoire les mène au bord du gouffre et chaque nouveau chapitre enfonce le clou un peu plus loin. L'écriture d'Antonin Varenne y est pour beaucoup ; une narration rythmée, des mots qui claquent, de courtes phrases souvent non verbales, le tout donnant une impression de noirceur exacerbée.
Un très bon roman dont je ne suis pas certaine toutefois qu'il séduise les amateurs de romans policiers dans la veine classique. Ici, l'intrigue est secondaire et certaines questions restent en suspens, mais le récit est hypnotisant.
August 23, 2012
Translated from French "Bed of Nails" is rich in characterisation rather than story.
A rather bizarre crime thriller based around the death of a fakir of S&M. The plot-line gets lost after the second chapter but you are awarded with some beautifully awkward sub characters who become more important with each chapter.
The ex con we come to know as Bunker and his faithful companion, Mesrine are, for me, the most loveable throughout. Though damaged by previous experiences in his life, his nature is to protect firstly himself and his dog but as the story evolves you realise that his self emposed exile will encompass those who he sees as worthy of his trust. The fabulous awakening he receives whilst helping our embittered protagonist is truly beautiful in prose and sentiment.
I haven't mentioned the main character in name as he seems a sideline to everything else in the story even though the narrative is based around his trying to get answers for the death of the fakir, his friend.
I liked this book and if I hadn't been sidetracked into reading one of my favourite authors new book in between I might have gained more enjoyment from it. So, sorry to Mr Varenne but be assured that I would still pick up his next book when it comes out.
A rather bizarre crime thriller based around the death of a fakir of S&M. The plot-line gets lost after the second chapter but you are awarded with some beautifully awkward sub characters who become more important with each chapter.
The ex con we come to know as Bunker and his faithful companion, Mesrine are, for me, the most loveable throughout. Though damaged by previous experiences in his life, his nature is to protect firstly himself and his dog but as the story evolves you realise that his self emposed exile will encompass those who he sees as worthy of his trust. The fabulous awakening he receives whilst helping our embittered protagonist is truly beautiful in prose and sentiment.
I haven't mentioned the main character in name as he seems a sideline to everything else in the story even though the narrative is based around his trying to get answers for the death of the fakir, his friend.
I liked this book and if I hadn't been sidetracked into reading one of my favourite authors new book in between I might have gained more enjoyment from it. So, sorry to Mr Varenne but be assured that I would still pick up his next book when it comes out.
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