In this first installment in Georges Simenon’s legendary Inspector Maigret series, M. Maigret hunts down an elusive and notorious confidence man, but finds that identifying him is a game of doubles, intrigue, and hidden crimes.
When Detective Chief Inspector Maigret receives notice from Interpol that Pietr the Latvian, an infamous con man, is on his way to Paris, he rushes to intercept him at the train station. But when he arrives he is confounded to find two men who fit the description of the wanted man. One is alive, the other dead.
So who is Pietr? A businessman or a bootlegger? Is he Latvian, American, or Russian? In order to find out, Maigret must use his keen understanding of human nature, his gift for observation, and his famous instincts to track down the true suspect in Pietr the Latvian, the first mystery in Georges Simenon’s iconic series.
A Macmillan Audio production from Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
Georges 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.
If the whole book was written the way the penultimate chapter was, I would have loved this. As it was, I very nearly hated this. The pacing as abysmal - Maigret spends 2/5ths or more of the book quite literally just following people. Just walking around. It’s mind numbing. Chapters will shift to new settings and time with no exposition - in a hotel in the evening at the end of one chapter, apparently in the police station a day later in the next chapter, with nothing connecting the two. I frequently felt like this novella was originally published as a serial, the way everything was so chopped up.
It’s amazing to me that this series would go on to become so renowned - I don’t know how anyone cared to read more after this first book. By the end of the work the only thing I knew about the protagonist was that he’s large, he drinks and smokes constantly, and he’s got some weird fascination with stoves. At no point did he do any detecting. No sleuthing. No mental work of any kind that I could tell. He just followed people around in an apparent hope that they would… I dunno, confess? Honestly I forgot what the crime was that he was even supposed to be solving because it’s not at all the focus of the writing.
While I can often accept writing “of its era,” the bigotry at play in this book was still difficult to stomach. At one point there was a sentence about “all races have their own smell and all other races detest it.” Utterly bizarre, frankly.