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Fatale
KEEP YOUR TOWN CLEAN!
Aimée Joubert is a drop-dead gorgeous femme fatale with a penchant for bloody murder. Ever on the lookout for opportunities for self-enrichment, she finds plenty to like as a newcomer to the detestable backwater town of Bléville: small-minded parochialism, self-interested parish politics, rampant corruption, dormant grudges, scandals just waiting to be uncovered - yes, there's a killing to be made here.
Aimée Joubert is a drop-dead gorgeous femme fatale with a penchant for bloody murder. Ever on the lookout for opportunities for self-enrichment, she finds plenty to like as a newcomer to the detestable backwater town of Bléville: small-minded parochialism, self-interested parish politics, rampant corruption, dormant grudges, scandals just waiting to be uncovered - yes, there's a killing to be made here.
So Aimée starts to wreak her stylish mayhem on Blévillie's despicable bourgeoisie. But just when she's ready to take them all to the cleaners, something snaps, and the master manipulator falls prey to her wayward passions.
A legend of the genre, Jean-Patrick Manchette transformed the modern crime thriller into something slick, chic and riotously enjoyable. A tornado of redemptive murder and a gleeful satire of small-town life, Fatale is Manchette's bloodiest, funniest and most brilliantly cathartic thriller yet.
112 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1977
About the author
Jean-Patrick Manchette
67 books329 followersJean-Patrick Manchette was a French crime novelist credited with reinventing and reinvigorating the genre. He wrote ten short novels in the seventies and early eighties, and is widely recognized as the foremost French crime fiction author of the 1970s - 1980s . His stories are violent, existentialist explorations of the human condition and French society.
Manchette was politically to the left and his writing reflects this through his analysis of social positions and culture. His books are reminiscent of the nouvelle vague crime films of Jean-Pierre Melville, employing a similarly cool, existential style on a typically American genre (film noir for Melville and pulp novels for Manchette).
Three of his novels have been translated into English. Two were published by San Francisco publisher City Lights Books (3 To Kill [from the French "Le petit bleu de la côte ouest"] and The Prone Gunman [from the French "La Position du tireur couché"]). A third, Fatale, was released by New York Review Books Classics in 2011.
Manchette believed he had gone full circle with his last novel, which he conceived as a "closure" of his Noir fiction. In a 1988 letter to a journalist, Manchette said:
" After that, as I did not have to belong to any kind of literary school, I entered a very different work area. In seven years, I have not done anything good. I'm still working at it."
In 1989, finally having found new territory he wanted to explore, Manchette started writing a new novel, La Princesse du Sang" ("Blood Princess"), an international thriller, which was supposed to be the first book in a new cycle, a series of novels covering five decades from the post-war period to present times. He died from cancer before completing it.
Starting in 1996, a year after Manchette's death, several unpublished works were released, showing how very active he was during in the years preceding his death.
In 2009, Fantagraphics Books released an English-language version of French cartoonist Jacques Tardi's adaptation of Le petit bleu, under the new English title 'West Coast Blues.' Fantagraphics released a second Tardi adaptation, of "La Position du tireur couché" (under the title "Like a Sniper Lining Up His Shot" ) in the summer of 2011, and has scheduled a third one, of "Ô Dingos! Ô Châteaux!" (under the title "Run Like Crazy Run Like Hell") in summer 2014. Manchette himself was a fan of comics, and his praised translation of Alan Moore's Watchmen into French remains in print.
Manchette was politically to the left and his writing reflects this through his analysis of social positions and culture. His books are reminiscent of the nouvelle vague crime films of Jean-Pierre Melville, employing a similarly cool, existential style on a typically American genre (film noir for Melville and pulp novels for Manchette).
Three of his novels have been translated into English. Two were published by San Francisco publisher City Lights Books (3 To Kill [from the French "Le petit bleu de la côte ouest"] and The Prone Gunman [from the French "La Position du tireur couché"]). A third, Fatale, was released by New York Review Books Classics in 2011.
Manchette believed he had gone full circle with his last novel, which he conceived as a "closure" of his Noir fiction. In a 1988 letter to a journalist, Manchette said:
" After that, as I did not have to belong to any kind of literary school, I entered a very different work area. In seven years, I have not done anything good. I'm still working at it."
In 1989, finally having found new territory he wanted to explore, Manchette started writing a new novel, La Princesse du Sang" ("Blood Princess"), an international thriller, which was supposed to be the first book in a new cycle, a series of novels covering five decades from the post-war period to present times. He died from cancer before completing it.
Starting in 1996, a year after Manchette's death, several unpublished works were released, showing how very active he was during in the years preceding his death.
In 2009, Fantagraphics Books released an English-language version of French cartoonist Jacques Tardi's adaptation of Le petit bleu, under the new English title 'West Coast Blues.' Fantagraphics released a second Tardi adaptation, of "La Position du tireur couché" (under the title "Like a Sniper Lining Up His Shot" ) in the summer of 2011, and has scheduled a third one, of "Ô Dingos! Ô Châteaux!" (under the title "Run Like Crazy Run Like Hell") in summer 2014. Manchette himself was a fan of comics, and his praised translation of Alan Moore's Watchmen into French remains in print.
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November 6, 2024
Femme Fatales of the world, unite! Read French author Jean-Patrick Manchette’s ninety-page coolest of the cool noir novel Fatale to have a sense of what it would really be like to take control of your life.
The author gets right to the point, as in prose as sharp as a well-tempered stainless steel knife. And speaking of knives, here is the slim, athletic, fetching thirty-year-old main character Aimée Joubert on the topic of killing, reflecting back on how she plunged a knife into the liver of her first victim - her abusive husband: “It was a genuine revelation, you see,” said Aimée to the baron. “They can be killed. The real assholes can be killed. Anyway, I needed money but I didn’t want to work.”
Aimée, you’re such a sweetie. I love you, babe.
As we learn very quickly, the real assholes of the world are those mustachioed, potbellied, moneygrubbing capitalists forever reading their newspapers, sloshing down their beer and cheating everyone in sight. In this respect, nothing much has changed in nearly 100 years: refined aesthete Des Esseintes in Joris-Karl Huysmans’ 1884 novel Against Nature is similarly nauseated by all those mutton-chopped bourgeoisie.
But Aimée's response to these odious bastions of mediocrity is entirely opposite to Des Esseintes – rather than retreating in isolation, she infiltrates their social circles; rather than becoming progressively weaker, she uses martial arts and exercise equipment to become progressively stronger; instead of reading Baudelaire’s poetry, she reads crime novels (I imagine her reading Jean-Patrick Manchette crime novels!); and, most dramatically, instead of wishing her enemies dead, she shoots them dead.
This is noir crime fiction but none of that pandering to macho male readers, thank you. Any sensuality is not sexual or even in the presence of men. More to the point, Aimée is most sensual when she is by herself. For example, here’s our hero (or anti-hero) in her own compartment on a train, “She went on eating and drinking and progressively lost control of herself. She leaned over, still chewing, and opened the briefcase and pulled out fistfuls of banknotes and rubbed them against her sweat-streaked belly and against her breasts and her armpits and between her legs and behind her knees. Tears rolled down her cheeks even as she shook with silent laughter and kept masticating.”
Make no mistake, action drives plot; there is very little delving below the surface, after all, who has time for in-depth self-examination when you are, like Aimée, forever recording the patterns and habits of your future victims and calculating your next move. In this respect, Fatale is only one notch removed from cinema, cinema as in Pulp Fiction or Kill Bill, that is. Even relaxing in her bathroom, Aimée primes herself for action: “Lying in her hot bath, she opened the crime novel she has bought. She read ten pages. It took her six or seven minutes. She put the book down, masturbated, washed, and got out of the water. For a moment, in the bathroom mirror, she looked at her slim, seductive body. She dressed carefully; she aimed to please.”
Although Fatale has the hard-boiled flavor of such American noir crime fiction as Hammitt’s The Maltese Falcon and Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice, there is also a decidedly political dimension. Recall how Jean-Patrick Manchette was an active Marxist in Paris but became frustrated when the revolution in the late sixties stalled out. On one level his novel is a cool, supercharged critique of corroded capitalism. With searing irony, the enamel plaque KEEP YOUR TOWN CLEAN! appears again and again in the story’s small French town.
Since this is such a jazzy-cool novel, one last action from our sweet Aimée, this from the opening chapter, where she walks up to a fat pharmacist who is out hunting with his fat bourgeois buddies and has sauntered off by himself to take a rest under a tree. “He declared himself greatly astonished to see her here – first because she never went shooting and secondly because she had said her goodbyes to everyone the previous afternoon and taken a taxi to the station. “As surprises go, this beats all. And such a pleasant one too,” he exclaimed, and she unslung her 16-gauge shotgun, turned it on him, and before he had finished smiling emptied both barrels into his gut.”
Jean-Patrick Manchette (1942-1995) - French novelist of hyper-cool crime fiction with political overtones
February 14, 2022
“She smiled vaguely. She might have been thirty, or thirty-five. She had dark brown eyes and delicate features. The vague smile barely exposed her teeth, which were small and even. Roucart approached the young woman, continuing to address her as ‘dear child’ and talking in an avuncular tone as his big blue eyes roved up and down her slim form. He declared himself greatly astonished to see her here – first because she never went shooting and secondly because she had said her goodbyes to everyone the previous afternoon and taken a taxi to the station. ‘As surprises go, this beats all. And such a pleasant one too,’ he exclaimed, and she unslung her 16-gauge shotgun, turned it on him, and before he had finished smiling emptied both barrels into his gut…”
- Jean-Patrick Manchette, Fatale
For the most part, I am a rule follower. But when it comes to judging a book by its cover, I am a rebel. I do it all the time. Indeed, one of my pastimes just happens to be browsing the back-catalogue of the New York Review of Books, looking for covers that catch my eye.
That’s how I came upon Jean-Patrick Manchette’s Fatale.
The photograph adorning this slim novel is visually arresting. From the Bonnie series by Neil Krug, it features a striking woman wearing lingerie sitting in a car with an intense – possibly worried – expression in her eyes. In her right hand she holds an automatic pistol, which she appears ready to lift, if she is not lifting it already.
Intrigued – and with little more investigation on my part – I decided to dip my toe into the pool of French crime fiction.
***
At ninety-one pages, Fatale is more a short story or novella than a true novel. As a result, there is not too much that can be said without giving it all away.
Briefly, Fatale is about a woman named Aimée who kills for a living. On the very first pages, she murders a hunter named Roucart. Then she boards a train, takes off all her clothes, and sloppily inhales a fine dinner. Suffice to say, Manchette knows how to get one’s attention, if nothing else.
Aimée gets off the train in Bléville, a town with a glittering façade concealing layers of rot. That rot includes greedy capitalists selling deadly products, a Nazi collaborator or two, and an erratic man named Baron Jules who urinates in corners when he gets upset. With little to no exploration of motive, Aimée insinuates herself into this cesspit, and begins to play the townsfolk off each other for her own opaque ends.
***
It’s always hard to judge the prose in a translated novel. I have no idea whether or not this particular version of Fatale holds true to the original French. In any event, the English feels quite familiar to other noir offerings. The story unfolds with mostly short, descriptive sentences, supplying a level of detail that is surprising in such a short tale. Aimée’s outfits, her train car, her hotel room, are all precisely recounted. The tone is detached, emotionally distant, and the pulse seldom rises, even as the body count starts to inflate.
***
While the physical world is carefully illustrated, the internal lives of the characters are not explored at all. Aimée drives all the action, yet the impetus driving her is entirely illusive. This is a bit disappointing, as the third act hinges on a change in plans that Manchette aggressively refuses to explain, or even comment upon. Other than a physical description, and a few ambiguous references to her past, Aimée is defined entirely by her deeds, which usually involves her kicking ass and checking off names. This is fun, as far as it goes, but it is hard – bordering on the impossible – to care what happens to her. Any investment I had in her fate came solely from her position as protagonist.
In an afterword to Fatale, the writer Jean Echenoz notes that Manchette was a renowned contributor to the fictional crime genre, and often larded his works with political meanings. Here, the political is absent. In his brief setup, Manchette appears on the verge of some kind of societal commentary. Instead of following through, he veers in an entirely different direction. That direction is carnage.
***
Without a message – either direct or indirect – and without fully realized characters, we are left with an anarchic, pulpy spree of violence that I don’t think is meant to be taken entirely seriously. I actually chuckled a bit once Aimée got rolling, doing what she does best, using a wide variety of tactics and implements to complete her tasks.
Fatale is diverting, I suppose, and does not take much of your time. There’s not enough here to love and not enough to hate. Mostly it led me to ponder how and why a book earns the label of “classic,” which this one has. The answer is probably to be found in Manchette’s entire oeuvre, as this single entry has no real impact. Perhaps as part of a larger context, it gains additional meaning. Standing alone, it is rather spare, and a bit forgettable. When it comes down to it, nothing inside Fatale is half as memorable as the image that graces the outside of it.
- Jean-Patrick Manchette, Fatale
For the most part, I am a rule follower. But when it comes to judging a book by its cover, I am a rebel. I do it all the time. Indeed, one of my pastimes just happens to be browsing the back-catalogue of the New York Review of Books, looking for covers that catch my eye.
That’s how I came upon Jean-Patrick Manchette’s Fatale.
The photograph adorning this slim novel is visually arresting. From the Bonnie series by Neil Krug, it features a striking woman wearing lingerie sitting in a car with an intense – possibly worried – expression in her eyes. In her right hand she holds an automatic pistol, which she appears ready to lift, if she is not lifting it already.
Intrigued – and with little more investigation on my part – I decided to dip my toe into the pool of French crime fiction.
***
At ninety-one pages, Fatale is more a short story or novella than a true novel. As a result, there is not too much that can be said without giving it all away.
Briefly, Fatale is about a woman named Aimée who kills for a living. On the very first pages, she murders a hunter named Roucart. Then she boards a train, takes off all her clothes, and sloppily inhales a fine dinner. Suffice to say, Manchette knows how to get one’s attention, if nothing else.
Aimée gets off the train in Bléville, a town with a glittering façade concealing layers of rot. That rot includes greedy capitalists selling deadly products, a Nazi collaborator or two, and an erratic man named Baron Jules who urinates in corners when he gets upset. With little to no exploration of motive, Aimée insinuates herself into this cesspit, and begins to play the townsfolk off each other for her own opaque ends.
***
It’s always hard to judge the prose in a translated novel. I have no idea whether or not this particular version of Fatale holds true to the original French. In any event, the English feels quite familiar to other noir offerings. The story unfolds with mostly short, descriptive sentences, supplying a level of detail that is surprising in such a short tale. Aimée’s outfits, her train car, her hotel room, are all precisely recounted. The tone is detached, emotionally distant, and the pulse seldom rises, even as the body count starts to inflate.
***
While the physical world is carefully illustrated, the internal lives of the characters are not explored at all. Aimée drives all the action, yet the impetus driving her is entirely illusive. This is a bit disappointing, as the third act hinges on a change in plans that Manchette aggressively refuses to explain, or even comment upon. Other than a physical description, and a few ambiguous references to her past, Aimée is defined entirely by her deeds, which usually involves her kicking ass and checking off names. This is fun, as far as it goes, but it is hard – bordering on the impossible – to care what happens to her. Any investment I had in her fate came solely from her position as protagonist.
In an afterword to Fatale, the writer Jean Echenoz notes that Manchette was a renowned contributor to the fictional crime genre, and often larded his works with political meanings. Here, the political is absent. In his brief setup, Manchette appears on the verge of some kind of societal commentary. Instead of following through, he veers in an entirely different direction. That direction is carnage.
***
Without a message – either direct or indirect – and without fully realized characters, we are left with an anarchic, pulpy spree of violence that I don’t think is meant to be taken entirely seriously. I actually chuckled a bit once Aimée got rolling, doing what she does best, using a wide variety of tactics and implements to complete her tasks.
Fatale is diverting, I suppose, and does not take much of your time. There’s not enough here to love and not enough to hate. Mostly it led me to ponder how and why a book earns the label of “classic,” which this one has. The answer is probably to be found in Manchette’s entire oeuvre, as this single entry has no real impact. Perhaps as part of a larger context, it gains additional meaning. Standing alone, it is rather spare, and a bit forgettable. When it comes down to it, nothing inside Fatale is half as memorable as the image that graces the outside of it.
July 19, 2020
”’It was a genuine revelation, you see,’ said Aimée to the baron.’They can be killed. The real assholes can be killed.’”
As deadly as she is beautiful.
Aimée arrives in Bléville with a distinct purpose. She is there to mingle and get to know the people of this town. She wants to observe their disagreements, their manners, and wiggle her way into their confidences. She wants to know what there is to know about everyone.
She wants to find out who deserves to die and turn a tidy profit in the process.
Aimée meets the Baron Jules, his male member in his hand gleefully pissing on the hallway wall of one of the more affluent members of this society. He is loathed and feared by the community because of his exuberant insanity, but also because he refuses to conform to being a productive member of society. As he is, very understandably, being sent from the premises, he yells out, “You’re all done for.”
Is it a curse? Is he foreseeing the demise of the capitalism which is worshipped like a deity by the more affluent members of this community? Or is he predicting the premature demise of those who have condemned him in the spirit of the last Templar Grand Master Jacque de Molay?
Does it matter? He is crazy after all. It doesn’t surprise me that, out of all the people Aimée has met in this town, the Baron is the one she appreciates the most. The question I kept asking myself, as I see her begin the process of blackmail which then leads to what can only be called a killing spree, is she is a sociopath or a psychopath? She can blend with society even with these homicidal tendencies, but something happens to her or awakens in her when she kills her first victim...her husband.
She’s done this before in other towns. Here we find her celebrating a victory over other wealthy men. ”She went on eating and drinking and progressively lost control of herself. She leaned over, still chewing, and opened the briefcase and pulled out fistfuls of banknotes and rubbed them against her sweat streaked belly and against her breasts and her armpits and between her legs and behind her knees. Tears rolled down her cheeks even as she shook with silent laughter and kept masticating. She bent over to sniff the lukewarm choucroute, and she rubbed banknotes against her lips and teeth and raised her glass and dipped the tip of her nose in the champagne. And here in this luxury compartment of this luxury train her nostrils were assailed at once by the luxurious scent of the champagne and the foul odor of the filthy banknotes and the foul odor of the choucroute, which smelt of piss and sperm.”
So she declares her own war on men, men of means in particular, men who wield power indiscriminately to advance their own positions. Society perceives them to be successful men, certainly not criminals, but to Aimée that is exactly who they are. It is interesting reading this book against the backdrop of the recent flurry of accusations flying fast and furious against actors, politicians, and reporters for misusing their positions to force themselves on women/men who were under their power. Or in other words, they were being DICKS.
It is a good thing for men everywhere that Aimée is a fictional character or she might bring her show on the road to Washington D.C. or Hollywood or to your hometown.
The other interesting thing is the creativity that Aimée uses to kill. In fact, she rarely uses the same weapon twice. It made me think about all the weapons I have ready to hand right at my desk as I write this review. I have golfball, baseball, and even softball sized, round, polished rocks that would make formidable weapons. I have a heavy desk lamp perfect for bashing a skull. I have a Kraken clock with tentacles, crafted for gouging eyes. I have a ball point pen; don’t laugh, remember that scene in the high school hallway in Grosse Point Blank when John Cusack stabs the contract killer in the neck with one? There is the three volume, slipcased edition of Vincent Van Gogh’s letters, which, if I whirled properly, could become three heavy, concussion creating, flying projectiles. Potential weapons are everywhere around us and Aimée takes full advantage of their availability.
This book has been considered a French, noir classic ever since it was published in 1977. The body count rivals the famous body count in Red Harvest. Do the men deserve to die for their crimes against humanity, their greed, their arrogance? To my mind, no, but to Aimée’s mind, yes, because the laws protect those with means so the only way to make them pay is through blood.
Jean-Patrick Manchette smoking a cig. Interesting enough Aimée changes brand of cigarettes frequently in this book almost as a deflection from people knowing anything about her with any certainty.
This book is stylishly written with a plot that is as shocking today as when it was first published. This book may have been trying to redefine moral issues with certain anti-capitalist overtones, but it was not as politically motivated as some of Jean-Patrick Manchette’s other books. I couldn’t put it down and nearly finished it in one sitting. One must, after all, walk their Scottish Terrier and think about a book for a bit before reading the grand finale.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
As deadly as she is beautiful.
Aimée arrives in Bléville with a distinct purpose. She is there to mingle and get to know the people of this town. She wants to observe their disagreements, their manners, and wiggle her way into their confidences. She wants to know what there is to know about everyone.
She wants to find out who deserves to die and turn a tidy profit in the process.
Aimée meets the Baron Jules, his male member in his hand gleefully pissing on the hallway wall of one of the more affluent members of this society. He is loathed and feared by the community because of his exuberant insanity, but also because he refuses to conform to being a productive member of society. As he is, very understandably, being sent from the premises, he yells out, “You’re all done for.”
Is it a curse? Is he foreseeing the demise of the capitalism which is worshipped like a deity by the more affluent members of this community? Or is he predicting the premature demise of those who have condemned him in the spirit of the last Templar Grand Master Jacque de Molay?
Does it matter? He is crazy after all. It doesn’t surprise me that, out of all the people Aimée has met in this town, the Baron is the one she appreciates the most. The question I kept asking myself, as I see her begin the process of blackmail which then leads to what can only be called a killing spree, is she is a sociopath or a psychopath? She can blend with society even with these homicidal tendencies, but something happens to her or awakens in her when she kills her first victim...her husband.
She’s done this before in other towns. Here we find her celebrating a victory over other wealthy men. ”She went on eating and drinking and progressively lost control of herself. She leaned over, still chewing, and opened the briefcase and pulled out fistfuls of banknotes and rubbed them against her sweat streaked belly and against her breasts and her armpits and between her legs and behind her knees. Tears rolled down her cheeks even as she shook with silent laughter and kept masticating. She bent over to sniff the lukewarm choucroute, and she rubbed banknotes against her lips and teeth and raised her glass and dipped the tip of her nose in the champagne. And here in this luxury compartment of this luxury train her nostrils were assailed at once by the luxurious scent of the champagne and the foul odor of the filthy banknotes and the foul odor of the choucroute, which smelt of piss and sperm.”
So she declares her own war on men, men of means in particular, men who wield power indiscriminately to advance their own positions. Society perceives them to be successful men, certainly not criminals, but to Aimée that is exactly who they are. It is interesting reading this book against the backdrop of the recent flurry of accusations flying fast and furious against actors, politicians, and reporters for misusing their positions to force themselves on women/men who were under their power. Or in other words, they were being DICKS.
It is a good thing for men everywhere that Aimée is a fictional character or she might bring her show on the road to Washington D.C. or Hollywood or to your hometown.
The other interesting thing is the creativity that Aimée uses to kill. In fact, she rarely uses the same weapon twice. It made me think about all the weapons I have ready to hand right at my desk as I write this review. I have golfball, baseball, and even softball sized, round, polished rocks that would make formidable weapons. I have a heavy desk lamp perfect for bashing a skull. I have a Kraken clock with tentacles, crafted for gouging eyes. I have a ball point pen; don’t laugh, remember that scene in the high school hallway in Grosse Point Blank when John Cusack stabs the contract killer in the neck with one? There is the three volume, slipcased edition of Vincent Van Gogh’s letters, which, if I whirled properly, could become three heavy, concussion creating, flying projectiles. Potential weapons are everywhere around us and Aimée takes full advantage of their availability.
This book has been considered a French, noir classic ever since it was published in 1977. The body count rivals the famous body count in Red Harvest. Do the men deserve to die for their crimes against humanity, their greed, their arrogance? To my mind, no, but to Aimée’s mind, yes, because the laws protect those with means so the only way to make them pay is through blood.
Jean-Patrick Manchette smoking a cig. Interesting enough Aimée changes brand of cigarettes frequently in this book almost as a deflection from people knowing anything about her with any certainty.
This book is stylishly written with a plot that is as shocking today as when it was first published. This book may have been trying to redefine moral issues with certain anti-capitalist overtones, but it was not as politically motivated as some of Jean-Patrick Manchette’s other books. I couldn’t put it down and nearly finished it in one sitting. One must, after all, walk their Scottish Terrier and think about a book for a bit before reading the grand finale.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
September 9, 2018
Why did I read Fatale, a novella by Jean-Patrick Manchette? I feel like a dummy in a film noir, lured by the temptations of a sexy cover, an alluring premise and the premise that I could get away with a devilishly enthralling ride. Manchette was a French crime novelist and translator who got started in the '70s. This slim volume published in 1977 and translated here from French by Donald Nicholson-Smith concerns a young woman going by the name Aimée Joubert who arrives in the town of Bléville to unleash hell on some unsuspecting sucker with more libido than brains.
The redeeming factor for the story is that it does take place in France and there are superficial differences I appreciated. The title character gets around by train or bicycle, both niche modes of transportation in most parts of the U.S. Tea and bridge are things that bring people together. I suppose the American equivalents would be a football game on TV and buffalo wings. Aimée Joubert doesn't have a gym membership, but works out on the floor of her rented studio apartment and wrapped like a rope. I give her the nod in surviving a zombie apocalypse over her American counterpart.
Rather than lock her wiles on a male dupe and leaving him damaged, destitute and perhaps dead after screwing him silly, the plot involves food poisoning at a local fish processing plant and efforts by the town's business interests to keep it quiet. Murder for hire and blackmail ensue. While this story might have been something in the '70s, two subsequent decades of erotic thrillers, as well as action thrillers, have picked this clean. The climax devolves into Aimée running around a dock at night like Clint, Sly or Arnold and killing everyone one by one. The story has none of the intricate plotting or combustible sex of modern film noir like Body Heat or The Last Seduction.
I'd rather devote 3,000 words to Body Heat, the 1981 film written and directed by Lawrence Kasadan. The cast features William Hurt, Kathleen Turner, Richard Crenna, Ted Danson and Mickey Rourke. At a time when visual effects fantasies ruled the box office, Kasdan utilized modern moviemaking to reinvigorate a forgotten genre and make it specific to his generation. His script recalls the time worn pulp fiction of James Cain, yet the characters and dialogue are beautifully acute to modern times. And the screenwriting is so good.
EXT. THE BEACHFRONT WALKWAY - NIGHT
The Woman, MATTY, has walked to the rail. She stands there now lighting a cigarette. She presents her face to the ocean, hoping for a breeze. We move in on her, with Racine.
Racine lights a new cigarette and smiles at her. She looks at him and, for an instant, her eyes race over his body, then she looks back at the ocean.
RACINE: You can stand here with me if you want, but you'll have to agree not to talk about the heat.
She looks at him, and there is something startling about the directness of her gaze. When she speaks, she is cool without being hostile.
MATTY: I'm a married woman.
RACINE: Meaning what?
MATTY: Meaning I'm not looking for company.
She turns back toward the ocean.
RACINE: Then you should have said -- 'I'm a happily married woman.'
MATTY: That's my business.
RACINE: What?
MATTY: How happy I am.
RACINE: And how, happy is that?
She looks at him curiously. She begins walking slowly along the rail. He walks too.
MATTY: You're not too smart, are you?
Racine shakes his head "no."
MATTY: I like that in a man.
RACINE: What else you like -- Ugly? Lazy? Horny? I got 'em all.
MATTY: You don't look lazy.
Racine smiles.
The redeeming factor for the story is that it does take place in France and there are superficial differences I appreciated. The title character gets around by train or bicycle, both niche modes of transportation in most parts of the U.S. Tea and bridge are things that bring people together. I suppose the American equivalents would be a football game on TV and buffalo wings. Aimée Joubert doesn't have a gym membership, but works out on the floor of her rented studio apartment and wrapped like a rope. I give her the nod in surviving a zombie apocalypse over her American counterpart.
Rather than lock her wiles on a male dupe and leaving him damaged, destitute and perhaps dead after screwing him silly, the plot involves food poisoning at a local fish processing plant and efforts by the town's business interests to keep it quiet. Murder for hire and blackmail ensue. While this story might have been something in the '70s, two subsequent decades of erotic thrillers, as well as action thrillers, have picked this clean. The climax devolves into Aimée running around a dock at night like Clint, Sly or Arnold and killing everyone one by one. The story has none of the intricate plotting or combustible sex of modern film noir like Body Heat or The Last Seduction.
I'd rather devote 3,000 words to Body Heat, the 1981 film written and directed by Lawrence Kasadan. The cast features William Hurt, Kathleen Turner, Richard Crenna, Ted Danson and Mickey Rourke. At a time when visual effects fantasies ruled the box office, Kasdan utilized modern moviemaking to reinvigorate a forgotten genre and make it specific to his generation. His script recalls the time worn pulp fiction of James Cain, yet the characters and dialogue are beautifully acute to modern times. And the screenwriting is so good.
EXT. THE BEACHFRONT WALKWAY - NIGHT
The Woman, MATTY, has walked to the rail. She stands there now lighting a cigarette. She presents her face to the ocean, hoping for a breeze. We move in on her, with Racine.
Racine lights a new cigarette and smiles at her. She looks at him and, for an instant, her eyes race over his body, then she looks back at the ocean.
RACINE: You can stand here with me if you want, but you'll have to agree not to talk about the heat.
She looks at him, and there is something startling about the directness of her gaze. When she speaks, she is cool without being hostile.
MATTY: I'm a married woman.
RACINE: Meaning what?
MATTY: Meaning I'm not looking for company.
She turns back toward the ocean.
RACINE: Then you should have said -- 'I'm a happily married woman.'
MATTY: That's my business.
RACINE: What?
MATTY: How happy I am.
RACINE: And how, happy is that?
She looks at him curiously. She begins walking slowly along the rail. He walks too.
MATTY: You're not too smart, are you?
Racine shakes his head "no."
MATTY: I like that in a man.
RACINE: What else you like -- Ugly? Lazy? Horny? I got 'em all.
MATTY: You don't look lazy.
Racine smiles.
March 31, 2017
Monsieur Manchette wrote a French version of a noir crime novel that certainly is reminiscent of 'Black Wings has my Angel' by Elliott Chaze, which the afterword mentioned was indeed an eye opener for him to the genre at a young age. Aimee, the ferocious killer of 'Fatale' gets her kicks by rubbing money notes all over her body just like the killer lady of 'Black Wings'. The image is powerful in an attractive way, I guess, leaving our dangerous protagonist somehow vunerable when she is alone and unobserved. 'Fatale' is an outrageous story with more villains and dead bodies than is realistic for the small town in which it is situated, but who is talking about realistic situations here! In my opinion, it cannot match up to 'Black Wings' or any of the American noir novels, but it has definitely an appealing charm in its own absurd way.
March 27, 2016
Well, it's the same as ever, isn't it? It seems slow, but actually it is quite fast. Sex always comes up first. Then money questions. And, then, last, come the old crimes. You have seen other towns, my sweet, and you'll see others, knock on wood.[...] Come on, my sweet, the crimes come last, and you have to be patient.
A beautiful stranger going by the name of Aimee Joubert comes to the town of Bleville, a fictional fishing/industrial/tourist place by the Atlantic Ocean. Bleville, according to the introduction to the novel, can be translated as "Dough Town", a prosperous, thriving place, at least on the surface. For the cynical Aimee it is a den of thieves, like all the other places she has visited lately, in her personal crusade against society's ills. We get an inkling of her quest in the opening scenes of the novel, describing a hunting "accident" in another part of France, for which the girl was apparently well paid.
A "femme fatale" in the noir canon is usually a seductress, leading men into ruin by her ambition and ruthlessness. Jean-Patrick Manchette is aiming a little higher than this basic definition when he sets out to revitalise the genre in the seventies. Aimee is not above using her physical charms to make her way in society, but her motivations transcend the personal and veer into the political and the universal questions of modern existentialist angst. Behind her cool as ice appearance she is burning with outrage and with unresolved family issues. We get an inkling of what turned this young woman into a dangerous vigilante:
"The first one, my husband, it was a revelation, you can have no idea. I was an idiot, you see. An engineer. I lived with the guy for seven years. A normal guy. In the suburbs, back there." Aimee gestured vaguely in the general direction of Paris metropolitan area, but perhaps she was referring to some other city. "Just a normal guy," she said again. "Six Ricards a day. He slapped me about. Normal. I didn't feel anything."
Is there any hope of redemption left for Aimee? Two scenes stand out for me in her defense as a moral character : a visit to her aging mother on a derelict farm in the countryside and her conversations with Baron Jules - another reject and rebel against the Bleville establishment.
For such a short novel, "Fatale" hits hard and straight to the gut of the genre. I came across a James Sallis essay on the author that opens up with : Listen: Warn your children and the weak of heart. There is meat here. There is gristle. There is bone. .
It's a stylish story, told in spare, emotionless short sentences, pared down to the essentials yet capturing the atmosphere and the key characters with razor sharp insight. The finale should satisfy the most exigent fans of action thrillers, with a set piece on a dark, empty dockyard worthy of Kurosawa or Sergio Leone (Aimee is training in martial arts and can kick a lot of ass despite her slight build). Even though, the final scenes aim for the metaphorical rather than for the usual unmasking of the criminal elements and their motivations, hinting at the alienation of the individual and at the widespread corruption of the modern world.
Whichever way you go, there is a big hill to climb before you get out of Bleville
Aimee climbs into the sunset while the regular inhabitants of the town sleep peacefully, and the reader is left to decide for himself is she or us have a chance to escape from this French version of Sin City.
"Fatale" is my first 'polar' by Manchette, although I have been a great fan of the French cinema for decades and I see its influence and its homage to the American standard noirs all over the place (Quai des Brumes, Pepe le Moko and Les Enfants du Paradis being the earliest examples I can think of). The author mentions the circular road, the back and forth across the Atlantic, in the long lasting impression made by an American classic on his becoming a 'polareux' : Elliott Chaze - "Black Wings Has My Angel". I hope I will make time for the rest of his novels being translated right now into English, and, why not, maybe even try a couple in the original French. As a conclusion of my review and an added blurb advertisement I have saved another line from the James Sallis essay:
For Manchette and for the generation of writers who followed him, the crime novel is no mere entertainment, but a means to strip bare the failures of society, ripping through veils of appearance, deceit and manipulation to the greed and violence that are the society's true engines.
Thanks go to the Pulp Fiction group here on Goodreads for picking this up as the monthly read.
March 14, 2016
Much as I love it when bad things happen to rich people, I can only give this one three stars, and here's why . . .
Aimee has made a career of roaming from town to town, digging the dirt on the most illustrious citizens. She ingratiates herself into their inner circle, joining them at parties and picnics, becoming a friend and confidant, then using their dirty little secrets to take their money before heading on to the next venue. Her latest conquest, Bleville, seems ripe for the picking. As one resident proclaims, it is full of "Corruption, influence peddling, swindles of every stripe, sexual turpitude . . ." But, here, she may have met her match in Baron Jules. He's also longing to take down the rich and powerful. "I can decapitate this town." he cries.
This has such a good premise and so much promise, but at ninety-two pages, the book is just too short. I wanted more. More character development and more treachery. I wish that Aimee had gotten more of a thrill out of messing with the townsfolk, much like a cat playing with its prey, but she was really doing it only for the the money. Imagine how much better, how much juicier, this would have been had she played some games with her prey, perhaps pitting them against each other, before fleecing them. Also problematic was the fact that her wealthy adversaries seemed to have no distinct personalities. They sort of existed as one bulbous, money-scented entity.
All of this leads to a fast and violent ending that seemed rather implausible and overly dramatic. Still, there are worse ways to spend two hours of your life than reading this book. Like watching some rich men arguing over who has the biggest penis, let's say . . .
Aimee has made a career of roaming from town to town, digging the dirt on the most illustrious citizens. She ingratiates herself into their inner circle, joining them at parties and picnics, becoming a friend and confidant, then using their dirty little secrets to take their money before heading on to the next venue. Her latest conquest, Bleville, seems ripe for the picking. As one resident proclaims, it is full of "Corruption, influence peddling, swindles of every stripe, sexual turpitude . . ." But, here, she may have met her match in Baron Jules. He's also longing to take down the rich and powerful. "I can decapitate this town." he cries.
This has such a good premise and so much promise, but at ninety-two pages, the book is just too short. I wanted more. More character development and more treachery. I wish that Aimee had gotten more of a thrill out of messing with the townsfolk, much like a cat playing with its prey, but she was really doing it only for the the money. Imagine how much better, how much juicier, this would have been had she played some games with her prey, perhaps pitting them against each other, before fleecing them. Also problematic was the fact that her wealthy adversaries seemed to have no distinct personalities. They sort of existed as one bulbous, money-scented entity.
All of this leads to a fast and violent ending that seemed rather implausible and overly dramatic. Still, there are worse ways to spend two hours of your life than reading this book. Like watching some rich men arguing over who has the biggest penis, let's say . . .
April 12, 2019
Συμβιβάστηκα με το γεγονός ότι στη Fatale δεν υπάρχουν οι αναφορές στη μουσική ή την πολιτική που διαπνέουν τα περισσότερα από τα βιβλία του Jean-Patrick Manchette, αλλά δυσκολευόμουν να πιστέψω ότι δεν θ’ απαντούσα στις σελίδες της το είδος και την ένταση της (τυφλής) βίας που συνήθισα στο Νάδα ή την Πρηνή Θέση του Σκοπευτή. Ώσπου το καθημαγμένο ανθρωποκυνηγητό των τελευταίων σελίδων αποκατέστησε την τάξη, κι επιβεβαίωσε ότι οι αναφορές των κριτικών σε ‘φετιχισμό της βίας’, όσον αφορά το έργο του Μανσέτ, καθόλου σχήμα λόγου δεν είναι.
3,5/5 (με μια υποψία αδικίας)
3,5/5 (με μια υποψία αδικίας)
July 23, 2011
The other day someone asked for a french crime novel and he gave a bit of a plot synopsis that was just about the opposite of everything in this book, but it turned out that this was the book he was looking for. He wasn't my customer originally, but I was called in to help and I got it, because I'm sort of well read and have an idea of the books in the sections I work in (lets see one of your brain-dead drones trained on ISO do that corporate brainiacs, oh wait it doesn't matter that I did that because it can't be quantified in a report).
Anyway, the book. It's about a cold-hearted con-woman who gets into the lives of the upper-crust of small town society and then figures out a way to get their money and move on to another town. For the first 3/4's of the book it was just fine. I was thinking three stars, because as I've stated in other reviews goodreads has mediated my reading to think about the books I've read in terms of how many stars I'll be giving, and sometimes what kind of review I'll read (I'm sure there is more than one reviewer who spends some of their time while reading a book thinking of amusing pictures that will be used in a review), but then the book turns darker, or maybe it turns less political and it gets quite a bit better and the increase in quality in the last quarter of the book seemed to make the whole book better, it's not like it illuminated the first part of the book in some way that made the narrative seem like it was coyly holding back something, I can't actually put my finger on what I mean here, I'll just say that it made the 'Frenchness' of the novel work and not just be a quirk, or like a crime novel version of The Stranger (which is a crime novel, technically. Actually this novel has quite a few affinities with the existential novel inspired by The Cure song, "Killing an Arab").
There isn't a thing said in this review so far that really applies to the book. Or it does apply, but that would make you, the reader of this review and possible future consumer of this book know if this book is for you. Well, it took me a couple of hours at most to read it, so does it matter what I say? Give it a whirl, you'll waste less time than you will if you watch a "Real Housewives" marathon (I've never watched an episode of any of those shows, but I imagine it relates in some way to this book, I could see the protagonist moving into the vapid lives of those women (I'm assuming vapidity, and in Vegas I'd bet heavily that the shows are vapid even though I haven't watched them) and figure out a way to rob them and possibly kill a husband or two) so you should just go for it. Try reading the book! It's probably better than at least one of the big summer blockbusters and it will be cheaper and take less time to get through!
All my cynicism aside, I liked this book. It didn't radically change my world or anything, and it wasn't my favorite crime novel ever, or my favorite French novel, but it was a solid good reading experience. No BEST-EST!!!! EVERSSS!!!!! here but do you really expect every book you pick up to blow away all previous books in awesomeness?
And, thank you Ariel for getting a free copy of this for me from BEA!!!
Anyway, the book. It's about a cold-hearted con-woman who gets into the lives of the upper-crust of small town society and then figures out a way to get their money and move on to another town. For the first 3/4's of the book it was just fine. I was thinking three stars, because as I've stated in other reviews goodreads has mediated my reading to think about the books I've read in terms of how many stars I'll be giving, and sometimes what kind of review I'll read (I'm sure there is more than one reviewer who spends some of their time while reading a book thinking of amusing pictures that will be used in a review), but then the book turns darker, or maybe it turns less political and it gets quite a bit better and the increase in quality in the last quarter of the book seemed to make the whole book better, it's not like it illuminated the first part of the book in some way that made the narrative seem like it was coyly holding back something, I can't actually put my finger on what I mean here, I'll just say that it made the 'Frenchness' of the novel work and not just be a quirk, or like a crime novel version of The Stranger (which is a crime novel, technically. Actually this novel has quite a few affinities with the existential novel inspired by The Cure song, "Killing an Arab").
There isn't a thing said in this review so far that really applies to the book. Or it does apply, but that would make you, the reader of this review and possible future consumer of this book know if this book is for you. Well, it took me a couple of hours at most to read it, so does it matter what I say? Give it a whirl, you'll waste less time than you will if you watch a "Real Housewives" marathon (I've never watched an episode of any of those shows, but I imagine it relates in some way to this book, I could see the protagonist moving into the vapid lives of those women (I'm assuming vapidity, and in Vegas I'd bet heavily that the shows are vapid even though I haven't watched them) and figure out a way to rob them and possibly kill a husband or two) so you should just go for it. Try reading the book! It's probably better than at least one of the big summer blockbusters and it will be cheaper and take less time to get through!
All my cynicism aside, I liked this book. It didn't radically change my world or anything, and it wasn't my favorite crime novel ever, or my favorite French novel, but it was a solid good reading experience. No BEST-EST!!!! EVERSSS!!!!! here but do you really expect every book you pick up to blow away all previous books in awesomeness?
And, thank you Ariel for getting a free copy of this for me from BEA!!!
October 6, 2024
oh, the original gone girl (french) 😍 amy dunne, you’re NOTHING.
Read
January 2, 2024Lying in her hot bath, she opened the crime novel she had bought. She read ten pages. It took her six or seven minutes. She put the book down, masturbated, washed, and got out of the water. For a moment, in the bathroom mirror, she looked at her slim, seductive body. She dressed carefully; she aimed to please.
That would be Aimée, though that's not her real name. She changes it at every town she gets to. And when she gets there, she murders. We're left to wonder if she kills for profit, is an avenging angel against capitalist corruption, or maybe . . . she just likes it. In any event, she is good at it, and is not locked in to one manner of dispatch.
But I liked her.
That would be Aimée, though that's not her real name. She changes it at every town she gets to. And when she gets there, she murders. We're left to wonder if she kills for profit, is an avenging angel against capitalist corruption, or maybe . . . she just likes it. In any event, she is good at it, and is not locked in to one manner of dispatch.
But I liked her.
February 8, 2013
WAIT, CRIED THE BARON
This book was among a stack of short novels I keep for travel and speed-reads. I picked it up as a kind of palate cleanser before attempting some heavier items. At 20 pages, I put it down; then I picked it up again this afternoon, just to be able to write this review.
First, the NYRB Press deserves great scorn for packaging this as a classic thriller. It is not. It is not thrilling, not mysterious, not enticing, not smart, not ingenious.
Second, but -- Mon Dieu!! -- it is French and that is probably why it got the classic noir misnomer. It is, in fact, like those black & white French movies of the sixties where people mope about and say inexplicably emotional things while showing no emotion whatever, gazing off-screen at the crew, and behaving without perceptible rationality. Smoking unfiltered Gauloises, of course, while evoking not one teensy soupçon of care. But in French, with subtitles.
Third, "inauthentic" is the word. Well, maybe "inartistic" and "amateurish" are other words.
Fourth, the translator needed help, in order to avoid such passages as ...
"Wait!" cried the baron, plunging after her. "You are a terrifyingly negative and beautiful person." He tripped over one of the filthy rugs and fell to one knee. "Listen up!" he said. "Just what is your interest in all this?"
or ...
"Well, well, my little lady," said Commissioner Felloque when he saw Aimee. "You're going to break your neck. Where are you off to like that? Is something wrong?"
"I have just killed Baron Jules with a sporting gun," said Aimee.
"My God!"
Yes, my god, I said.
Fifth, at 97 pages it is probably 95-96 pages too long. But on a good note, everyone dies, fulfilling the reader's hopes in full. But not soon enough to make the reading a completely satisfying experience.
I know. I am a terrifyingly negative and beautiful person, but -- LISTEN UP! -- I really have to say I did not like this book.
February 5, 2019
090812: this is my favourite jean-patrick manchette. crime fiction at its best. why…?
this story is so short, sharp, cinematic i feel almost any critique is too long. i like this even more than his other two translated works i have read- three to kill, the prone gunman-, than the jacques tardi graphic novel. why do i favour such very short works over some generally regarded classics such as dfw or bolano or delillo, that if nothing else have the bulk to render big themes on a big canvas? perhaps i like short work purely in an instrumental way: something i can read, enjoy, read again, all in one afternoon at the coffeehouse. something that has a swift, simple, plot and characters. something that works in this way and does not ask to be thought too much. if i want to think, there are other works, there are many works of continental philosophy, waiting patiently to be read…
i keep thinking i will read those massive tomes some day, but then i come across something like this… and today is not some day. i like crime. i like roman noir. maybe i like french takes on crime…
so why am i delaying you from reading this work? it is short. it is there. read the first page and you will know if it is your sort, do not listen to me, i am just trying to justify my reading to myself if no one else… but then, there is no need for protesting this worthy, after all, i read for fun, i read a lot, i do not suggest to others they need read or admire my choices…
this story is so short, sharp, cinematic i feel almost any critique is too long. i like this even more than his other two translated works i have read- three to kill, the prone gunman-, than the jacques tardi graphic novel. why do i favour such very short works over some generally regarded classics such as dfw or bolano or delillo, that if nothing else have the bulk to render big themes on a big canvas? perhaps i like short work purely in an instrumental way: something i can read, enjoy, read again, all in one afternoon at the coffeehouse. something that has a swift, simple, plot and characters. something that works in this way and does not ask to be thought too much. if i want to think, there are other works, there are many works of continental philosophy, waiting patiently to be read…
i keep thinking i will read those massive tomes some day, but then i come across something like this… and today is not some day. i like crime. i like roman noir. maybe i like french takes on crime…
so why am i delaying you from reading this work? it is short. it is there. read the first page and you will know if it is your sort, do not listen to me, i am just trying to justify my reading to myself if no one else… but then, there is no need for protesting this worthy, after all, i read for fun, i read a lot, i do not suggest to others they need read or admire my choices…
July 5, 2021
The beautiful and dangerous Aimée Joubert comes to the seaport town of Bléville, looking to stir up trouble, open old wounds, and escape--leaving a few dead bodies and many empty pockets in her wake. But something goes wrong--something goes very, very wrong--and a dash of crime turns into a heap of trouble.
I'm always wary when NYRB Classics publishes slim novella-length books, wondering instead why they don't package a few shorter works together into a volume of more reasonable length. Leonardo Sciascia comes to mind. As for Jean-Patrick Manchette--well, I wondered at first, but changed my mind. At only 91 pages, Fatale packs a punch. Short, violent, packed with more story and character development than one might expect--and probably deeper and more meaningful than I realized (the afterword by Jean Echenoz caused me to go back and reread several passages). Manchette wrote ten novels, and only three have been translated into English. I hope the other seven soon follow.
I'm always wary when NYRB Classics publishes slim novella-length books, wondering instead why they don't package a few shorter works together into a volume of more reasonable length. Leonardo Sciascia comes to mind. As for Jean-Patrick Manchette--well, I wondered at first, but changed my mind. At only 91 pages, Fatale packs a punch. Short, violent, packed with more story and character development than one might expect--and probably deeper and more meaningful than I realized (the afterword by Jean Echenoz caused me to go back and reread several passages). Manchette wrote ten novels, and only three have been translated into English. I hope the other seven soon follow.
April 29, 2015
The back cover offers that Manchette considered crime novels "the great moral literature of our time", and so we get this bleak, perfect takedown of the terribly ordinary corruption and deficit of meaning of capitalist post-war society. As a kind of procedural of a passionless destroyer, it unfolds in succinct, crisp detail, revealing only what is needed, avoiding excessive movements until all is in place for total collapse. Though clearly a crime novel of a sort, it's also clearly metaphysically something far beyond such easy categorization. The last fifteen pages are among the most astonishing I've encountered all year.
February 7, 2025
February 7, 2025 Update This didn't work for me as a book, but I'll be interested if director Yorgos Lanthimos does proceed with a film adaptation. Read further at The Film Stage.
More Nihilist than Noir
Review of the English language translation (2011) of the French language original Fatale (1977)
From the synopsis that referred to a "grifter's deft manipulations" I had been expecting something a bit more clever here. Instead the tone of this just seemed farcical and the ending was a grand guignolesque bloodbath that wouldn't be out of place in a Tarantino movie.
I've recently become interested in the New York Review Books backlist of crime and noir novels as there have been several new discoveries for me there, especially in works by Dorothy B. Hughes and Leonardo Sciascia. Manchette's Fatale was a disappointment in that regard.
More Nihilist than Noir
Review of the English language translation (2011) of the French language original Fatale (1977)
From the synopsis that referred to a "grifter's deft manipulations" I had been expecting something a bit more clever here. Instead the tone of this just seemed farcical and the ending was a grand guignolesque bloodbath that wouldn't be out of place in a Tarantino movie.
I've recently become interested in the New York Review Books backlist of crime and noir novels as there have been several new discoveries for me there, especially in works by Dorothy B. Hughes and Leonardo Sciascia. Manchette's Fatale was a disappointment in that regard.
June 17, 2018
Ο Manchette έχει το μεγάλο προνόμιο στον χώρο του Noir, να μπορεί να χαρακτηριστεί… Αμερικανός. Όποιος έχει εντρυφήσει στο είδος κατανοεί πόσο τιμητικός είναι ο εν λόγω "χαρακτηρισμός".
Όσον αφορά το συγκεκριμένο έργο, η "Μοιραία" δεν με ενθουσίασε όσο το "Μελαγχολικό κομμάτι" και η "Πρηνής θέση", τα οποία θεωρώ εξαιρετικά δείγματα neo-Noir γραφής και αισθητικής. Φρονώ πως κάτι έλειπε από το βιβλίο που δεν μπορ�� να προσδιορίσω επακριβώς, ενώ μου φάνηκε κάπως βεβιασμένο ιδεολογικά, με συνέπεια η αφήγηση να μην είναι τόσο στιβαρή όσο θα έπρεπε.
Σε κάθε περίπτωση, ο Manchette παραμένει αγαπημένος μου συγγραφέας, κατάτι λιγότερο από τους Δασκάλους του, Χάμετ και Τσάντλερ.
Όσον αφορά το συγκεκριμένο έργο, η "Μοιραία" δεν με ενθουσίασε όσο το "Μελαγχολικό κομμάτι" και η "Πρηνής θέση", τα οποία θεωρώ εξαιρετικά δείγματα neo-Noir γραφής και αισθητικής. Φρονώ πως κάτι έλειπε από το βιβλίο που δεν μπορ�� να προσδιορίσω επακριβώς, ενώ μου φάνηκε κάπως βεβιασμένο ιδεολογικά, με συνέπεια η αφήγηση να μην είναι τόσο στιβαρή όσο θα έπρεπε.
Σε κάθε περίπτωση, ο Manchette παραμένει αγαπημένος μου συγγραφέας, κατάτι λιγότερο από τους Δασκάλους του, Χάμετ και Τσάντλερ.
April 11, 2023
sold to me as a french kill bill and did not disappoint. hard not to view this book in your head as looking like a cross between melville and a spaghetti western
October 14, 2024
I love it when a man dies in the first chapter
August 21, 2021
Un breve noir freddo, veloce, spiazzante e al tempo stesso cosi' particolare da restare appiccicato. Un che di grottesco regala un tocco straniante che lascia fino in fondo indecisi tra il sogno (incubo) e la realta'.
March 22, 2022
Aimee is a femme fatale. She blackmails wealthy people and also is a ruthless killer. This book is screaming for Quentin Tarantino to make it into a movie. The writing is concise and the use of metaphors excellent.
France’s answer to Kill Bill. Although Aimee is on a path to self destruction. Along the way she slaughters the corrupt wealthy of the seaside town she visits.
France’s answer to Kill Bill. Although Aimee is on a path to self destruction. Along the way she slaughters the corrupt wealthy of the seaside town she visits.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 11, 2012
He's received glowing recommendations, not least in comparison to my other recent discovery from 70's noirville Derek Raymond but perhaps I started in the wrong place to be as enamouried of this book by Manchette, the master of the French roman noir as I was hoping.
The pared now matter of fact prose means that at around 90 pages it's not as short as you might think, cramming a lot of the essentials in to as few words as possible. However I felt from the very beginning that there was something missing, intrigue and a little suspense perhaps, and another 30 pages to help with this wouldn't have gone amiss.
I couldn't help but be reminded of Delacorta's Alba & Gorodish novels, also from France in the late 70's but not very noir; the brevity of the books aside they both attack the bourgeois of small town France both in terms of insight but also physically using their protagonists to help them inflict mental and physical punishment for their 'evil' ways.
Fatale is more noir than just the title, 'the young woman' is as much a nihilist as it's possible for a killer for hire to be, the tone is bleak and matter of fact with the poetic soliloquies that are a staple of the genre finding an outlet only through the mouth of the madman/poseur/Marxist/victim (a touch that supports the claim that Manchette subverts genre conventions wherever possible.)
I'm a firm believer that a small novel can still be an amazing novel but in this instance I am sad to say that it is merely an interesting yet slightly disappointing introduction to an author who I hope to become better acquainted (and on better terms too) with sooner rather than later. This was no He Died with His Eyes Open.
The pared now matter of fact prose means that at around 90 pages it's not as short as you might think, cramming a lot of the essentials in to as few words as possible. However I felt from the very beginning that there was something missing, intrigue and a little suspense perhaps, and another 30 pages to help with this wouldn't have gone amiss.
I couldn't help but be reminded of Delacorta's Alba & Gorodish novels, also from France in the late 70's but not very noir; the brevity of the books aside they both attack the bourgeois of small town France both in terms of insight but also physically using their protagonists to help them inflict mental and physical punishment for their 'evil' ways.
Fatale is more noir than just the title, 'the young woman' is as much a nihilist as it's possible for a killer for hire to be, the tone is bleak and matter of fact with the poetic soliloquies that are a staple of the genre finding an outlet only through the mouth of the madman/poseur/Marxist/victim (a touch that supports the claim that Manchette subverts genre conventions wherever possible.)
I'm a firm believer that a small novel can still be an amazing novel but in this instance I am sad to say that it is merely an interesting yet slightly disappointing introduction to an author who I hope to become better acquainted (and on better terms too) with sooner rather than later. This was no He Died with His Eyes Open.
October 19, 2011
Some crime novels read like film noir...with this one, rather than watching a movie, I felt like I was watching an oil painting: thick, dark paint in wild and colorful, angry splotches...
The novella is taut. The ride is fascinating and increasingly over-the-top. Aimee is a killer, who first enmeshes her targets, the fat wealthy corrupt petty merchants and capitalists of Bleville, in a nicely drawn net knitted of their own corrupt machinations, and you're not sorry to see them knocked off. She herself is fascinating: lean, self-sufficient, elegant and mysterious. And yet...there is a weak spot. Which of course makes her more likeable, less cinematic.
A wild and fascinating ride.
I recommend it.
Maybe play some Serge Gainsbourg afterward: Bonnie and Clyde...
The novella is taut. The ride is fascinating and increasingly over-the-top. Aimee is a killer, who first enmeshes her targets, the fat wealthy corrupt petty merchants and capitalists of Bleville, in a nicely drawn net knitted of their own corrupt machinations, and you're not sorry to see them knocked off. She herself is fascinating: lean, self-sufficient, elegant and mysterious. And yet...there is a weak spot. Which of course makes her more likeable, less cinematic.
A wild and fascinating ride.
I recommend it.
Maybe play some Serge Gainsbourg afterward: Bonnie and Clyde...
February 17, 2026
I've quickly fallen in love with Manchette. He's sort of a male Blackwood or Comyns; he seems to enjoy nothing more than doing horrible shit to his characters. Similarly, too, no one is safe in the Manchette-verse, so growing attachment to a particular character is designed to pull the rug. It's a great trick when done right, and, several novels in, I can attest that he is a master rug-puller. I'm sure that's exactly what it says on his tombstone.
Fatale, while closer to a 3.5 than the celestial tres indicated, is only that WITHIN the Manchette-verse of crime, vice, violence, and generally delightful fuckery. He simply has work that is so much better, though no less lean, but I assume that a of people (lit bros, so 'a lot' is relative) go for this based off NYRB's tactical 'hot French fille in desperado straits with es seins généreux' cover. Look at that expression, boys! She's desperate to be your femme fatale; get in that. Fuck. I'd love to see the disappointed faces.
Enjoyable by even the baggiest standards, Fatale is sleight only when smushed (oui) together against his better work, which, thus far, is everything. But, hey, boobs.
Fatale, while closer to a 3.5 than the celestial tres indicated, is only that WITHIN the Manchette-verse of crime, vice, violence, and generally delightful fuckery. He simply has work that is so much better, though no less lean, but I assume that a of people (lit bros, so 'a lot' is relative) go for this based off NYRB's tactical 'hot French fille in desperado straits with es seins généreux' cover. Look at that expression, boys! She's desperate to be your femme fatale; get in that. Fuck. I'd love to see the disappointed faces.
Enjoyable by even the baggiest standards, Fatale is sleight only when smushed (oui) together against his better work, which, thus far, is everything. But, hey, boobs.
December 21, 2017
Fabulous start, wonderful descriptive prose, straightforward plot, charmingly ruthless femme fatale.
The first half of the book is superb, but then looses focus, and ends quite chaotically with a highly implausible climax. Too bad.
Bléville is, literally, Wheatville, but blé in a slang sense means money. The town’s name is thus something like Doughville.
Notes:
1.0% "... from the foreword...
"IN AUGUST 1980, in a homage to Dashiell Hammett entitled A Toast to Dash, Jean-Patrick Manchette declared Hammett “the best novelist in the world since 1920, and I can prove it”. Well, I believe Jean-Patrick Manchette is one of the greatest writers since Dashiell Hammett, his only true son and heir, and I also believe I can prove it.""
2.0% ".... skip the introduction. Very dull"
14.0% "... lovely, spare prose with flowing, detailed descriptions."
17.0% "... the translation from French is idiomatic and superb."
.
The first half of the book is superb, but then looses focus, and ends quite chaotically with a highly implausible climax. Too bad.
Bléville is, literally, Wheatville, but blé in a slang sense means money. The town’s name is thus something like Doughville.
Notes:
1.0% "... from the foreword...
"IN AUGUST 1980, in a homage to Dashiell Hammett entitled A Toast to Dash, Jean-Patrick Manchette declared Hammett “the best novelist in the world since 1920, and I can prove it”. Well, I believe Jean-Patrick Manchette is one of the greatest writers since Dashiell Hammett, his only true son and heir, and I also believe I can prove it.""
2.0% ".... skip the introduction. Very dull"
14.0% "... lovely, spare prose with flowing, detailed descriptions."
17.0% "... the translation from French is idiomatic and superb."
.
September 20, 2016
θάνατος στους μπουρζουάδες :)
August 8, 2020
3.5 stars
August 14, 2015
Couldn't go along with this. Perhaps due to translation, though every effort seems to have been made in that direction. Perhaps due to the heroine being a prototype violent-hipster-I-don't-care chick, and one that sort of prefigures the one in the Girl-Who series by Stieg Larsson. Of which I am not enamored.
Wants to be anarchic, searing, nihilist, hard-edged modern. Alain Robbe-Grillet packing heat. Comes off as a kind of homage to pulp or B-films with a veneer of philosophy to smear genres. Or something.
What makes me dislike this more than absolutely necessary: Quentin Tarantino would really really love it. Case closed.
Wants to be anarchic, searing, nihilist, hard-edged modern. Alain Robbe-Grillet packing heat. Comes off as a kind of homage to pulp or B-films with a veneer of philosophy to smear genres. Or something.
What makes me dislike this more than absolutely necessary: Quentin Tarantino would really really love it. Case closed.
November 2, 2019
A woman stands in front of a mirror and says, "Well it's the same as ever isn't it? It seems slow, but actually it is quite fast. Sex always comes up first. Then money questions. And then, last, come the old crimes." And after this, people get killed. In this novel one learns to see an opportunity then seize upon it. A perfect noir novel should be about 169 pages. This is about 100 pages, so you can read it while planning your next caper.
January 12, 2024
If you want a morally dubious female avenging angel taking out a boatload of men (while varying her weapon of choice), check out this book.
You know... I liked it.
You know... I liked it.
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