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La casa dei Krull
La casa dei Krull è al margine estremo del paese, e loro stessi ne vengono tenuti ai margini. Benché naturalizzati, restano gli stranieri, i diversi. Da sempre, e nonostante gli sforzi fatti per integrarsi. Nel loro emporio non si serve la gente del luogo, neanche i vicini, ma solo le mogli dei marinai che a bordo delle chiatte percorrono il canale. E quando davanti all'emporio viene ripescato il cadavere di una ragazza violentata e uccisa, i sospetti cadono fatalmente su di loro. In un magistrale crescendo di tensione, e con un singolare (e formidabile) rovesciamento, vediamo montare l'ostilità della popolazione francese verso la famiglia tedesca, e l'avversione per una minoranza, che rappresenta un perfetto capro espiatorio, degenerare progressivamente in odio e violenza. Mentre all'interno della casa dei Krull ciascuno deve fare i conti con le proprie colpe e le proprie vergogne nascoste. In questo romanzo oscuramente profetico, scritto alla vigilia della guerra, Simenon affronta un tema che gli sta molto a cuore, e lo fa scegliendo il punto di vista, disincantato e sagace, di un cugino dei Krull, un ospite tanto più inquietante, e imbarazzante, in quanto diverso, per così dire, al quadrato: diverso, come i Krull, dagli abitanti del paese, ma diverso anche da loro stessi, perché dotato di un buonumore «sconosciuto in quella casa», e di una disinvoltura, di una «leggerezza fisica e morale» che la rigida etica protestante paventa e aborre – e sarà proprio questa sua intollerabile estraneità a scatenare la tempesta.
210 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1939
21 people are currently reading
536 people want to read
About the author
Georges Simenon
2,738 books2,302 followersGeorges Joseph Christian Simenon (1903 – 1989) was a Belgian writer. A prolific author who published nearly 500 novels and numerous short works, Simenon is best known as the creator of the fictional detective Jules Maigret.
Although he never resided in Belgium after 1922, he remained a Belgian citizen throughout his life.
Simenon was one of the most prolific writers of the twentieth century, capable of writing 60 to 80 pages per day. His oeuvre includes nearly 200 novels, over 150 novellas, several autobiographical works, numerous articles, and scores of pulp novels written under more than two dozen pseudonyms. Altogether, about 550 million copies of his works have been printed.
He is best known, however, for his 75 novels and 28 short stories featuring Commissaire Maigret. The first novel in the series, Pietr-le-Letton, appeared in 1931; the last one, Maigret et M. Charles, was published in 1972. The Maigret novels were translated into all major languages and several of them were turned into films and radio plays. Two television series (1960-63 and 1992-93) have been made in Great Britain.
During his "American" period, Simenon reached the height of his creative powers, and several novels of those years were inspired by the context in which they were written (Trois chambres à Manhattan (1946), Maigret à New York (1947), Maigret se fâche (1947)).
Simenon also wrote a large number of "psychological novels", such as La neige était sale (1948) or Le fils (1957), as well as several autobiographical works, in particular Je me souviens (1945), Pedigree (1948), Mémoires intimes (1981).
In 1966, Simenon was given the MWA's highest honor, the Grand Master Award.
In 2005 he was nominated for the title of De Grootste Belg (The Greatest Belgian). In the Flemish version he ended 77th place. In the Walloon version he ended 10th place.
Although he never resided in Belgium after 1922, he remained a Belgian citizen throughout his life.
Simenon was one of the most prolific writers of the twentieth century, capable of writing 60 to 80 pages per day. His oeuvre includes nearly 200 novels, over 150 novellas, several autobiographical works, numerous articles, and scores of pulp novels written under more than two dozen pseudonyms. Altogether, about 550 million copies of his works have been printed.
He is best known, however, for his 75 novels and 28 short stories featuring Commissaire Maigret. The first novel in the series, Pietr-le-Letton, appeared in 1931; the last one, Maigret et M. Charles, was published in 1972. The Maigret novels were translated into all major languages and several of them were turned into films and radio plays. Two television series (1960-63 and 1992-93) have been made in Great Britain.
During his "American" period, Simenon reached the height of his creative powers, and several novels of those years were inspired by the context in which they were written (Trois chambres à Manhattan (1946), Maigret à New York (1947), Maigret se fâche (1947)).
Simenon also wrote a large number of "psychological novels", such as La neige était sale (1948) or Le fils (1957), as well as several autobiographical works, in particular Je me souviens (1945), Pedigree (1948), Mémoires intimes (1981).
In 1966, Simenon was given the MWA's highest honor, the Grand Master Award.
In 2005 he was nominated for the title of De Grootste Belg (The Greatest Belgian). In the Flemish version he ended 77th place. In the Walloon version he ended 10th place.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 99 reviews
December 23, 2023
The language of this roman dur feels to me like a departure from Simenon’s usual tone of voice. It is striking that the novel lacks his normally present cynical observations and black humor. I sincerely wondered whether Simenon felt some kinship with the Krull family’s fear to stand out as foreigners for being Germans in their French town. Still, I cannot imagine in all sincerity that Simenon ever felt a foreigner in France, because he was a Wallonian and French was his mother tongue. I felt that this story is upsetting and certainly still relevant today. The novel was written in 1938 and it is astonishing that Simenon referred to concentration camps in Germany several times. One would have thought that a concentration camp was not a very well-known phenomenon in 1938.
I thought it was an unexpectedly unpleasant novel and I hope that does not sound too negative. I had not anticipated to read a Simenon roman dur that was so black in tone and atmosphere.
I thought it was an unexpectedly unpleasant novel and I hope that does not sound too negative. I had not anticipated to read a Simenon roman dur that was so black in tone and atmosphere.
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April 19, 2024Reminds me of a story I heard long ago of a man who said he had a job with the WHO in Geneva, he said he was a doctor, maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. He lived in France, close to the Swiss border, had a wife, children, house. But he had no job, he lived by borrowing money from people, he spent a lot of time on golf courses, perhaps he borrowed from people he met there. I think it all ended badly with plenty of deaths.
Which is rather like this book, here one Hans Krull who in the 1930s has in an improper manner crossed the border from Germany to France visits his relatives, the French Krulls, they live in a town and have a small grocery and chandlery by a canal which caters to the canal users. A tram line runs close to their haunt. That felt symbolic, but in a vague way that left me unsettled.
There is a crime, which since it occurs by a canal put me in mind of the inspector Magret story The Carter of the Providence, but the focus of this story is not crime and it's resolution but the Krulls and their place in the community.
Hans Krull seems to be a happy go lucky kind of person while the French Krulls remain strangers in a strange land, their Patriarch Cornelius Krull, Hans' uncle, we are told has never learnt French and has forgotten much of his native German which illustrates the position of the Krulls in society. They go out on Sundays to the Protestant church - here resolutely called the Temple .
The idea of language of loss and not being able to communicate, and Hans Krull is also not meant to be able speak much French, and certainly not well, is powerful, but incredibly badly executed in this book. The young Simenon went to a Jesuit school in Liege, the Jesuits may have taught Simenon a lot about sin, sexuality and guilt, but apparently no German and not much about languages in general. Both Hans and Cornelius Krull as far as I could tell speak standard French just as everybody else does in the novel which undercuts the whole idea.
As you would expect from one of Simenon's roman dur - I wonder if Graham Greene took the idea of classifying some of his novels as 'entertainments' from Simenon - this is a bleak novel, offset by Hans Krull's jaunty desire to survive and thrive while doing the minimal amount of work possible.
While the Krulls cling together, looking inwards Hans feels free to cross boundaries and to exploit the bonds of trust within a group for his own benefit. The tramline suggests not so much running off the rails so much as everything running to a timetable towards an inevitable destination.
The novel reminded me of listening to the news one day, there had been a murder in a tourist resort in Thailand. A pundit explained that very quickly the Thai police would arrest a foreigner, or some foreigners, because obviously the murder couldn't be perpetrated by a Thai person, indeed, you will understand that economics alone would determine that. And so it came to pass, a foreigner was arrested and charged. Did they do it? Did any one care? Justice was seen to be done, and everybody lived happily ever after. Simenon however got there first with this book.
Which is rather like this book, here one Hans Krull who in the 1930s has in an improper manner crossed the border from Germany to France visits his relatives, the French Krulls, they live in a town and have a small grocery and chandlery by a canal which caters to the canal users. A tram line runs close to their haunt. That felt symbolic, but in a vague way that left me unsettled.
There is a crime, which since it occurs by a canal put me in mind of the inspector Magret story The Carter of the Providence, but the focus of this story is not crime and it's resolution but the Krulls and their place in the community.
Hans Krull seems to be a happy go lucky kind of person while the French Krulls remain strangers in a strange land, their Patriarch Cornelius Krull, Hans' uncle, we are told has never learnt French and has forgotten much of his native German which illustrates the position of the Krulls in society. They go out on Sundays to the Protestant church - here resolutely called the Temple .
The idea of language of loss and not being able to communicate, and Hans Krull is also not meant to be able speak much French, and certainly not well, is powerful, but incredibly badly executed in this book. The young Simenon went to a Jesuit school in Liege, the Jesuits may have taught Simenon a lot about sin, sexuality and guilt, but apparently no German and not much about languages in general. Both Hans and Cornelius Krull as far as I could tell speak standard French just as everybody else does in the novel which undercuts the whole idea.
As you would expect from one of Simenon's roman dur - I wonder if Graham Greene took the idea of classifying some of his novels as 'entertainments' from Simenon - this is a bleak novel, offset by Hans Krull's jaunty desire to survive and thrive while doing the minimal amount of work possible.
While the Krulls cling together, looking inwards Hans feels free to cross boundaries and to exploit the bonds of trust within a group for his own benefit. The tramline suggests not so much running off the rails so much as everything running to a timetable towards an inevitable destination.
The novel reminded me of listening to the news one day, there had been a murder in a tourist resort in Thailand. A pundit explained that very quickly the Thai police would arrest a foreigner, or some foreigners, because obviously the murder couldn't be perpetrated by a Thai person, indeed, you will understand that economics alone would determine that. And so it came to pass, a foreigner was arrested and charged. Did they do it? Did any one care? Justice was seen to be done, and everybody lived happily ever after. Simenon however got there first with this book.
August 26, 2024
#30
Chez krull
Dopo due letture deludenti mi è venuto spontaneo mettere la mano nella cartella -Simenon- e tirare su a caso uno dei suoi romanzi duri.
Nella breve prefazione a “La casa dei Krull” c’è una notazione esatta:
Il fatto base nei romanzi di Simenon non conta se non presuppone un’accurata ricostruzione morale e ambientale che spieghi e giustifichi quel fatto.
Le ricostruzioni di Simenon sono da manuale: mai tutto di fila, mai troppo frammentato, passato e presente intervallati nel migliore dei modi, rari slanci di speranzoso futuro.
“La casa dei Krull” ricorda “II piccolo libraio di Archangelsk”, Il tema sono gli stranieri trapiantati in Francia. Il libraio era un ebreo russo solitario, i Krull sono un’intera famiglia tedesca a cui si aggrega Hans, un torbido cugino. Ho visto che il romanzo è stato pubblicato nel 1965, non faccio fatica a pensare come fossero invisi i tedeschi dopo la seconda guerra mondiale. La famiglia Krull gestisce una drogheria presso la quale acquistano solo i marinai e coloro che non hanno i soldi per pagare in contanti. I Krull fanno credito e ricevono discredito (questa è una costante).
L’elemento che farà crollare il precario equilibrio familiare sarà Hans, il cugino sfaccendato e sfacciato che li raggiunge dalla Germania per stabilirsi a casa loro.
Hans è l’uomo simenoniano che non teme i propri desideri e li asseconda a scapito di chiunque. È falso, opportunista, malevolo e consapevole di tutto ciò. Simenon lo specchia con il cugino Joseph, timido, remissivo schiavo delle proprie repressioni e arriva a scrivere che i due si assomiglino, siano le due risposte possibili ai medesimi desideri.
I Krull abitano vicino ad un canale dove avviene un omicidio, ciò li candida, in quanto stranieri, proprio come lo era libraio, ad essere i principali indiziati.
La ricostruzione di cui si parla nella prefazione coinvolge tutti i membri della famiglia e alcuni membri della comunità, grazie ad essa i comportamenti discutibili di ognuno trovano la loro ragione d’essere. Mi hanno colpito le parole di Hans sulle colpe degli stranieri, che spesso sono anche orgogliosi di esserlo:
«È di te che si sospetta e che si continuerà a sospettare…»
«Perché sono straniero!» rispondeva Joseph. «È sempre la stessa storia! Ogni volta che capita qualcosa nel quartiere, è su di noi che ricade…»
«Non è perché siete stranieri…» proferì Hans da uomo che detiene la verità e che non è sfiorato dal dubbio. «È perché lo siete troppo poco!… O, forse, lo siete troppo…»
Non lo siete con franchezza; siete degli stranieri timidi, come siete dei protestanti timidi… Venite a vivere tra gente diversa e volete imitarla; ma lo fate goffamente, sapendo che non ci riuscirete mai, e loro lo sentono. Scommetto che il 14 luglio voi esponete più bandiere degli altri e che al Corpus Domini spargete petali di rose per la strada. La gente ce l’ha di più con voi che se non faceste proprio niente; se abbassaste, francamente, le vostre imposte…»
Questo brano è uno spot sulla difficoltà di qualsiasi integrazione. Essa non è ostacolata solo dai cittadini ospitanti, gli ospitati intimamente si sentono superiori a chi li ospita e ciò crea linee divisorie ben marcate.
Riporto uno dei passi che mi fanno stravedere per Simenon pur rendendomi conto che fuori dal contesto sia difficile spiegarne la forza
Un sottile filo d’acqua filtrava da una valvola mal avvitata della chiusa, e metteva nell’aria come un gorgoglio di fontana, interrotto di tanto in tanto dal fracasso del tram, le cui irruzioni si diradavano con la notte
Simenon ha sentito quel rumore in un altro contesto e ora lo riproduce mentalmente. Sono passi come questo che rendono veri i suoi libri. Alcuni scrittori si sbizzarriscono in complicate trovate poetiche, lui dà la parola ad una valvola. La colonna sonora dei nostri pensieri ossessivi non è l’aria di Bach, sono i rumori ripetitivi, i suoni insistiti di cui perdiamo consapevolezza mentre congetturiamo.
Ho già scritto dello strisciante senso di minaccia che si percepisce nei romans durs, lo troverete anche qui: non sarà qualcosa che è accaduto in questo caso, sarà qualcosa che deve ancora avvenire. Generalmente le minacce descritte da Simenon sono conseguenze del fatto base e vi assicuro che nonostante ciò, generano comunque inquietudine.
Il titolo avrebbe dovuto essere “A casa dei Krull” alla fine del romanzo infatti vi sembrerà di aver passato alcuni giorni con loro, ospiti indesiderati quanto Hans.
Chez krull
Dopo due letture deludenti mi è venuto spontaneo mettere la mano nella cartella -Simenon- e tirare su a caso uno dei suoi romanzi duri.
Nella breve prefazione a “La casa dei Krull” c’è una notazione esatta:
Il fatto base nei romanzi di Simenon non conta se non presuppone un’accurata ricostruzione morale e ambientale che spieghi e giustifichi quel fatto.
Le ricostruzioni di Simenon sono da manuale: mai tutto di fila, mai troppo frammentato, passato e presente intervallati nel migliore dei modi, rari slanci di speranzoso futuro.
“La casa dei Krull” ricorda “II piccolo libraio di Archangelsk”, Il tema sono gli stranieri trapiantati in Francia. Il libraio era un ebreo russo solitario, i Krull sono un’intera famiglia tedesca a cui si aggrega Hans, un torbido cugino. Ho visto che il romanzo è stato pubblicato nel 1965, non faccio fatica a pensare come fossero invisi i tedeschi dopo la seconda guerra mondiale. La famiglia Krull gestisce una drogheria presso la quale acquistano solo i marinai e coloro che non hanno i soldi per pagare in contanti. I Krull fanno credito e ricevono discredito (questa è una costante).
L’elemento che farà crollare il precario equilibrio familiare sarà Hans, il cugino sfaccendato e sfacciato che li raggiunge dalla Germania per stabilirsi a casa loro.
Hans è l’uomo simenoniano che non teme i propri desideri e li asseconda a scapito di chiunque. È falso, opportunista, malevolo e consapevole di tutto ciò. Simenon lo specchia con il cugino Joseph, timido, remissivo schiavo delle proprie repressioni e arriva a scrivere che i due si assomiglino, siano le due risposte possibili ai medesimi desideri.
I Krull abitano vicino ad un canale dove avviene un omicidio, ciò li candida, in quanto stranieri, proprio come lo era libraio, ad essere i principali indiziati.
La ricostruzione di cui si parla nella prefazione coinvolge tutti i membri della famiglia e alcuni membri della comunità, grazie ad essa i comportamenti discutibili di ognuno trovano la loro ragione d’essere. Mi hanno colpito le parole di Hans sulle colpe degli stranieri, che spesso sono anche orgogliosi di esserlo:
«È di te che si sospetta e che si continuerà a sospettare…»
«Perché sono straniero!» rispondeva Joseph. «È sempre la stessa storia! Ogni volta che capita qualcosa nel quartiere, è su di noi che ricade…»
«Non è perché siete stranieri…» proferì Hans da uomo che detiene la verità e che non è sfiorato dal dubbio. «È perché lo siete troppo poco!… O, forse, lo siete troppo…»
Non lo siete con franchezza; siete degli stranieri timidi, come siete dei protestanti timidi… Venite a vivere tra gente diversa e volete imitarla; ma lo fate goffamente, sapendo che non ci riuscirete mai, e loro lo sentono. Scommetto che il 14 luglio voi esponete più bandiere degli altri e che al Corpus Domini spargete petali di rose per la strada. La gente ce l’ha di più con voi che se non faceste proprio niente; se abbassaste, francamente, le vostre imposte…»
Questo brano è uno spot sulla difficoltà di qualsiasi integrazione. Essa non è ostacolata solo dai cittadini ospitanti, gli ospitati intimamente si sentono superiori a chi li ospita e ciò crea linee divisorie ben marcate.
Riporto uno dei passi che mi fanno stravedere per Simenon pur rendendomi conto che fuori dal contesto sia difficile spiegarne la forza
Un sottile filo d’acqua filtrava da una valvola mal avvitata della chiusa, e metteva nell’aria come un gorgoglio di fontana, interrotto di tanto in tanto dal fracasso del tram, le cui irruzioni si diradavano con la notte
Simenon ha sentito quel rumore in un altro contesto e ora lo riproduce mentalmente. Sono passi come questo che rendono veri i suoi libri. Alcuni scrittori si sbizzarriscono in complicate trovate poetiche, lui dà la parola ad una valvola. La colonna sonora dei nostri pensieri ossessivi non è l’aria di Bach, sono i rumori ripetitivi, i suoni insistiti di cui perdiamo consapevolezza mentre congetturiamo.
Ho già scritto dello strisciante senso di minaccia che si percepisce nei romans durs, lo troverete anche qui: non sarà qualcosa che è accaduto in questo caso, sarà qualcosa che deve ancora avvenire. Generalmente le minacce descritte da Simenon sono conseguenze del fatto base e vi assicuro che nonostante ciò, generano comunque inquietudine.
Il titolo avrebbe dovuto essere “A casa dei Krull” alla fine del romanzo infatti vi sembrerà di aver passato alcuni giorni con loro, ospiti indesiderati quanto Hans.
July 24, 2022
Una famiglia di origine tedesca ormai naturalizzata: ecco chi sono i Krull, proprietari dell'emporio sulla darsena.
In una giornata qualunque arriva Hans, un Krull come loro ma un Krull tedesco che non fa nulla per integrarsi e nascondere il suo accento. Il ritrovamento del cadavere di una giovane ragazza del posto scalderà gli animi.
Pregiudizi, diffidenza, intolleranza in una storia dove non ho trovato come altrove un filo ben teso.
Romanzo del 1939.
Simenon ci racconta del razzismo francese dove le vittime sono tedeschi di probabile razza ariana mentre in Germania i Lager funzionavano ormai a pieno regime...
March 18, 2017
"L'intolleranza è qualcosa che genera le guerre, i pogrom, le crocifissioni e i linciaggi. Spinge gli uomini a essere crudeli verso i bambini e anche fra loro. L'intolleranza è responsabile della cattiveria, delle violenze, del terrore e dei dolori che tormentano il mondo".
Non è un pensiero farina del mio sacco, l'ho letto stamattina nel libro che sto leggendo, "Un albero cresce a Brooklyn", e l'ho trovato un commento perfetto per "La casa dei Krull". Sono coincidenze che a volte capitano.
Comunque un "solito" gran Simenon, di profonda sottigliezza psicologica, che tratta un tema, a lui caro, oggi come allora -negli anni '30-'40- fonte di tormentati dibattiti e scontri: la paura dello straniero.
Non è un pensiero farina del mio sacco, l'ho letto stamattina nel libro che sto leggendo, "Un albero cresce a Brooklyn", e l'ho trovato un commento perfetto per "La casa dei Krull". Sono coincidenze che a volte capitano.
Comunque un "solito" gran Simenon, di profonda sottigliezza psicologica, che tratta un tema, a lui caro, oggi come allora -negli anni '30-'40- fonte di tormentati dibattiti e scontri: la paura dello straniero.
February 28, 2019
An ostracised family in a small canal town receives a visit from a German cousin. The Krulls are foreigners in a closly knit community who settled in the area after the end of First World War. Cornelius, the patriarch, is resigned to spending his days hidden from view in the workroom, and is viewed with suspicion and contempt by neighbours; the family runs a grocery shop that is heavily reliant on canal workers for trade. A fragile peace in the community and at home is shattered when cousin arrives, made worse when a young girl’s body is found in the canal.
This is a dark and disturbing account of paranoia written just before the war; a relevant and very timely warning about the dangers of unfounded suspicion and hatred (of ‘foreigners’) in a small community.
This is a dark and disturbing account of paranoia written just before the war; a relevant and very timely warning about the dangers of unfounded suspicion and hatred (of ‘foreigners’) in a small community.
May 18, 2017
I read about this in a diary piece in the London Review of Books by Julian Barnes, he talked of how it is still relevant today in the light of Brexit, in its treatment of immigrants (' if the immigrant doesn’t work hard, he is a scrounger; if he does, he is money-minded and avaricious.'). I was going to write more but find myself wanting to quote all the time so I can do no better than to reproduce some of Barnes' piece:
'The novel is set in a small French town in the north, towards Belgium; the time must be the late 1930s. The original Krull, Cornelius, was German, but has spent four-fifths of his life in France, and became naturalised before the First World War; he still barely speaks French and is losing his German. A weaver, he had spent a peripatetic time before settling, as a man does, for no apparent reason, in a hut among the reed-beds. He scratched out an existence making baskets; largely mute, pipe-smoking, he still does, with a hunchbacked and equally mute assistant. He married the illegitimate daughter of a ‘woman from the South’ who kept a bar on the canal, fathered by a passing man from Alsace. The Krulls – there are two daughters, Anna (30) and Elisabeth (17), and one son, Joseph (25), born on either side of the Great War – have expanded the bar to include an épicerie and a bargees’ chandlery. They live at the very edge of town, near a lock, where the yellow trams turn round. The complex genealogy, legal status and time-line are important. Despite several decades of scrupulously honest existence – Joseph has done his French military service – the Krulls are still regarded as outsiders: they confirm this themselves, when every Sunday they walk into town to the Protestant temple. They survive mainly on the passing trade of bargees, who, while scarcely enlightened, lack the prejudices of the town, and are happy to stock up chez Krull before the next stage of their journey. The Krulls’ precarious existence is contrasted with that of their only friends, another German immigrant family, the Schoofs, who run a butter and cheese shop. They have assimilated better: only French is spoken in the shop, and it seems that the town has decided – partly from the name – that the Schoofs are in fact Dutch. On such nuances do lives and livelihoods depend.
'Cousin Hans arrives from Germany on the first page, preceded by a letter from his father. Hans regards himself as a ‘pure’ Krull, and is everything the impure Krulls are not: he is cynical, mendacious, scrounging and loud-mouthed. His first act, on moving in, is brutally to seduce the underage Elisabeth. He borrows money from his aunt and bullies the timid Joseph, who is studying for his medical exams. He goes to see Pierre Schoof, breaks the shop rules by loudly talking German, and when hustled into a back office, asks to borrow money: a large part of his father’s fortune, he reveals, is tied up in Belgium, and he needs to wire 5000 francs immediately in order to release it. (Nowadays, this scam arrives regularly into email inboxes, and still works; it’s good to see the original, face-to-face version.) There is, of course, no money in Belgium; Hans spends the loan freely in town, and never mentions repayment. His behaviour alarms the ‘French’ Krulls. He lies casually, and confesses those lies just as casually; he also forged that letter of introduction from his father, who died 15 years previously. But, worse than all this, he blatantly and deliberately offends against the first law of the immigrant: do not draw attention to yourself. And by drawing attention to himself, Hans Krull also draws attention to those ‘impure’ relatives of his who live beside the canal where the town runs out.
'Simenon lays out with ruthless exactitude the way selfish, conscience-free greed exploits modest, hospitable decency... [and] the wider notion that those, like Hans, who take life less seriously than others are better equipped to survive it.... [he admires] Simenon’s grasp of the restless dynamic between autochthon and immigrant, especially when anything goes wrong. An outbreak of typhoid? Even though Joseph is a victim, he is deemed the carrier. Virtue is turned into vice: if the immigrant doesn’t work hard, he is a scrounger; if he does, he is money-minded and avaricious. Simenon well understands what spurs and then animates a rising swell of racist indignation. A stone is thrown through the window, a picket is mounted by children, a drunken woman establishes a false narrative, a doorstep is smeared with shit, a dead cat is found hanging from the bell-pull, the words assassins and a mort are daubed on the shop’s blind. The police are only half-helpful: as one investigating officer says to another, ‘It smells of Kraut in here.’ The Krulls decide – not inaccurately – that Hans is the bringer, or at least aggravator, of their misfortune, and attempt to pack him back to Germany. But Hans declines the role of scapegoat, and so the novel moves to a grim conclusion which, though emotionally logical, I doubt you would guess (and which I shan’t give away).
'Simon Leys, that wise Belgian Sinologist, critic and novelist, rightly notes, in The Hall of Uselessness, Simenon’s ability to achieve ‘unforgettable effects by ordinary means. His language is poor and bare (like the language of the unconscious) … It would be difficult to make an anthology of his best pages: he does not have best pages, he only has better novels, in which everything hangs together without a single seam.’ What typically helps produce his unforgettable results is a tight unity of place and time: in most of Simenon’s books, what might be happening in Paris, let alone the outside world, is rarely a consideration. Chez Krull is a departure from that norm: the outside world impinges forcefully. Borders are crossed (the novel even ends in Italy); we hear of Hans in Belgium and Hans in Germany. What is his stated reason for refusing to return there? It made my head jolt back. ‘Because there was talk of putting me in a concentration camp.’ The words camp de concentration occur four times in the novel (in a different lie, Hans’s long-dead father has recently been put in one). I checked the date of the book: Simenon finished it at La Rochelle on 27 July 1938. What was all that about most people being ignorant of concentration camps until after the war? It is there in the popular fiction of the day.
'Books travel strangely through time, sometimes remaining just themselves, sometimes picking up an extra charge and weight from the circumstances in which they are read. I was reading Chez Krull not many months after the Brexit vote and what appeared to be its immediate social repercussions: the wall-daubings, the increase in racial abuse, the throwing of shit at ‘foreign’ women, the arson of a halal butcher, the licensed aggro of ‘English patriots’, the killing of a Pole in Harlow. Even in my strongly Remain part of London, I noticed some of its effects: for instance, the way Eastern European builders now lowered their voices rather than shouting at one another in cheery Slavic accents. I am well into bus-pass age, but am largeish and evidently white, and felt abashed when receiving nervous glances on pavements from smaller, less white women. The world of Chez Krull is a common, shared one.
'Referendum Day fell strangely, smack between the birthday of my Francophile father (22 June) and my Francophile mother (24 June), both long dead. That evening, after the polls had closed, there were eight of us at supper; all had voted Remain, while feeling little enthusiasm for those who had publicly argued our cause: Cameron, Osborne and the Incredible Vanishing Man who was leading Labour. But both campaigns had been rampantly mendacious, and built on the armature of fear. Towards the end, I asked the table: ‘If it all goes wrong, who will you hate the most: Gove, Johnson, or Farage?’ Gove was beneath numerical notice; Johnson got seven votes; I put my own marker against Farage. In the context of Brexit, Johnson seemed to me just a chancer; Farage, on the other hand, had been poisoning the well for years, with his fake man-in-pub chaff, his white paranoia and low-to-mid-level racism (isn’t it hard to hear English spoken on a train nowadays?). But of course Nigel can’t really be a racist, can he, because he’s got a German wife? (Except that she’s now chucked him out for the Usual Reasons.) Without Farage’s covert and overt endorsement, the smothered bonfire of xenophobia would not have burst into open flame on 23 June. After the killing of Arkadiusz Jóźwik in Harlow, there was television footage of a group of Polish mourners. They spoke quietly and decently – don’t draw attention to yourself! – but I was glad when a youngish Pole said: ‘And there is one other person responsible. I won’t give his name. (pause) Yes, I will. It’s Nigel Farage.’ A day or two after the referendum, Farage proudly announced that we had got our independence back ‘without a single bullet being fired’. Yes – apart from the three fired into Jo Cox MP from the home-made gun of an ‘English patriot’.'
read the whole piece here: https://www.lrb.co.uk/v39/n08/julian-...
'The novel is set in a small French town in the north, towards Belgium; the time must be the late 1930s. The original Krull, Cornelius, was German, but has spent four-fifths of his life in France, and became naturalised before the First World War; he still barely speaks French and is losing his German. A weaver, he had spent a peripatetic time before settling, as a man does, for no apparent reason, in a hut among the reed-beds. He scratched out an existence making baskets; largely mute, pipe-smoking, he still does, with a hunchbacked and equally mute assistant. He married the illegitimate daughter of a ‘woman from the South’ who kept a bar on the canal, fathered by a passing man from Alsace. The Krulls – there are two daughters, Anna (30) and Elisabeth (17), and one son, Joseph (25), born on either side of the Great War – have expanded the bar to include an épicerie and a bargees’ chandlery. They live at the very edge of town, near a lock, where the yellow trams turn round. The complex genealogy, legal status and time-line are important. Despite several decades of scrupulously honest existence – Joseph has done his French military service – the Krulls are still regarded as outsiders: they confirm this themselves, when every Sunday they walk into town to the Protestant temple. They survive mainly on the passing trade of bargees, who, while scarcely enlightened, lack the prejudices of the town, and are happy to stock up chez Krull before the next stage of their journey. The Krulls’ precarious existence is contrasted with that of their only friends, another German immigrant family, the Schoofs, who run a butter and cheese shop. They have assimilated better: only French is spoken in the shop, and it seems that the town has decided – partly from the name – that the Schoofs are in fact Dutch. On such nuances do lives and livelihoods depend.
'Cousin Hans arrives from Germany on the first page, preceded by a letter from his father. Hans regards himself as a ‘pure’ Krull, and is everything the impure Krulls are not: he is cynical, mendacious, scrounging and loud-mouthed. His first act, on moving in, is brutally to seduce the underage Elisabeth. He borrows money from his aunt and bullies the timid Joseph, who is studying for his medical exams. He goes to see Pierre Schoof, breaks the shop rules by loudly talking German, and when hustled into a back office, asks to borrow money: a large part of his father’s fortune, he reveals, is tied up in Belgium, and he needs to wire 5000 francs immediately in order to release it. (Nowadays, this scam arrives regularly into email inboxes, and still works; it’s good to see the original, face-to-face version.) There is, of course, no money in Belgium; Hans spends the loan freely in town, and never mentions repayment. His behaviour alarms the ‘French’ Krulls. He lies casually, and confesses those lies just as casually; he also forged that letter of introduction from his father, who died 15 years previously. But, worse than all this, he blatantly and deliberately offends against the first law of the immigrant: do not draw attention to yourself. And by drawing attention to himself, Hans Krull also draws attention to those ‘impure’ relatives of his who live beside the canal where the town runs out.
'Simenon lays out with ruthless exactitude the way selfish, conscience-free greed exploits modest, hospitable decency... [and] the wider notion that those, like Hans, who take life less seriously than others are better equipped to survive it.... [he admires] Simenon’s grasp of the restless dynamic between autochthon and immigrant, especially when anything goes wrong. An outbreak of typhoid? Even though Joseph is a victim, he is deemed the carrier. Virtue is turned into vice: if the immigrant doesn’t work hard, he is a scrounger; if he does, he is money-minded and avaricious. Simenon well understands what spurs and then animates a rising swell of racist indignation. A stone is thrown through the window, a picket is mounted by children, a drunken woman establishes a false narrative, a doorstep is smeared with shit, a dead cat is found hanging from the bell-pull, the words assassins and a mort are daubed on the shop’s blind. The police are only half-helpful: as one investigating officer says to another, ‘It smells of Kraut in here.’ The Krulls decide – not inaccurately – that Hans is the bringer, or at least aggravator, of their misfortune, and attempt to pack him back to Germany. But Hans declines the role of scapegoat, and so the novel moves to a grim conclusion which, though emotionally logical, I doubt you would guess (and which I shan’t give away).
'Simon Leys, that wise Belgian Sinologist, critic and novelist, rightly notes, in The Hall of Uselessness, Simenon’s ability to achieve ‘unforgettable effects by ordinary means. His language is poor and bare (like the language of the unconscious) … It would be difficult to make an anthology of his best pages: he does not have best pages, he only has better novels, in which everything hangs together without a single seam.’ What typically helps produce his unforgettable results is a tight unity of place and time: in most of Simenon’s books, what might be happening in Paris, let alone the outside world, is rarely a consideration. Chez Krull is a departure from that norm: the outside world impinges forcefully. Borders are crossed (the novel even ends in Italy); we hear of Hans in Belgium and Hans in Germany. What is his stated reason for refusing to return there? It made my head jolt back. ‘Because there was talk of putting me in a concentration camp.’ The words camp de concentration occur four times in the novel (in a different lie, Hans’s long-dead father has recently been put in one). I checked the date of the book: Simenon finished it at La Rochelle on 27 July 1938. What was all that about most people being ignorant of concentration camps until after the war? It is there in the popular fiction of the day.
'Books travel strangely through time, sometimes remaining just themselves, sometimes picking up an extra charge and weight from the circumstances in which they are read. I was reading Chez Krull not many months after the Brexit vote and what appeared to be its immediate social repercussions: the wall-daubings, the increase in racial abuse, the throwing of shit at ‘foreign’ women, the arson of a halal butcher, the licensed aggro of ‘English patriots’, the killing of a Pole in Harlow. Even in my strongly Remain part of London, I noticed some of its effects: for instance, the way Eastern European builders now lowered their voices rather than shouting at one another in cheery Slavic accents. I am well into bus-pass age, but am largeish and evidently white, and felt abashed when receiving nervous glances on pavements from smaller, less white women. The world of Chez Krull is a common, shared one.
'Referendum Day fell strangely, smack between the birthday of my Francophile father (22 June) and my Francophile mother (24 June), both long dead. That evening, after the polls had closed, there were eight of us at supper; all had voted Remain, while feeling little enthusiasm for those who had publicly argued our cause: Cameron, Osborne and the Incredible Vanishing Man who was leading Labour. But both campaigns had been rampantly mendacious, and built on the armature of fear. Towards the end, I asked the table: ‘If it all goes wrong, who will you hate the most: Gove, Johnson, or Farage?’ Gove was beneath numerical notice; Johnson got seven votes; I put my own marker against Farage. In the context of Brexit, Johnson seemed to me just a chancer; Farage, on the other hand, had been poisoning the well for years, with his fake man-in-pub chaff, his white paranoia and low-to-mid-level racism (isn’t it hard to hear English spoken on a train nowadays?). But of course Nigel can’t really be a racist, can he, because he’s got a German wife? (Except that she’s now chucked him out for the Usual Reasons.) Without Farage’s covert and overt endorsement, the smothered bonfire of xenophobia would not have burst into open flame on 23 June. After the killing of Arkadiusz Jóźwik in Harlow, there was television footage of a group of Polish mourners. They spoke quietly and decently – don’t draw attention to yourself! – but I was glad when a youngish Pole said: ‘And there is one other person responsible. I won’t give his name. (pause) Yes, I will. It’s Nigel Farage.’ A day or two after the referendum, Farage proudly announced that we had got our independence back ‘without a single bullet being fired’. Yes – apart from the three fired into Jo Cox MP from the home-made gun of an ‘English patriot’.'
read the whole piece here: https://www.lrb.co.uk/v39/n08/julian-...
July 10, 2021
A story set in the 1930s. Hans a con man and scrounger goes to his cousins also Germans but living in France. Where they have not assimilated with the local population. This is a story about hate, racism and a prelude to when Europe went to war. The Krull’s are a strange family, Hans seduces Lisbeth, cons money from a friend and watches the family.
A young girl is raped and murdered then dumped in a canal outside the Krull’s house. Joseph the son is suspected and most likely the murderer. The Krull’s are then made the scrape goats by the anti immigrant locals.
The father Cornelius kills himself, Joseph is arrested and Hans leaves. Nothing is clearly resolved and years later Joseph bumps into Hans in Italy on holiday. Joseph is now married with a family. We are left to speculate what happened.
Simenon captures the race hatred and mass hysteria wonderfully. He was prophetic of the violence and horror that were to engulf Europe after the books and publication in 1939.
A young girl is raped and murdered then dumped in a canal outside the Krull’s house. Joseph the son is suspected and most likely the murderer. The Krull’s are then made the scrape goats by the anti immigrant locals.
The father Cornelius kills himself, Joseph is arrested and Hans leaves. Nothing is clearly resolved and years later Joseph bumps into Hans in Italy on holiday. Joseph is now married with a family. We are left to speculate what happened.
Simenon captures the race hatred and mass hysteria wonderfully. He was prophetic of the violence and horror that were to engulf Europe after the books and publication in 1939.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 24, 2019
For a book first published in 1939, The Krull House remains remarkably relevant to the Europe of today, frighteningly so. In this brilliant, tightly-wound novel, Simenon skilfully illustrates the destructive effect that suspicions and prejudices against outsiders can have on an insular community – all executed in the author’s characteristically economical prose.
The story focuses on the Krull family who live in a modest house on the edge of a rural French town, just by the lock of a canal. Cornelius Krull, the father of the family, was born in Germany but has spent most of his adult life in France, having settled in the town several years earlier following a period of wandering. In spite of his time in France, Cornelius has never learned to speak French, choosing instead to communicate in an odd dialect only his immediate family can understand.
To read my review, please visit:
https://jacquiwine.wordpress.com/2019...
The story focuses on the Krull family who live in a modest house on the edge of a rural French town, just by the lock of a canal. Cornelius Krull, the father of the family, was born in Germany but has spent most of his adult life in France, having settled in the town several years earlier following a period of wandering. In spite of his time in France, Cornelius has never learned to speak French, choosing instead to communicate in an odd dialect only his immediate family can understand.
To read my review, please visit:
https://jacquiwine.wordpress.com/2019...
August 4, 2021
Uno spazio cicoscritto, una piccola casetta di periferia, marginale sia fisicamente che metaforicamente. Tutta la narrazione racchiusa in pochi metri quadrati eppure sempre tesa e viva. La capacita' narrativa di Simenon si conferma anche in questa occasione dove il filo rosso e' l'estraneita', l'essere forestieri per sempre e ovunque. Senza melensaggine, una vita da esclusi si dipana con maestria e (purtroppo) con attualita'.
May 2, 2020
Written on the eve of the 2nd World War and pointedly still as relevant today. Like Simenon's best work, a slow burner of atmosphere, of shared looks, small moments and simple conversation that build to a shocking and profound conclusion. Excellent.
Read
January 21, 2025There are any number of ways to view this novel, or any number of ways to try and explain it. At its most basic it is the story of the Krull family, Germans who have lived for decades in a rural French town. They have tried to fit in, operating a kind of bar and grocery store, and otherwise trying to keep a low-profile. But they are never fully accepted.
Things change, or come to a head, when their cousin Hans arrives from Germany. It is right before the Second World War. Hans protests that he is the victim of political oppression and was forced to flee. He says his father sent him to them for asylum. But Hans is a kind of con-man: a liar, a sponger, a man seemingly without a conscience. Just one example: his father, who allegedly sent him, was a suicide fifteen years ago.
Hans does not keep a low-profile, instead flaunts his nonchalant ways, and this adds to the suspicions of the townspeople. When a young woman is raped, murdered and dumped in the canal, eyes turn toward the Krull House.
Hans, though unlikeable, is an observant character, a quick study. He figures things out, even proves useful. Until, Cornelius, the family patriarch, tells him, "You must leave." The pace quickens, brilliantly.
Things change, or come to a head, when their cousin Hans arrives from Germany. It is right before the Second World War. Hans protests that he is the victim of political oppression and was forced to flee. He says his father sent him to them for asylum. But Hans is a kind of con-man: a liar, a sponger, a man seemingly without a conscience. Just one example: his father, who allegedly sent him, was a suicide fifteen years ago.
Hans does not keep a low-profile, instead flaunts his nonchalant ways, and this adds to the suspicions of the townspeople. When a young woman is raped, murdered and dumped in the canal, eyes turn toward the Krull House.
Hans, though unlikeable, is an observant character, a quick study. He figures things out, even proves useful. Until, Cornelius, the family patriarch, tells him, "You must leave." The pace quickens, brilliantly.
June 7, 2023
E' il mio primo Simenon "cartaceo" (avevo rivisto recentemente tutti i Maigret con un grandissimo Gino Cervi) : scritto molto molto bene, ma sinceramente mi aspettavo un qualcosa in piu'.
Comunque non desisto!
Comunque non desisto!
November 19, 2021
As in Le Petit Homme d'Arkhangelsk, (https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...), the recurring theme in Chez Krull is that of the other, the foreigner, he who does not conform to the surrounding norm.
This is yet another of Simenon's romans durs dealing with the baser aspects of human nature, specifically with the inherent fear of the other and the almost mechanically aggressive and violent response that this other triggers.
The Krulls are naturalized French citizens, whose patriarch is originally from Germany. Although the children were born and raised in France, the stigma of the foreigner in the small knit community they inhabit has attached to the family, and does not relent. This generalized hate of the foreigner is like a spider web waiting for a misstep in order to randomly capture its victim.
The more the family and each of its individuals try to fit in, and the more they prosper in their community, the more they are ostracized. And then two forces collide: a violent crime is committed within the community, and the Krull nephew - who wears his German "otherness" with ease whilst cynically observing the family's unsuccessful attempt to be accepted - almost forcibly instills himself into the family and the community. These two colliding vectors will shatter the fragile equilibrium of the Krulls' existence.
The novel was first published in 1939, well before the great immigration movement from Africa and the Middle East to Europe, but it could have been written today. The novel's perception of the fear governing the reaction to the other, and the violence that could ensue, is as relevant as ever.
This is yet another of Simenon's romans durs dealing with the baser aspects of human nature, specifically with the inherent fear of the other and the almost mechanically aggressive and violent response that this other triggers.
The Krulls are naturalized French citizens, whose patriarch is originally from Germany. Although the children were born and raised in France, the stigma of the foreigner in the small knit community they inhabit has attached to the family, and does not relent. This generalized hate of the foreigner is like a spider web waiting for a misstep in order to randomly capture its victim.
The more the family and each of its individuals try to fit in, and the more they prosper in their community, the more they are ostracized. And then two forces collide: a violent crime is committed within the community, and the Krull nephew - who wears his German "otherness" with ease whilst cynically observing the family's unsuccessful attempt to be accepted - almost forcibly instills himself into the family and the community. These two colliding vectors will shatter the fragile equilibrium of the Krulls' existence.
The novel was first published in 1939, well before the great immigration movement from Africa and the Middle East to Europe, but it could have been written today. The novel's perception of the fear governing the reaction to the other, and the violence that could ensue, is as relevant as ever.
September 2, 2023
Some very interesting characters here, especially old Father Cornelius, and the enigmatic Hans, who makes things worse for his relatives when he arrives in town, tipping things over the edge for them, then fading back out of their lives...in the end, has anything really changed for them?
3.5 stars
3.5 stars
April 27, 2021
4.5 stars. An engaging, interesting, sad, tragic, memorable, concise short novel about a German immigrant family living in a French town close to a canal and the Belgian border. Set in the 1930s. The father, Cornelius Krull, ended up settling in the town before World War I for no particular reason other than he had felt like stopping wandering from place to place. He became a naturalised French citizen, though he still hadn’t learned French, even after spending four-fifths of his life in France. His sister lives in his house with his wife, two daughters and a son. The family runs a business that is patronised by travellers and barge men. The local townsfolk do little trade with the Krull’s, who are viewed as Germans.
A young French girl is raped and strangled to death. After a week of no one being arrested the drunken mother of the murdered girl accuses the Krull’s son of the murder. Things turn ugly with the townsfolk abusing the Krull’s.
A very well written short novel that is relevant in these present times. If you are new to Simenon’s ‘Roman durs’, this is a good book to find out whether Simenon’s writing style is to your taste.
This book was first published in France in 1939.
A young French girl is raped and strangled to death. After a week of no one being arrested the drunken mother of the murdered girl accuses the Krull’s son of the murder. Things turn ugly with the townsfolk abusing the Krull’s.
A very well written short novel that is relevant in these present times. If you are new to Simenon’s ‘Roman durs’, this is a good book to find out whether Simenon’s writing style is to your taste.
This book was first published in France in 1939.
September 10, 2025
Not my favorite — it feels uncertain as to whether it will be a Maigret book or not — and so it falls neither here nor there.
Read
June 1, 2023A difficult one. On the one hand, I concede the John Banville / Andy Miller point — this text is ahead of its time, and crystallises some ways immigrants are mistrusted and mistreated so vividly that one is tempted to call it a diagnosis of the European condition. On the other hand, the text's frankly pedophilic sympathies with Hans damage its artistic and moral integrity, probably irreparably. I am wary of enacting what Sedgwick would call a paranoid reading; I want to read the text on its terms, and not criticise it for not being something it never wanted to be. But it feels like a masculinist contingency that often male (bar Brookner) fans strain to overlook, and underplay, leading me to be confused when the character we're supposed to see as blameless is professedly lascivious towards his teenage cousin. In the end, a touch disappointing.
May 15, 2021
Simenon was a wonderful writer. His 75 Maigret novels were enjoyable, but his major achievements in my opinion, were the other serious psychological novels, know as his Roman Durs (roughly translated as hard or harrowing novels). Simenon called these novels his portraits of deviance, and feature characters who are on the edges of society, many of them psychologically damaged, most of them thrust into difficult personal situations, involving jealousy and greed and conflict, love and hate. I don't know of any other writer in literature who consistency portrayed potential psychopaths and sociopaths so disturbingly well.
The Krull House is not his best Roman Dur, not by a long way, but it is good literature, and it is a more modern translation from the French.
A young man arrives in a French village before the war, coming from Germany, to stay with his relatives who have also fled from the German state and it's concentration camps. He is a liar and con-man at 25 years of age. His relatives are Germans, and include the father, mother, two daughters (18 and 23 years of age) and a son 25 years of age, a large German boy who likes to walk the village streets at night watching lovers in the open. When a young woman is found dead in the canal near the home, we gradually see the drunken peasant French townspeople accuse the German family and attack them.
There are themes here of peasant persecution, voyeurism, rape, discrimination, xenophobia, drunkenness, and gang violence. There are portrayals of the psychology of damaged people, and how they all attempt to navigate these volatile conditions.
The book is written throughout with an underlying menacing tone.
I can only reiterate, that in my opinion, Simenon was a great writer, and should possibly have been awarded the Nobel prize for literature at some stage during his career.
The Krull House is not his best Roman Dur, not by a long way, but it is good literature, and it is a more modern translation from the French.
A young man arrives in a French village before the war, coming from Germany, to stay with his relatives who have also fled from the German state and it's concentration camps. He is a liar and con-man at 25 years of age. His relatives are Germans, and include the father, mother, two daughters (18 and 23 years of age) and a son 25 years of age, a large German boy who likes to walk the village streets at night watching lovers in the open. When a young woman is found dead in the canal near the home, we gradually see the drunken peasant French townspeople accuse the German family and attack them.
There are themes here of peasant persecution, voyeurism, rape, discrimination, xenophobia, drunkenness, and gang violence. There are portrayals of the psychology of damaged people, and how they all attempt to navigate these volatile conditions.
The book is written throughout with an underlying menacing tone.
I can only reiterate, that in my opinion, Simenon was a great writer, and should possibly have been awarded the Nobel prize for literature at some stage during his career.
August 29, 2023
" Then he was afraid. He looked at the three of them. Did he feel it was his turn to become the Stranger, the cause of all the evils in the world?"
November 12, 2024
I have read all the Maigret novels and short stories.
George Simenon is one of my favourite authors because of those books. I have always tried to read his other works to get a wider appreciation of his writing.
However, I often find his novels, away from his famous detective are a little more complicated and harder to ‘get into’. The first few pages are a struggle to me until the story comes to the fore, then the words start to buzz and flow. I become absorbed into a new set of characters, a fresh milieu and focused by the direction the story is headed.
The Krull House was no different.
I have no doubt though if I were to immediately re-read it. The book would have an immediacy, with momentum and reward me with a deeper understanding of this unusual mystery.
It centres on the Krull family; their ways and their collective inability to integrate into France despite the head of the house having left Germany some decades ago. The book is character driven and the unbending, methodical and quite predictable Krull family are unsettled when cousin Hans, a real German, turns up needing a place to stay.
I loved the contrast that Hans brings. His freedom, and sense of identity, playing on his differences. His energy and unorthodoxy fails to influence the others. Indeed it shines a light on the rest of the family as being foreigners and still strangers within their community.
A strong social commentary on the power of rumour; the need to apportion blame with scapegoating and the force of mob behaviour. Especially set against a police force unable to respond to lawlessness and adequately disperse an unruly crowd intent on violence. It conjured up recent scenes in Southport and Liverpool where “protests” quickly deteriorated into riotous acts of criminality and threats to life.
As a consequence my opinion of Simenon the author has been enhanced and I would urge others to read this powerful work. First published in 1939, when just 36 years old.
It captures a moment in time, but is strangely prophetic.
George Simenon is one of my favourite authors because of those books. I have always tried to read his other works to get a wider appreciation of his writing.
However, I often find his novels, away from his famous detective are a little more complicated and harder to ‘get into’. The first few pages are a struggle to me until the story comes to the fore, then the words start to buzz and flow. I become absorbed into a new set of characters, a fresh milieu and focused by the direction the story is headed.
The Krull House was no different.
I have no doubt though if I were to immediately re-read it. The book would have an immediacy, with momentum and reward me with a deeper understanding of this unusual mystery.
It centres on the Krull family; their ways and their collective inability to integrate into France despite the head of the house having left Germany some decades ago. The book is character driven and the unbending, methodical and quite predictable Krull family are unsettled when cousin Hans, a real German, turns up needing a place to stay.
I loved the contrast that Hans brings. His freedom, and sense of identity, playing on his differences. His energy and unorthodoxy fails to influence the others. Indeed it shines a light on the rest of the family as being foreigners and still strangers within their community.
A strong social commentary on the power of rumour; the need to apportion blame with scapegoating and the force of mob behaviour. Especially set against a police force unable to respond to lawlessness and adequately disperse an unruly crowd intent on violence. It conjured up recent scenes in Southport and Liverpool where “protests” quickly deteriorated into riotous acts of criminality and threats to life.
As a consequence my opinion of Simenon the author has been enhanced and I would urge others to read this powerful work. First published in 1939, when just 36 years old.
It captures a moment in time, but is strangely prophetic.
July 31, 2017
Ancora una volta Simenon stupisce per la maestria con cui riesce a creare, pur all'interno di situazioni apparentemente statiche, quel minimo abbrivio che poi sfocerà in un esito drammatico.
Qui il lettore assiste per quasi due terzi del libro al caricamento di una molla che solo nelle pagine finali rilascerà tutta l'energia accumulata, peraltro in maniera affatto inattesa.
Una carrellata di personaggi cupi, gretti, cialtroneschi, morbosi, in una parola: malati, ognuno a suo modo. E anche se nessuno di essi si è macchiato del crimine attorno al quale si sviluppa l'intreccio, nessuno può dirsi davvero innocente.
Qui il lettore assiste per quasi due terzi del libro al caricamento di una molla che solo nelle pagine finali rilascerà tutta l'energia accumulata, peraltro in maniera affatto inattesa.
Una carrellata di personaggi cupi, gretti, cialtroneschi, morbosi, in una parola: malati, ognuno a suo modo. E anche se nessuno di essi si è macchiato del crimine attorno al quale si sviluppa l'intreccio, nessuno può dirsi davvero innocente.
May 24, 2025
3.75
Povera famiglia Krull..
Tinte molto fosche, umide, desolate, per questo secondo Simenon che aggiungo alla collezione.
Anche qui ho apprezzato lo stile un po' criptico, dal tratto quasi gelido, ed i suoi personaggi tinteggiati con pochi tratti essenziali ma che restano indelebili.
Una storia amara e dal finale tutt'altro che lieto.
Povera famiglia Krull..
Tinte molto fosche, umide, desolate, per questo secondo Simenon che aggiungo alla collezione.
Anche qui ho apprezzato lo stile un po' criptico, dal tratto quasi gelido, ed i suoi personaggi tinteggiati con pochi tratti essenziali ma che restano indelebili.
Una storia amara e dal finale tutt'altro che lieto.
May 25, 2017
Narrata magistralmente, ossia "alla Simenon", la tragedia che può scatenarsi quando i pregiudizi e le diffidenze prendono il sopravvento. E soprattutto quando a pregiudizi e diffidenze si risponde con uguali pregiudizi e diffidenze; perché se è vero che i Krull sono malvisti dai loro vicini e da tutto il paese in quanto stranieri, è altrettanto vero che il cugino Hans è da loro (mal)visto nello stesso modo. Gli abitanti francesi non si fidano di questa famiglia di tedeschi, che a sua volta non si fida di quel cugino appena arrivato dalla Germania. E come la cittadina intera preferisce addossare su di loro ogni colpa, così loro finiscono col vedere nel cugino la causa di tutte le loro disgrazie
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October 23, 20253.5⭐️
July 13, 2024
Ambientato nel Nord della Francia, i Krull sono una famiglia di origine tedesca naturalizzati francesi, ma che non sono del tutto accettati nel paese. Vivono in una casa bottega davanti al canale, che vende sia alcolici che alimentari e prodotti per la casa. I loro clienti sono soprattutto i marinai che vanno a bere dopo il lavoro in quanto i vicini preferiscono servirsi in altre botteghe. L'arrivo imprevisto di un loro cugino dalla Germania porterà scompiglio nell'equilibrio già precario della famiglia e quando una ragazzina verrà ritrovata morta nel canale la colpa ricadrà inevitabilmente su uno dei Krull. Questo romanzo non è proprio un giallo perché non è importante scoprire chi è l'assassino ma è interessante per la caratterizzazione e l'analisi di tutti i personaggi e quel senso di ansia e rabbia che si insinua nel lettore per quel crescendo di odio e pregiudizio nei confronti dello straniero.
January 9, 2023
In questo breve romanzo ritrovo lo stile di Simenon, bravissimo a delineare personaggi controversi, meschini, crudeli o banali nella loro normalità. E le atmosfere nelle quali ti senti davvero invischiato, in un tempo denso e lento e fisico.
La storia narrata racconta di disagio, razzismo, emarginazione.
Consigliato.
La storia narrata racconta di disagio, razzismo, emarginazione.
Consigliato.
June 28, 2021
I love Simenon's non-Maigret books, some of them are my absolute favourites. Sometimes it occurs to me to think that Simenon was very clever and foresaw that the next generation, or the next but one, would live in a world where identity, belonging and "the other" are of paramount importance. He must have also foreseen that his books would be read in years to come (although many titles are out of print).
Simenon has produced numerous short novels that focus on an ordinary man who suddenly finds himself out of his depths. "The Little Man from Archangel" and "Window over the Way" are perhaps the best of this group. In "The Krull House" there is a whole family under scrutiny. At one point the novel felt very much like watching an oil painting dry, with the tension increasing as I turned the pages.
Simenon's skill, however, is that, although similar in tone, all the books are different. The Krulls have lived for decades in a small French town but they have never been accepted. Now that a crime has been committed, who else is to blame but the foreigners?
Simenon has produced numerous short novels that focus on an ordinary man who suddenly finds himself out of his depths. "The Little Man from Archangel" and "Window over the Way" are perhaps the best of this group. In "The Krull House" there is a whole family under scrutiny. At one point the novel felt very much like watching an oil painting dry, with the tension increasing as I turned the pages.
Simenon's skill, however, is that, although similar in tone, all the books are different. The Krulls have lived for decades in a small French town but they have never been accepted. Now that a crime has been committed, who else is to blame but the foreigners?
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