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qatsiBook Review: The Late Monsieur Gallet, by Georges Simenon
Recently Libreria had a clearance sale of books, with paperbacks for £1 each, and I picked up a couple of Maigret novels inter alia. I am far too young to remember the BBC's 1960s adaptation, though my parents had a single of Ron Grainer's memorable theme music, a melancholy waltz for accordion; I haven't researched it, but I doubt any involvement from Delia Derbyshire or the BBC Radiophonic Workshop on this occasion. In recent years I've seen a couple of the ITV dramatisations with Rowan Atkinson; what strikes me most about the character is that Maigret, unlike Holmes or Poirot, isn't a brilliant genius, but perhaps a rather dull one. That sensation is reinforced by reading this book, which is really quite minimal yet at the same time rather dense and far from lightweight, with a feeling that there's a lot going unsaid. It's an odd combination, because the central plot is really quite standard for the genre. Monsiuer Gallet has been shot through a window in his hotel room, but then stabbed fatally; the gun can't be found, no witnesses saw or heard anything unusual (fireworks may have been going off at the same time), and nothing makes much sense. His family seem strangely indifferent to his fate; it turns out that various aspects of his life have been faked, but to what purpose? A conventional yet inventive novel.
Recently Libreria had a clearance sale of books, with paperbacks for £1 each, and I picked up a couple of Maigret novels inter alia. I am far too young to remember the BBC's 1960s adaptation, though my parents had a single of Ron Grainer's memorable theme music, a melancholy waltz for accordion; I haven't researched it, but I doubt any involvement from Delia Derbyshire or the BBC Radiophonic Workshop on this occasion. In recent years I've seen a couple of the ITV dramatisations with Rowan Atkinson; what strikes me most about the character is that Maigret, unlike Holmes or Poirot, isn't a brilliant genius, but perhaps a rather dull one. That sensation is reinforced by reading this book, which is really quite minimal yet at the same time rather dense and far from lightweight, with a feeling that there's a lot going unsaid. It's an odd combination, because the central plot is really quite standard for the genre. Monsiuer Gallet has been shot through a window in his hotel room, but then stabbed fatally; the gun can't be found, no witnesses saw or heard anything unusual (fireworks may have been going off at the same time), and nothing makes much sense. His family seem strangely indifferent to his fate; it turns out that various aspects of his life have been faked, but to what purpose? A conventional yet inventive novel.