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Commissaire Adamsberg #1
The Chalk Circle Man
MORE THAN 7 MILLION COPIES SOLD WORLDWIDE.
Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg is not like other policemen. His methods appear unorthodox in the extreme: he doesn't search for clues; he ignores obvious suspects and arrests people with cast-iron alibis; he appears permanently distracted. In spite of all this his colleagues are forced to admit that he is a born cop.
When strange blue chalk circles start appearing overnight on the pavements of Paris, only Adamsberg takes them - and the increasingly bizarre objects found within them - seriously. And when the body of a woman with her throat savagely cut is found in one, only Adamsberg realises that other murders will soon follow.
Winner of The Crime Writers' Association Duncan Lawrie International Dagger.
Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg is not like other policemen. His methods appear unorthodox in the extreme: he doesn't search for clues; he ignores obvious suspects and arrests people with cast-iron alibis; he appears permanently distracted. In spite of all this his colleagues are forced to admit that he is a born cop.
When strange blue chalk circles start appearing overnight on the pavements of Paris, only Adamsberg takes them - and the increasingly bizarre objects found within them - seriously. And when the body of a woman with her throat savagely cut is found in one, only Adamsberg realises that other murders will soon follow.
Winner of The Crime Writers' Association Duncan Lawrie International Dagger.
Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1991
537 people are currently reading
5310 people want to read
About the author
Fred Vargas
68 books1,630 followersFred Vargas is the pseudonym of the French historian, archaeologist and writer Frédérique Audoin-Rouzeau (often mistakenly spelled "Audouin-Rouzeau"). She is the daughter of Philippe Audoin(-Rouzeau), a surrealist writer who was close to André Breton, and the sister of the historian Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, a noted specialist of the First World War who inspired her the character of Lucien Devernois.
Archeo-zoologist and historian by trade, she undertook a project on the epidemiology of the Black Death and bubonic plague, the result of which was a scientific work published in 2003 and still considered definitive in this research area: Les chemins de la peste : Le rat la puce et l'homme (Pest Roads).
As a novelist, Fred Vargas writes mostly crime stories. She found writing was a way to combine her interests and relax from her job as a scientist. Her novels are set in Paris and feature the adventures of Chief Inspector Adamsberg and his team. Her interest in the Middle Ages is manifest in many of her novels, especially through the person of Marc Vandoosler, a young specialist in the period.
She separated her public persona as a writer from her scientific persona by adopting the pseudonym Fred Vargas. "Fred" is the diminutive of her given name, Frédérique, while with "Vargas", she has chosen the same pseudonym than her twin sister, Jo Vargas (pseudonym of Joëlle Audoin-Rouzeau), a painter. For both sisters, the pseudonym "Vargas" derives from the Ava Gardner character in "The Barefoot Contessa".
Her crime fiction policiers have won three International Dagger Awards from the Crime Writers Association, for three successive novels: in 2006, 2008 and 2009. She is the first author to achieve such an honor. In each case her translator into English has been Sîan Leonard, who was also recognized by the international award.
Archeo-zoologist and historian by trade, she undertook a project on the epidemiology of the Black Death and bubonic plague, the result of which was a scientific work published in 2003 and still considered definitive in this research area: Les chemins de la peste : Le rat la puce et l'homme (Pest Roads).
As a novelist, Fred Vargas writes mostly crime stories. She found writing was a way to combine her interests and relax from her job as a scientist. Her novels are set in Paris and feature the adventures of Chief Inspector Adamsberg and his team. Her interest in the Middle Ages is manifest in many of her novels, especially through the person of Marc Vandoosler, a young specialist in the period.
She separated her public persona as a writer from her scientific persona by adopting the pseudonym Fred Vargas. "Fred" is the diminutive of her given name, Frédérique, while with "Vargas", she has chosen the same pseudonym than her twin sister, Jo Vargas (pseudonym of Joëlle Audoin-Rouzeau), a painter. For both sisters, the pseudonym "Vargas" derives from the Ava Gardner character in "The Barefoot Contessa".
Her crime fiction policiers have won three International Dagger Awards from the Crime Writers Association, for three successive novels: in 2006, 2008 and 2009. She is the first author to achieve such an honor. In each case her translator into English has been Sîan Leonard, who was also recognized by the international award.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,168 reviews
May 16, 2022
El libro tiene una primera parte muy aburrida dónde sólo importan las diatribas de sus personajes. La lectura mejora durante la segunda parte ya que la trama toma protagonismo y es cuando se coge ritmo.
Los personajes son excéntricos y histriónicos hasta el hastío. No me ha gustado ninguno de ellos. Quiere crear unos personajes tan diferentes que los lleva al sinsentido. Entiendo que uno quiera ser original, pero tiene que haber una lógica humana.
Ni el final me ha parecido original.
Todo muy plano.
Me costarà volver a coger un libro de Fred Vargas y tenía muchas ganas de que me gustase, pero los planes no salen siempre bien.
Los personajes son excéntricos y histriónicos hasta el hastío. No me ha gustado ninguno de ellos. Quiere crear unos personajes tan diferentes que los lleva al sinsentido. Entiendo que uno quiera ser original, pero tiene que haber una lógica humana.
Ni el final me ha parecido original.
Todo muy plano.
Me costarà volver a coger un libro de Fred Vargas y tenía muchas ganas de que me gustase, pero los planes no salen siempre bien.
September 19, 2017
The Chalk Circle Man is a crime-mystery story so I’m not going to describe the plot. I’ve never heard about this novel earlier until I read Fionnuala’s write-up and it intrigued me enough to get acquaintanted with commisaire Jean- Baptiste Adamsberg by myself.
I quite enjoyed the story, found some ideas and dialogues clever and though the plot probably will quickly evaporate from my mind yet the protagonists stay a bit longer, I guess. Firstly, a figure of Adamsberg, an antithesis of investigator and opposite to Sherlock Holmes. He’s all intuition and guesswork that I assume is not so natural in this work. Sixth sense is very useful both in real life and detective work but logic and analytical thinking seems basic to me. As to his cast of features, well it was as if God had run out of raw materials when he had made Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg: he had had to look in the back of the drawer and put together features that should never have been combined if he’d had more choice . Never had I heard about God possessing drawers, neither in Bible nor Cain that I’ve read recently is that even mentioned. But, from the other hand, my friend claims that God made me, okay us, women, from dog’s tail. And, no, this friend is neither misogynist nor antifeminist or whatever you could think about from this statement. It’s just happened that when Adam asked for a company God looked around and spotted dog nearby but clever animal scented trouble and so God was left only with its tail in his hand.
Secondly, erudite and walking encyclopaedia, father of four but raising five, connoisseur of wine, with rather rotten luck with women inspector Danglard is a perfect counterbalance to chimeric commisaire. He has feet firmly on the ground and is a tower of strength and reason to Adamsberg.
And some other protagonists worth mentioning: Reyer, blinded some years back virulent and nasty but mostly unhappy handsome devil and quirky oldie Clemence, hopelessly digging in matrimonial proposals, hoping to find the love of her life, and a man, hopefully at the same time. This mismatched pair resides at the house of one of the brightest and finely drawn figure in that novel, Mathilde. Eccentric, intelligent and talkative oceanographer who, when tired of sea creatures, likes following people and their behaviours. She also has an interesting theory concerning days of week. In short: in first part of the week we can count on stroke of genius or luck, we’re active and alert. In second part we're rather cruising for a bruising and wasting our time and energy to miserable effects while Sunday is just a mess and recipe for a disaster.
The Chalk Circle Man is the first installment of cycle featuring unorthodox and enigmatic detective and it read well enough to make me curious how Vargas developed her writing skills and what else she made up for her protagonists. And as a postscript I wanted to add that I read it on Sunday evening that to me is the worst part of a whole week.
3.5/5
I quite enjoyed the story, found some ideas and dialogues clever and though the plot probably will quickly evaporate from my mind yet the protagonists stay a bit longer, I guess. Firstly, a figure of Adamsberg, an antithesis of investigator and opposite to Sherlock Holmes. He’s all intuition and guesswork that I assume is not so natural in this work. Sixth sense is very useful both in real life and detective work but logic and analytical thinking seems basic to me. As to his cast of features, well it was as if God had run out of raw materials when he had made Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg: he had had to look in the back of the drawer and put together features that should never have been combined if he’d had more choice . Never had I heard about God possessing drawers, neither in Bible nor Cain that I’ve read recently is that even mentioned. But, from the other hand, my friend claims that God made me, okay us, women, from dog’s tail. And, no, this friend is neither misogynist nor antifeminist or whatever you could think about from this statement. It’s just happened that when Adam asked for a company God looked around and spotted dog nearby but clever animal scented trouble and so God was left only with its tail in his hand.
Secondly, erudite and walking encyclopaedia, father of four but raising five, connoisseur of wine, with rather rotten luck with women inspector Danglard is a perfect counterbalance to chimeric commisaire. He has feet firmly on the ground and is a tower of strength and reason to Adamsberg.
And some other protagonists worth mentioning: Reyer, blinded some years back virulent and nasty but mostly unhappy handsome devil and quirky oldie Clemence, hopelessly digging in matrimonial proposals, hoping to find the love of her life, and a man, hopefully at the same time. This mismatched pair resides at the house of one of the brightest and finely drawn figure in that novel, Mathilde. Eccentric, intelligent and talkative oceanographer who, when tired of sea creatures, likes following people and their behaviours. She also has an interesting theory concerning days of week. In short: in first part of the week we can count on stroke of genius or luck, we’re active and alert. In second part we're rather cruising for a bruising and wasting our time and energy to miserable effects while Sunday is just a mess and recipe for a disaster.
The Chalk Circle Man is the first installment of cycle featuring unorthodox and enigmatic detective and it read well enough to make me curious how Vargas developed her writing skills and what else she made up for her protagonists. And as a postscript I wanted to add that I read it on Sunday evening that to me is the worst part of a whole week.
3.5/5
Read
July 26, 2025There's a great piece in this book about the variable potential of the days of the week. Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays are the promising ones, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, the more unpredictable ones, and Sundays are such fragile days that it takes very little to mess them up completely.*
Mondays are always the days I begin new projects—I'd never dream of beginning one on a Sunday—so I really related to that scenario. And I could just as easily apply the theory to the hours of the day since mornings are definitely my promising times. If I haven't tackled the serious things that need tackling early in the day, they begin to seem impossible and I'm always inclined to put them off to a fresher morning. Needless to say, anything serious attempted late in the evening is asking for trouble.
I imagine that Fred Vargas wrote two thirds of this book in the mornings, and definitely in the first half of the week. Those sections are full of colorful characters and clever dialogue, and I was totally charmed. But then it comes time for Vargas to attempt to resolve the mystery of the blue circles of the title.
Hmm, I'm guessing she wrote those troubled muddlings late at night, in the second half of the week, and more than likely on a Sunday...
*–À mon idée, lundi-mardi-mercredi, ça fait une tranche de semaine, la tranche 1. Ce qui arrive dans la tranche 1 est d’un genre assez différent de ce qui arrive dans la tranche 2.
–Jeudi-vendredi-samedi ?
–Voilà. Si on regarde bien, on voit plus de surprises sérieuses dans la tranche 1, en général, je dis bien en général, et plus de précipitation et d’amusement dans la tranche 2. Question de rythme. Ça n’alterne jamais, à la différence des stationnements pour voitures dans certaines rues, où pendant une quinzaine on a le droit de se garer, et pendant la suivante on n’a plus le droit. Pourquoi ? Pour reposer la rue ? Pour faire jachère ? Mystère. En tous les cas, avec les tranches de semaine, ça ne change jamais. Tranche 1 : on s’intéresse, on croit à des machins, on trouve des trucs. Drame et miracle anthropiques. Tranche 2 : on ne trouve rien du tout, on apprend zéro, dérisoire de la vie et compagnie. Dans la tranche 2, il y a beaucoup de n’importe qui avec n’importe quoi, et on boit pas mal, alors que la tranche 1, c’est plus important, c’est évident. Pratiquement, une tranche 2, ça ne peut pas se rater, ou disons que ça ne tire pas à conséquence. Mais une tranche 1, quand on la bousille comme celle de cette semaine, ça fout un coup. Ce qui s’est passé aussi, c’est qu’au café, c’était de la palette aux lentilles au menu. La palette aux lentilles, ça me fout le bourdon. C’est la désespérance. Et ça, en pleine fin de tranche 1. C’était pas de chance, cette foutue palette.
–Et le dimanche ?
–Alors là, le dimanche, c’est la tranche 3. À elle seule la journée compte pour une tranche complète, c’est dire comme c’est grave. La tranche 3, c’est la débandade. Si vous conjuguez une palette aux lentilles et une tranche 3, en vérité il n’y a plus qu’à mourir.
Mondays are always the days I begin new projects—I'd never dream of beginning one on a Sunday—so I really related to that scenario. And I could just as easily apply the theory to the hours of the day since mornings are definitely my promising times. If I haven't tackled the serious things that need tackling early in the day, they begin to seem impossible and I'm always inclined to put them off to a fresher morning. Needless to say, anything serious attempted late in the evening is asking for trouble.
I imagine that Fred Vargas wrote two thirds of this book in the mornings, and definitely in the first half of the week. Those sections are full of colorful characters and clever dialogue, and I was totally charmed. But then it comes time for Vargas to attempt to resolve the mystery of the blue circles of the title.
Hmm, I'm guessing she wrote those troubled muddlings late at night, in the second half of the week, and more than likely on a Sunday...
*–À mon idée, lundi-mardi-mercredi, ça fait une tranche de semaine, la tranche 1. Ce qui arrive dans la tranche 1 est d’un genre assez différent de ce qui arrive dans la tranche 2.
–Jeudi-vendredi-samedi ?
–Voilà. Si on regarde bien, on voit plus de surprises sérieuses dans la tranche 1, en général, je dis bien en général, et plus de précipitation et d’amusement dans la tranche 2. Question de rythme. Ça n’alterne jamais, à la différence des stationnements pour voitures dans certaines rues, où pendant une quinzaine on a le droit de se garer, et pendant la suivante on n’a plus le droit. Pourquoi ? Pour reposer la rue ? Pour faire jachère ? Mystère. En tous les cas, avec les tranches de semaine, ça ne change jamais. Tranche 1 : on s’intéresse, on croit à des machins, on trouve des trucs. Drame et miracle anthropiques. Tranche 2 : on ne trouve rien du tout, on apprend zéro, dérisoire de la vie et compagnie. Dans la tranche 2, il y a beaucoup de n’importe qui avec n’importe quoi, et on boit pas mal, alors que la tranche 1, c’est plus important, c’est évident. Pratiquement, une tranche 2, ça ne peut pas se rater, ou disons que ça ne tire pas à conséquence. Mais une tranche 1, quand on la bousille comme celle de cette semaine, ça fout un coup. Ce qui s’est passé aussi, c’est qu’au café, c’était de la palette aux lentilles au menu. La palette aux lentilles, ça me fout le bourdon. C’est la désespérance. Et ça, en pleine fin de tranche 1. C’était pas de chance, cette foutue palette.
–Et le dimanche ?
–Alors là, le dimanche, c’est la tranche 3. À elle seule la journée compte pour une tranche complète, c’est dire comme c’est grave. La tranche 3, c’est la débandade. Si vous conjuguez une palette aux lentilles et une tranche 3, en vérité il n’y a plus qu’à mourir.
January 18, 2018
Se puede decir que esta lectura ha sido totalmente inesperada. Primero porque no es una novela que yo haya escogido y, segundo, porque reconozco que la portada me echa para atrás. Sin embargo, estoy contenta de haberle dado la oportunidad de desarmarme todas mis manías lectoras. Una buena novela con la que pasar un agradable rato.
March 8, 2025
Интересна първа среща за мен с творчеството на мадам Варгас. Получила ѝ се е тази кримка, героите са добре оформени и макар да няма ясно изразено напрежение в сюжета на книгата, тя върви бързо и интригува читателите си до самия край.
Комисар Адамсберг наскоро е прехвърлен от дивите Пиринеи в Париж и все още е енигма за подчинените си. Любовна драма и особеностите в характера му не го правят идеален събеседник, но пък репутацията му на отличен следовател би трябвало да компенсира тези му недостатъци.
Изведнъж, сякаш предусетил неминуемото, той е заинтригуван от сините тебеширени кръгове, които никнат нощем по парижките улици...
P.S. Имаше моменти, в които малко се отегчих, но те преминаха бързо. От там и по-ниската ми оценка за книгата. Реални - 3,5* 😉
Комисар Адамсберг наскоро е прехвърлен от дивите Пиринеи в Париж и все още е енигма за подчинените си. Любовна драма и особеностите в характера му не го правят идеален събеседник, но пък репутацията му на отличен следовател би трябвало да компенсира тези му недостатъци.
Изведнъж, сякаш предусетил неминуемото, той е заинтригуван от сините тебеширени кръгове, които никнат нощем по парижките улици...
P.S. Имаше моменти, в които малко се отегчих, но те преминаха бързо. От там и по-ниската ми оценка за книгата. Реални - 3,5* 😉
January 30, 2022
2.5 stars? Maybe?
This is one of the oddest mysteries that I have read in years. The man that the series is named after, Jean-Baptiste Adamsburg, is very unlike your usual detective. He doesn't do much detecting or indeed much analysis. Indeed, he just seems to channel things from the ether. In the meantime, he fantasizes about a previous girlfriend, who just got up one morning, walked out the door, and disappeared from his life. He tries to avoid his current woman, who shows up on his doorstep occasionally. And he sleeps with his downstairs neighbour whenever she signals her willingness. Most fictional detectives can't maintain even one relationship, let alone juggle several.
Who would create such a main character? Well, my first discovery was that Fred is a woman, Frederique, and a historian and archaeologist with an expertise in the Black Death. She writes novels to relax, perhaps why Adamsburg has such a loose style of investigation.
So why did I keep on reading? Because of one older female character, Mathilde. An oceanographer with a penchant for collecting difficult people and being somewhat irritable herself. She divides the week in three parts: Monday to Wednesday, one may be optimistic, kind, sympathetic; Thursday to Saturday, it's a tougher outlook and bring out the booze please; she never does define what Sundays are about. She also has a bad habit of following people. She chooses a person for the day and keeps notes on what they do.
So when someone starts drawing large chalk circles around found items on the Paris streets with a cryptic question written around the edges, she wants to know more. Eventually, she runs across him, realizing that he is a man she has followed before. She brings herself to Adamsburg's attention by engineering a meeting with him after he becomes obviously interested in the Chalk Circle Man.
Mathilde and her two lodgers, Clemance and Charles, are the most interesting aspects of the book. Clemance is an older woman obsessed with answering personal ads in the newspaper (remember those?) in a vain attempt to look for love. Charles is a handsome but very bitter blind man who is often nasty to sighted people simply because he can get away with it. The antics of the three of them are highly entertaining.
The final answer to the mystery is ingenious, but Sherlock Holmes would shudder at the method. Hercule Poirot would be most affronted. I was merely nonplussed.
This is one of the oddest mysteries that I have read in years. The man that the series is named after, Jean-Baptiste Adamsburg, is very unlike your usual detective. He doesn't do much detecting or indeed much analysis. Indeed, he just seems to channel things from the ether. In the meantime, he fantasizes about a previous girlfriend, who just got up one morning, walked out the door, and disappeared from his life. He tries to avoid his current woman, who shows up on his doorstep occasionally. And he sleeps with his downstairs neighbour whenever she signals her willingness. Most fictional detectives can't maintain even one relationship, let alone juggle several.
Who would create such a main character? Well, my first discovery was that Fred is a woman, Frederique, and a historian and archaeologist with an expertise in the Black Death. She writes novels to relax, perhaps why Adamsburg has such a loose style of investigation.
So why did I keep on reading? Because of one older female character, Mathilde. An oceanographer with a penchant for collecting difficult people and being somewhat irritable herself. She divides the week in three parts: Monday to Wednesday, one may be optimistic, kind, sympathetic; Thursday to Saturday, it's a tougher outlook and bring out the booze please; she never does define what Sundays are about. She also has a bad habit of following people. She chooses a person for the day and keeps notes on what they do.
So when someone starts drawing large chalk circles around found items on the Paris streets with a cryptic question written around the edges, she wants to know more. Eventually, she runs across him, realizing that he is a man she has followed before. She brings herself to Adamsburg's attention by engineering a meeting with him after he becomes obviously interested in the Chalk Circle Man.
Mathilde and her two lodgers, Clemance and Charles, are the most interesting aspects of the book. Clemance is an older woman obsessed with answering personal ads in the newspaper (remember those?) in a vain attempt to look for love. Charles is a handsome but very bitter blind man who is often nasty to sighted people simply because he can get away with it. The antics of the three of them are highly entertaining.
The final answer to the mystery is ingenious, but Sherlock Holmes would shudder at the method. Hercule Poirot would be most affronted. I was merely nonplussed.
October 22, 2021
For English version please scroll down
*******************
Anspruchsvoll, aber interessant
Nachdem ich Band 10 der Adamsberg-Reihe gelesen hatte, der mich verwirrt zurückgelassen hat, wollte ich es mit Band 1 versuchen in der Hoffnung, Fred Vargas’ Schreibstil und Charaktere besser zu verstehen.
In diesem Band 1 wurde Commissaire Adamsberg gerade vom Land nach Paris versetzt, muss sich mit seinen neuen Mitarbeitern vertraut machen und entwickelt Interesse an blauen Kreidekreisen, die irgendjemand des Nächtens auf die Straßen von Paris malt. In den Kreisen liegen Dinge, die belanglos erscheinen, aber Adamsberg erwartet eine Entwicklung zum Schlimmeren. (Ja, und natürlich stirbt dann irgendwann noch jemand, sonst wäre es ja kein Krimi.)
Privat ist er ziemlich damit beschäftigt, seiner Ex-Freundin nachzutrauern, die ihn vor 9 Jahren verlassen hat.
Und dann sind da noch die Personen, mit denen er es im Laufe der Ermittlungen zu tun bekommt: Eine bekannte Meeresbiologin, eine alte Frau, die verbissen einen Ehemann sucht und ein schöner Blinder.
Falls sich das jetzt merkwürdig anhört, lasst mich euch versichern, dass diese kurzen Andeutungen nicht halb so merkwürdig sind wie das Buch.
Fred Vargas schreibt in einer schönen, poetischen Sprache. Mir ist jedoch so als würde sie diese Sprache nutzen um Dinge zu verschleiern anstatt sie dem Leser zu offenbaren. Die Lektüre erfordert vom Leser eine Menge Konzentration und Wille zur Interpretation.
Dann die handelnden Personen: Sie sind ausnahmslos in höchstem Maße exzentrisch. Ihr Verhalten ist exzentrisch, ihre Dialoge grenzen ans Absurde.
Zu guter Letzt der Plot des Kriminalfalls: Dieser ist natürlich ebenso exzentrisch wie das ganze Buch und hochgradig kompliziert. Auf eine merkwürdige Art scheinen die Verbindungen im Tathergang zwar theoretisch logisch, in der Realität wäre der Plot jedoch vollkommener Humbug.
Daher meine ich, dass dieser Krimi kein Krimi ist, sondern das Konzept Krimi nur von der Autorin genutzt wird, um etwas völlig anderes zu erreichen. Aber was? Ich weiß es noch nicht. Bisher bin ich mir nach wie vor im Unklaren, ob ich den Stil und die Bücher von Fred Vargas faszinierend finden, oder ob sie mir tierisch auf den Geist gehen.
Ich werde wohl einen weiteren Band lesen müssen, um hoffentlich mehr Klarheit zu erlangen.
Vorerst gibts 3 Sterne.
-----------------------------
Demanding but interesting
After reading Volume 10 of the Adamsberg series, which left me confused, I wanted to try volume 1 in the hope of better understanding Fred Vargas’ writing style and characters.
In Volume 1, Commissaire Adamsberg has just been transferred from the countryside to Paris, has to familiarize himself with his new employees and develops an interest in blue chalk circles that someone draws on the streets of nocturnal Paris. There are things in the circles that seem insignificant, but Adamsberg expects a turn for the worse. (Yes, and of course someone will die at some point, otherwise it wouldn't be a murder mystery.)
In his private life, he's pretty busy regretting the loss of his ex-girlfriend who left him 9 years ago.
And then there are the people he comes into contact with in the course of the investigation: a well-known marine biologist, an old woman who is doggedly looking for a husband and a beautiful blind man.
If this sounds strange now, let me assure you that these brief hints aren't half as strange as the book.
Fred Vargas writes in beautiful, poetic language. However, it seems to me that she uses this language to veil things instead of revealing them to the reader. Reading requires a lot of concentration and a willingness to interpret on the part of the reader.
Then the people involved: they are all extremely eccentric. Their behavior is eccentric, their dialogues border on the absurd.
Last but not least, the plot of the criminal case: This is of course just as eccentric as the whole book and extremely complicated. In a strange way, the connections in the course of events seem theoretically logical, but in reality the plot would be complete nonsense.
Therefore, I mean that this crime thriller is not a crime thriller, but the concept of a crime thriller is only used by the author to achieve something completely different. But what? I do not know yet. So far I am still in the dark whether I find the style and the books of Fred Vargas fascinating, or whether they really annoy me.
I will probably have to read another volume to hopefully gain more clarity.
For now there are 3 stars.
*******************
Anspruchsvoll, aber interessant
Nachdem ich Band 10 der Adamsberg-Reihe gelesen hatte, der mich verwirrt zurückgelassen hat, wollte ich es mit Band 1 versuchen in der Hoffnung, Fred Vargas’ Schreibstil und Charaktere besser zu verstehen.
In diesem Band 1 wurde Commissaire Adamsberg gerade vom Land nach Paris versetzt, muss sich mit seinen neuen Mitarbeitern vertraut machen und entwickelt Interesse an blauen Kreidekreisen, die irgendjemand des Nächtens auf die Straßen von Paris malt. In den Kreisen liegen Dinge, die belanglos erscheinen, aber Adamsberg erwartet eine Entwicklung zum Schlimmeren. (Ja, und natürlich stirbt dann irgendwann noch jemand, sonst wäre es ja kein Krimi.)
Privat ist er ziemlich damit beschäftigt, seiner Ex-Freundin nachzutrauern, die ihn vor 9 Jahren verlassen hat.
Und dann sind da noch die Personen, mit denen er es im Laufe der Ermittlungen zu tun bekommt: Eine bekannte Meeresbiologin, eine alte Frau, die verbissen einen Ehemann sucht und ein schöner Blinder.
Falls sich das jetzt merkwürdig anhört, lasst mich euch versichern, dass diese kurzen Andeutungen nicht halb so merkwürdig sind wie das Buch.
Fred Vargas schreibt in einer schönen, poetischen Sprache. Mir ist jedoch so als würde sie diese Sprache nutzen um Dinge zu verschleiern anstatt sie dem Leser zu offenbaren. Die Lektüre erfordert vom Leser eine Menge Konzentration und Wille zur Interpretation.
Dann die handelnden Personen: Sie sind ausnahmslos in höchstem Maße exzentrisch. Ihr Verhalten ist exzentrisch, ihre Dialoge grenzen ans Absurde.
Zu guter Letzt der Plot des Kriminalfalls: Dieser ist natürlich ebenso exzentrisch wie das ganze Buch und hochgradig kompliziert. Auf eine merkwürdige Art scheinen die Verbindungen im Tathergang zwar theoretisch logisch, in der Realität wäre der Plot jedoch vollkommener Humbug.
Daher meine ich, dass dieser Krimi kein Krimi ist, sondern das Konzept Krimi nur von der Autorin genutzt wird, um etwas völlig anderes zu erreichen. Aber was? Ich weiß es noch nicht. Bisher bin ich mir nach wie vor im Unklaren, ob ich den Stil und die Bücher von Fred Vargas faszinierend finden, oder ob sie mir tierisch auf den Geist gehen.
Ich werde wohl einen weiteren Band lesen müssen, um hoffentlich mehr Klarheit zu erlangen.
Vorerst gibts 3 Sterne.
-----------------------------
Demanding but interesting
After reading Volume 10 of the Adamsberg series, which left me confused, I wanted to try volume 1 in the hope of better understanding Fred Vargas’ writing style and characters.
In Volume 1, Commissaire Adamsberg has just been transferred from the countryside to Paris, has to familiarize himself with his new employees and develops an interest in blue chalk circles that someone draws on the streets of nocturnal Paris. There are things in the circles that seem insignificant, but Adamsberg expects a turn for the worse. (Yes, and of course someone will die at some point, otherwise it wouldn't be a murder mystery.)
In his private life, he's pretty busy regretting the loss of his ex-girlfriend who left him 9 years ago.
And then there are the people he comes into contact with in the course of the investigation: a well-known marine biologist, an old woman who is doggedly looking for a husband and a beautiful blind man.
If this sounds strange now, let me assure you that these brief hints aren't half as strange as the book.
Fred Vargas writes in beautiful, poetic language. However, it seems to me that she uses this language to veil things instead of revealing them to the reader. Reading requires a lot of concentration and a willingness to interpret on the part of the reader.
Then the people involved: they are all extremely eccentric. Their behavior is eccentric, their dialogues border on the absurd.
Last but not least, the plot of the criminal case: This is of course just as eccentric as the whole book and extremely complicated. In a strange way, the connections in the course of events seem theoretically logical, but in reality the plot would be complete nonsense.
Therefore, I mean that this crime thriller is not a crime thriller, but the concept of a crime thriller is only used by the author to achieve something completely different. But what? I do not know yet. So far I am still in the dark whether I find the style and the books of Fred Vargas fascinating, or whether they really annoy me.
I will probably have to read another volume to hopefully gain more clarity.
For now there are 3 stars.
October 19, 2009
First Sentence: Mathilde took out her diary and wrote: “The man sitting next to me has got one hell of a nerve.”
Someone is drawing chalk circles on the streets of Paris. Initially, each surrounds such mundane items such as an old handbag, a cotton bud, a one-franc coin, a torch battery, or a screwdriver. Things change the night the circle contains the body of a woman whose throat has been slashed.
I am so glad to have found this series, although I started at the most recent book and am now starting at the first and reading forward. The book has a wonderful voice; you can hear the cadence of French in the dialogue.
The characters are fascinating. Commissaire Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg is a fascinating character and the fact that I can’t form a mental picture of him is more fascinating than frustrating. I liked the unexpected connection between math and Adamsburg, which made perfect sense once I thought about it. I enjoyed his observations, realizations and introspections about himself and his idea of a universal uniform. Once he explained his logic for identifying the killer, it made perfect sense as all the clues were there. Adamsberg follows no discernable procedure but seems to ‘know’ things is balanced wonderfully by Insp. Adrien Danglard who believes in the procedure, is raising five children on his own, indulges in too much white wine and discusses his cases with his children. In this book, there is also Mathelde, who brusqueness I enjoyed, as well as the way she sections her week and her various tables, particularly her Cosmic table.
The book’s plot is cleverly done with a twist at the end which explains the killer’s motive. I am very glad I read other books by this author before this one or I may not have liked it as well. However, once accustomed to her style, I find I am addicted.
THE CHALK CIRCLE MAN (Pol. Proc-Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg-Paris-Cont) – VG
Vargas, Fred – 1st in series
Alfred A. Knopf Canada, 2009, US Hardcover, ISBN: 9780307396877
Someone is drawing chalk circles on the streets of Paris. Initially, each surrounds such mundane items such as an old handbag, a cotton bud, a one-franc coin, a torch battery, or a screwdriver. Things change the night the circle contains the body of a woman whose throat has been slashed.
I am so glad to have found this series, although I started at the most recent book and am now starting at the first and reading forward. The book has a wonderful voice; you can hear the cadence of French in the dialogue.
The characters are fascinating. Commissaire Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg is a fascinating character and the fact that I can’t form a mental picture of him is more fascinating than frustrating. I liked the unexpected connection between math and Adamsburg, which made perfect sense once I thought about it. I enjoyed his observations, realizations and introspections about himself and his idea of a universal uniform. Once he explained his logic for identifying the killer, it made perfect sense as all the clues were there. Adamsberg follows no discernable procedure but seems to ‘know’ things is balanced wonderfully by Insp. Adrien Danglard who believes in the procedure, is raising five children on his own, indulges in too much white wine and discusses his cases with his children. In this book, there is also Mathelde, who brusqueness I enjoyed, as well as the way she sections her week and her various tables, particularly her Cosmic table.
The book’s plot is cleverly done with a twist at the end which explains the killer’s motive. I am very glad I read other books by this author before this one or I may not have liked it as well. However, once accustomed to her style, I find I am addicted.
THE CHALK CIRCLE MAN (Pol. Proc-Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg-Paris-Cont) – VG
Vargas, Fred – 1st in series
Alfred A. Knopf Canada, 2009, US Hardcover, ISBN: 9780307396877
May 16, 2011
Mi domandavo perché faccio lo sbirro. Forse perché in questo mestiere devi cercare delle cose con buone possibilità di trovarle. E ti consola del resto.
All'inizio, quando ho letto che Fred Vargas si è impegnata a scrivere un libro all'anno nel suo mese di vacanza, ho pensato che fosse un po' pressapochista. Suppongo che in un mese di ferie uno non passi la vita attaccato a una storia, avrà anche altro a cui pensare. E un mese sembra poco.
Invece, wow. Fred, tu ci sai fare.
Prima di tutto, l'intreccio non suggerisce alcunché sull'assassino. I personaggi sono talmente bizzarri che in continuazione si strappano di mano la staffetta di indiziato per correre il loro giro. E tu li segui, certo di essere sulla pista giusta. Un po' scoraggiato, forse, di aver capito tutto così presto. E invece no, ti sorprendi a scoprire la verità solo nell'ultima pagina (e non è un'iperbole). Ciaf! Uno schiaffo alle tue convinzioni.
Tutto sembra scorrere, proprio come il commissario Adamsberg. Sfuggente, placido, sfumato. Rubo le parole del cieco Reyers per rendere meglio l'idea: "Se avessi ucciso, preferirei uno sbirro che potessi sperare di far reagire, uno sbirro che non si metta a scorrere via come acqua per poi di colpo opporre resistenza come la pietra. Lui scorre e resiste, scivola via galleggiando verso una meta, verso un estuario. E in tutto questo un assassino può finire annegato".
Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg è fuori fuoco, per usare le parole di Woody Allen. Mentre gli altri personaggi, e il lettore stesso, cercano una certezza dalla linea nitida a cui aggrapparsi per non naufragare, lui naviga nell'imprecisione. Anche il suo amore, Camille, è fuori fuoco. Nei momenti di debolezza riemerge dal vortice di nebbia in cui Adamsberg l'ha incorniciata. E' una via di mezzo tra "un dio greco e una puttana egizia", e ciò nonostante lui la chiama sempre "il tesorino". E' inafferrabile se non per un millesimo di secondo, come l'acqua. Proprio come Jean-Baptiste. Sono due fiumi che ogni tanto si intersecano per poi ritornare ai rispettivi letti solitari. E le pagine che li ospitano grondano amore da ogni molecola.
Non posso far altro che buttarmi sul resto della trilogia Adamsberg e augurare buone vacanze a Fred Vargas.
All'inizio, quando ho letto che Fred Vargas si è impegnata a scrivere un libro all'anno nel suo mese di vacanza, ho pensato che fosse un po' pressapochista. Suppongo che in un mese di ferie uno non passi la vita attaccato a una storia, avrà anche altro a cui pensare. E un mese sembra poco.
Invece, wow. Fred, tu ci sai fare.
Prima di tutto, l'intreccio non suggerisce alcunché sull'assassino. I personaggi sono talmente bizzarri che in continuazione si strappano di mano la staffetta di indiziato per correre il loro giro. E tu li segui, certo di essere sulla pista giusta. Un po' scoraggiato, forse, di aver capito tutto così presto. E invece no, ti sorprendi a scoprire la verità solo nell'ultima pagina (e non è un'iperbole). Ciaf! Uno schiaffo alle tue convinzioni.
Tutto sembra scorrere, proprio come il commissario Adamsberg. Sfuggente, placido, sfumato. Rubo le parole del cieco Reyers per rendere meglio l'idea: "Se avessi ucciso, preferirei uno sbirro che potessi sperare di far reagire, uno sbirro che non si metta a scorrere via come acqua per poi di colpo opporre resistenza come la pietra. Lui scorre e resiste, scivola via galleggiando verso una meta, verso un estuario. E in tutto questo un assassino può finire annegato".
Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg è fuori fuoco, per usare le parole di Woody Allen. Mentre gli altri personaggi, e il lettore stesso, cercano una certezza dalla linea nitida a cui aggrapparsi per non naufragare, lui naviga nell'imprecisione. Anche il suo amore, Camille, è fuori fuoco. Nei momenti di debolezza riemerge dal vortice di nebbia in cui Adamsberg l'ha incorniciata. E' una via di mezzo tra "un dio greco e una puttana egizia", e ciò nonostante lui la chiama sempre "il tesorino". E' inafferrabile se non per un millesimo di secondo, come l'acqua. Proprio come Jean-Baptiste. Sono due fiumi che ogni tanto si intersecano per poi ritornare ai rispettivi letti solitari. E le pagine che li ospitano grondano amore da ogni molecola.
Non posso far altro che buttarmi sul resto della trilogia Adamsberg e augurare buone vacanze a Fred Vargas.
September 28, 2016
Why do anything or write anything? To attract others? Is that it? To seduce people you've never met, as if the ones you have met aren't enough for you? Because you think you can capture the quintessence of the world in a few pages? What quintessence is there anyway? What emotions are there in the world? What can you say? Even the story of the old shrew-mouse isn't interesting enough to tell to anyone. Writing is an admission of failure.
...
"What is the point of it all?" Mathilde immediately asked herself.
To do you good. To get your feet wet. Yes, that was it. To get your feet wet.
~
Vargas is the best crime (fiction) writer I've ever come across. (I'm sure there are many fine ones out there, but Vargas sits at the top of the heap, for me, at this moment.) Thank goodness this is only the second of her books I've read, and that there are many more which await me. I couldn't imagine a reading world without Vargas, after this one.
This was a lovely slow dance to the great reveal -- and when it comes, you feel you must have known it all along, intuitively, like the great Adamsberg himself, although you just "couldn't put your finger on" the thing that you knew.
Many books in this genre resolve the mystery for you in a series of steps but at the end of it all, the truth jumps out at you, like a spook from a closet and you think ... how did that happen? How did we get here from there? It leaves you feeling a little bewildered, but nominally satisfied because you think, "OK, that was clever." But you don't really get much out of the book except a few hours of somewhat-enjoyable distraction from the real world, if the author has done the job right. (If not, you resent the time wasted.)
Others in this genre telegraph the resolution so obviously that there is no point in even reading the book. These books remind me of high school: if you absolutely must know the full plot line, just get a copy of Coles Notes/Cliffs Notes, and you're much better off.
These books leave some jumbled feelings behind: you either feel dumber than you are or more clever than you are, neither of which is a valid experience because you've simply been manipulated by circumstances beyond your control.
In other words, the writing hasn't given you anything, except a few hours of cheap distraction.
I realize that for me, that isn't enough. I always want more. Whether I'm reading the The Collected Dialogues of Plato or chuckling over an Archie comic book, I need a subtext, at the very least, that will inspire me with new perceptions of the world. There has to be some meaning to it all.
The Chalk Circe Man offers a grand reveal, in a slow stream of rations along the way so that one is solving the crime in the same time and cadence as are the detectives within the novel. No surprises jumping at you from closets; nothing withheld to make you feel like a fool for not knowing later; nothing overly obvious to make you feel like a coddled imbecile.
The bonus in all of this is that Vargas offers divergent philosophies on living, without judgment. (We encounter someone who drinks a great deal, for instance, but are never burdened with the author's condemnation; or the man who turns up in somebody else's bed every night, so afraid is he of committing to his own true love, but who is neither admonished nor made to do penance through Vargas's expert handling.) Life is what it is. We can make our own judgments, if we feel the need.
Both the regular characters and the situational ones receive the same treatment: no preference is given, nor shriving done, because she doesn't play favourites.
The other bonus is that we are sometimes lead into Vargas's private thoughts, as in the quotation above. Like the rest of us, she struggles to understand what it's all about. Why do we do what we do? Why do we pursue our passions?
To get our feet wet. In other words, to feel awake and alive, and feel the stream of life swirling around one's ankles: to be part of that stream in whatever context, or condition, we choose -- but to be part of it on our own terms. Don't ask questions all the time. Just jump in and see where it will take you.
Perhaps it really was time to go back to the depths of the ocean. And above all, it was forbidden to ask herself what the point of it all was.
Very rarely have I come across such a satisfying read: a good old-fashioned procedural, as a "front man" for the goddess Sophia, the wisdom of the ages.
There are certainly more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are in the crime streets of Paris, and Vargas pulls back that curtain occasionally to give us a peek.
...
"What is the point of it all?" Mathilde immediately asked herself.
To do you good. To get your feet wet. Yes, that was it. To get your feet wet.
~
Vargas is the best crime (fiction) writer I've ever come across. (I'm sure there are many fine ones out there, but Vargas sits at the top of the heap, for me, at this moment.) Thank goodness this is only the second of her books I've read, and that there are many more which await me. I couldn't imagine a reading world without Vargas, after this one.
This was a lovely slow dance to the great reveal -- and when it comes, you feel you must have known it all along, intuitively, like the great Adamsberg himself, although you just "couldn't put your finger on" the thing that you knew.
Many books in this genre resolve the mystery for you in a series of steps but at the end of it all, the truth jumps out at you, like a spook from a closet and you think ... how did that happen? How did we get here from there? It leaves you feeling a little bewildered, but nominally satisfied because you think, "OK, that was clever." But you don't really get much out of the book except a few hours of somewhat-enjoyable distraction from the real world, if the author has done the job right. (If not, you resent the time wasted.)
Others in this genre telegraph the resolution so obviously that there is no point in even reading the book. These books remind me of high school: if you absolutely must know the full plot line, just get a copy of Coles Notes/Cliffs Notes, and you're much better off.
These books leave some jumbled feelings behind: you either feel dumber than you are or more clever than you are, neither of which is a valid experience because you've simply been manipulated by circumstances beyond your control.
In other words, the writing hasn't given you anything, except a few hours of cheap distraction.
I realize that for me, that isn't enough. I always want more. Whether I'm reading the The Collected Dialogues of Plato or chuckling over an Archie comic book, I need a subtext, at the very least, that will inspire me with new perceptions of the world. There has to be some meaning to it all.
The Chalk Circe Man offers a grand reveal, in a slow stream of rations along the way so that one is solving the crime in the same time and cadence as are the detectives within the novel. No surprises jumping at you from closets; nothing withheld to make you feel like a fool for not knowing later; nothing overly obvious to make you feel like a coddled imbecile.
The bonus in all of this is that Vargas offers divergent philosophies on living, without judgment. (We encounter someone who drinks a great deal, for instance, but are never burdened with the author's condemnation; or the man who turns up in somebody else's bed every night, so afraid is he of committing to his own true love, but who is neither admonished nor made to do penance through Vargas's expert handling.) Life is what it is. We can make our own judgments, if we feel the need.
Both the regular characters and the situational ones receive the same treatment: no preference is given, nor shriving done, because she doesn't play favourites.
The other bonus is that we are sometimes lead into Vargas's private thoughts, as in the quotation above. Like the rest of us, she struggles to understand what it's all about. Why do we do what we do? Why do we pursue our passions?
To get our feet wet. In other words, to feel awake and alive, and feel the stream of life swirling around one's ankles: to be part of that stream in whatever context, or condition, we choose -- but to be part of it on our own terms. Don't ask questions all the time. Just jump in and see where it will take you.
Perhaps it really was time to go back to the depths of the ocean. And above all, it was forbidden to ask herself what the point of it all was.
Very rarely have I come across such a satisfying read: a good old-fashioned procedural, as a "front man" for the goddess Sophia, the wisdom of the ages.
There are certainly more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are in the crime streets of Paris, and Vargas pulls back that curtain occasionally to give us a peek.
April 14, 2020
2,5. Llevaba mucho tiempo queriendo iniciarme ya con la saga policial del comisario Adamsberg, ya que Fred Vargas es una de esas autoras que siempre que veo escritoras que se dediquen al género, es una de esas que siempre salen recomendadas. Y la verdad es que el primer acercamiento ha sido algo chasco.
La ciudad está siendo testigo de una especie de bandalismo. Y es que, una persona se dedica a dibujar círculos azules en el suelo, encerrando dentro diferentes objetos, sin aparente relación entre ellos. Ni la policía, ni las noticias se toman muy en serio esta actividad inofensiva, a excepción del peculiar comisario Adamsberg, que siente que algo raro ocurre. No irá muy desencaminando, ya que un día amanecerá con un cadáver dentro de uno de estos círculos.
En principio, la trama me atraía mucho, pero no terminó de engatusarme la ejecución de la misma. Sentí que el abanico de personajes era demasiado estrecho, y que con tres hipótesis que imaginaras, era imposible fallar. Hay algún detalle suelto que quizás era más difícil de descubrir, pero el quién y el cómo, creo que no lo era.
Por otra parte la creación de personajes, si bien me ha resultado interesante y distintita, cosa que alabo, tampoco han conseguido hacerme crear ese apego a ellos. El personaje más interesante es Adamsberg y su relación con Camille, pero por lo demás, no me ha despertado mucho interés.
En fin, le daré otra oportunidad a la serie, leyendo la siguiente parte. La autora es aclamada por muchas personas y teniendo más de 10 libros la saga, quizás no empezó con buen pie, pero mejora rápidamente. Espero que así sea.
La ciudad está siendo testigo de una especie de bandalismo. Y es que, una persona se dedica a dibujar círculos azules en el suelo, encerrando dentro diferentes objetos, sin aparente relación entre ellos. Ni la policía, ni las noticias se toman muy en serio esta actividad inofensiva, a excepción del peculiar comisario Adamsberg, que siente que algo raro ocurre. No irá muy desencaminando, ya que un día amanecerá con un cadáver dentro de uno de estos círculos.
En principio, la trama me atraía mucho, pero no terminó de engatusarme la ejecución de la misma. Sentí que el abanico de personajes era demasiado estrecho, y que con tres hipótesis que imaginaras, era imposible fallar. Hay algún detalle suelto que quizás era más difícil de descubrir, pero el quién y el cómo, creo que no lo era.
Por otra parte la creación de personajes, si bien me ha resultado interesante y distintita, cosa que alabo, tampoco han conseguido hacerme crear ese apego a ellos. El personaje más interesante es Adamsberg y su relación con Camille, pero por lo demás, no me ha despertado mucho interés.
En fin, le daré otra oportunidad a la serie, leyendo la siguiente parte. La autora es aclamada por muchas personas y teniendo más de 10 libros la saga, quizás no empezó con buen pie, pero mejora rápidamente. Espero que así sea.
December 29, 2023
In a literary world fed up with chicken-lit and other tasteless ersatz you have to be enchanted to find someone who's able to play with your mind and produce a pretty good plot at the same time.
Not to forget the philosophy behind the the story and, more important, the characters. Five stars are more than deserved, together with some eagerness to see more Fred Vargas products.
Not to forget the philosophy behind the the story and, more important, the characters. Five stars are more than deserved, together with some eagerness to see more Fred Vargas products.
July 6, 2011
Vargas’ Commissaire Adamsberg reminds me of Simenon’s Maigret. It is not just because Adamsberg and Maigret operated in the same territory and had similar jobs. Plenty of series novelists writing of France don’t give me the same feeling as reading a Maigret mystery (see the Aimee Leduc series by Cara Black for one). It is the way Vargas slowly builds the mystery, and adds pauses for thinking, eating and drinking, and chats with passers-by. The brilliant insights and knowledge of human nature both Adamsberg and Maigret exhibit are the reason we love and admire them, though Maigret is careful with his dress and manner, while Adamsberg is usually described as disheveled and oddly put-together in appearance. His associates on the police force admit to being embarrassed for him: “As on every occasion when it looked likely that the commissaire would be the object of critical comment, Danglard had an urge to defend him against allcomers.”
I imagine it quite an honor to be compared with the great Simenon, who wrote 75 books and 28 short stories featuring Maigret. Vargas has her own style, however, for almost all her police characters outside of Adamsberg are capable and independent, with unique identities. I don’t ever remember Maigret’s coworkers standing out. In this way, perhaps the iconic Swedish series of ten mysteries by Maj Swojall and Per Wahloo featuring Martin Beck may be a better model.
So The Chalk Circle Man is the first book in the series, but was not the first to be translated into English. Publishers sometimes do this, and readers often can’t comprehend why. Perhaps later books in the series seem more accessible—authors may improve their technique as they go along and the publishers are trying to capture an audience with just one book in the series. In any case, I’d not heard of this author until five of the now eight books in the series are available in English, so I began at the beginning.
What stands out about this book is that just about everyone seems capable and clever: the suspects, the neighbors, people one meets in cafes. Vargas is able to sketch even a tangential character with quick, simple strokes, defining them “with a glance,” so to speak. One of her characters usually does the honors for us—summing someone up with a comment. Sometimes she takes a page or two to define someone’s characteristics, but it never seems off the point. We are allowed to relax into the mystery, strolling along and doing only the work asked of us—to figure out the killer before he/she kills again. When you begin this series, you will want to read several, so add them all to your TBR list. It is a little difficult to figure out which order to read them in, so I have done the work for you here:
1. The Chalk Circle Man
2. Seeking Whom He May Devour
3. Les Quatre Fleuves
4. Have Mercy on Us All
5. Coule La Seine
6. Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand
7. This Night’s Foul Work
8. Un Lieu Incertain
I imagine it quite an honor to be compared with the great Simenon, who wrote 75 books and 28 short stories featuring Maigret. Vargas has her own style, however, for almost all her police characters outside of Adamsberg are capable and independent, with unique identities. I don’t ever remember Maigret’s coworkers standing out. In this way, perhaps the iconic Swedish series of ten mysteries by Maj Swojall and Per Wahloo featuring Martin Beck may be a better model.
So The Chalk Circle Man is the first book in the series, but was not the first to be translated into English. Publishers sometimes do this, and readers often can’t comprehend why. Perhaps later books in the series seem more accessible—authors may improve their technique as they go along and the publishers are trying to capture an audience with just one book in the series. In any case, I’d not heard of this author until five of the now eight books in the series are available in English, so I began at the beginning.
What stands out about this book is that just about everyone seems capable and clever: the suspects, the neighbors, people one meets in cafes. Vargas is able to sketch even a tangential character with quick, simple strokes, defining them “with a glance,” so to speak. One of her characters usually does the honors for us—summing someone up with a comment. Sometimes she takes a page or two to define someone’s characteristics, but it never seems off the point. We are allowed to relax into the mystery, strolling along and doing only the work asked of us—to figure out the killer before he/she kills again. When you begin this series, you will want to read several, so add them all to your TBR list. It is a little difficult to figure out which order to read them in, so I have done the work for you here:
1. The Chalk Circle Man
2. Seeking Whom He May Devour
3. Les Quatre Fleuves
4. Have Mercy on Us All
5. Coule La Seine
6. Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand
7. This Night’s Foul Work
8. Un Lieu Incertain
April 1, 2017
For five days I was in Paris checking out the cafes, listening to cocktail-party gossip, and eagerly following the news about the mysterious “chalk circle man”. For several months, blue chalk circles have popped up like graffiti on the pavements in Paris. Who is the “chalk circle man”? Is he a crackpot? Does he suffer from OCD? The circles enclose random discarded objects (e.g., bottle tops, a hairpin, a one-franc coin, a rotting cat, etc.) like a bad joke. They seem innocuous enough; however, the new police chief, the Commissaire Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg, knows that the circles portend great evil. As it turns out, Adamsberg is right.
The Chalk Circle Man is a riveting crime story that throws up several credible suspects as well as clever twists that serve up a satisfying denouement. Fred Vargas drew up a cast of eccentric characters: Mathilde Forrestier, an oceanographer addicted to stalking people; Charles Reyer, a blind man determined to be ornery and hateful; Clemence Valmont, an old dame who compulsively answers lonely-hearts ads in search of the love of her life. They all invoke their own defense mechanisms as refuge from their emotional scars. The same can be said of Adamsberg and his favored inspector colleague, Adrien Danglard. Both are flawed individuals nursing deep losses. Adamsberg lives in a perpetual fog and cracks cases solely by intuition; Danglard struggles with single-parenthood, drinks on the job, and relies on his cast-iron reasoning. These folks are brought together on account of the "chalk circle man" and their interaction sizzles with wit and a fine dose of humanity.
This may not be great literature but this crime mystery thrives on its quirky characterization. The story has an interesting theory about the rhythms in the days of the week. According to Malthide, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday make up the promising first section when one is inclined to be purposeful, receptive, and kind; Thursday, Friday and Saturday make up the unproductive second section when one is more likely to be unsympathetic, drunk, and humorless; Sunday is a section in its own right – the worst day because life “is the pits”. Go figure. Any day, however, is a good day to be reading The Chalk Circle Man.
The Chalk Circle Man is a riveting crime story that throws up several credible suspects as well as clever twists that serve up a satisfying denouement. Fred Vargas drew up a cast of eccentric characters: Mathilde Forrestier, an oceanographer addicted to stalking people; Charles Reyer, a blind man determined to be ornery and hateful; Clemence Valmont, an old dame who compulsively answers lonely-hearts ads in search of the love of her life. They all invoke their own defense mechanisms as refuge from their emotional scars. The same can be said of Adamsberg and his favored inspector colleague, Adrien Danglard. Both are flawed individuals nursing deep losses. Adamsberg lives in a perpetual fog and cracks cases solely by intuition; Danglard struggles with single-parenthood, drinks on the job, and relies on his cast-iron reasoning. These folks are brought together on account of the "chalk circle man" and their interaction sizzles with wit and a fine dose of humanity.
This may not be great literature but this crime mystery thrives on its quirky characterization. The story has an interesting theory about the rhythms in the days of the week. According to Malthide, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday make up the promising first section when one is inclined to be purposeful, receptive, and kind; Thursday, Friday and Saturday make up the unproductive second section when one is more likely to be unsympathetic, drunk, and humorless; Sunday is a section in its own right – the worst day because life “is the pits”. Go figure. Any day, however, is a good day to be reading The Chalk Circle Man.
September 7, 2019
Looking around for a new series, and was intrigued by Fred Vargas. However, I did not care for the slow pace and writing style, which may be Vargas or her translator. Someone is drawing chalk circles on the streets of Paris. Objects appear in the circles, worrying Commmissaire Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg, and then a dead body is in one of the circles. Adamsberg has an odd air about him, seeming to follow unorthodox lines of inquiry. I liked his #2 Danglard. 2.5 stars, rounded up.
March 13, 2020
As I read ‘The Chalk Circle Man’ by Fred Vargas, for some reason I kept picturing the slapstick comedian Jerry Lewis, popular in the 1950's and 1960's. At first, I thought I might be having a senior moment. I hated the style of vaudeville slapstick in which Lewis excelled. Why I should suddenly be seeing Lewis in my head as I remembered him in some of his famous, highly acclaimed (by his fans), iconic pictures I saw on TV mystified me.
'The Chalk Circle Man' is a mystery featuring a police detective, Commissaire Adamsberg. The book is first in a series which is popular in France. Author Fred Vargus is a French writer. The book is translated into English from French. So, I was not surprised I felt "how foreign" this style of expression is that the book is written in. Initially. After awhile, I thought this is not only weird because it is written in French and has been translated into English. This is weird because it is written about characters who are very weird in their actions and thinking.
The novel definitely becomes a murder mystery! But first, the police and residents of the 5th arrondissement are disturbed by circles drawn in chalk around bits of garbage flotsom, placed on sidewalks here and there. Inside the circles are bottle caps, paper clips, a lamb-chop bone, a dog turd, and other garbage bits. Eventually, the weird circles attract the attention of a journalist who begins writing stories about what is discovered in the circles. They turn up every few days.
The Paris police detective Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg cannot stop wondering about the circles. His right-hand man, Adrien Danglard, cannot understand his boss, his investigation or administrative methods, or why he wants these circles photographed, but he arranges it. When a body finally turns up inside a chalked circle, the throat horribly mangled, the investigation becomes serious.
Forty-five-year-old Adamsberg is considered a strange man with strange methods of investigation. He also does not understand why he succeeds so well at solving murders. Adamsberg empties his mind of thought even as he collects data. He gets feelings about people. Not knowing why his intuition is often correct, his methodology has served him well. He has been promoted to Commissaire as the story begins after he solved four murders in previous postings in an "uncanny" way.
Mathilde Forestier is a marine scientist. She also is a peculiar person. She follows people who interest her in Paris cafes and streets. This is how she sometimes meets the tenants she invites into her large three-storied house with apartments. One is a blind man, Charles Reyer, who besides being very rude and weird, was blinded by rotten fluids which squirted into his eyes while he was dissecting a lion. Mathilde rents the top floor to seventy-year-old Clémence Valmont, another bizarre person. Clémence is constantly going on blind dates, answering ads in the newspaper to meet men.
One of the people Mathilde sees while following people around is the old man drawing the chalk circles. She loses him every time she begins following him. It was an accident that she saw him draw the circle. The man had interested her because of his clothes and manner of moving, causing her to follow him. Since she is a witness to the circles being drawn, Adamsberg talks to her before the body is found as he was concerned the circles were preliminary to some unknown evil. After the body is discovered, he begins talking to Mathilde in earnest.
The book is full of strange people who think, act and feel strange things in my opinion, gentle reader. Adamsberg is weird. Mathilde is weird. Charles is weird. Clémence is weird. The chalk circles are weird. I was not enchanted. But I was drawn in. Still, wtf?
So. I read about the author. 'He' is a 'she'!
Fred Vargas is the pseudonym of the French historian, archaeologist and writer Frédérique Audoin-Rouzeau (often mistakenly spelled "Audouin-Rouzeau"). She is the daughter of Philippe Audoin(-Rouzeau), a surrealist writer who was close to André Breton, and the sister of the historian Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, a noted specialist of the First World War who inspired her the character of Lucien Devernois.
What is surrealism?
Surrealism is a cultural movement that started in 1917, and is best known for its visual artworks and writings. Artists painted unnerving, illogical scenes, sometimes with photographic precision, creating strange creatures from everyday objects, and developing painting techniques that allowed the unconscious to express itself. Its aim was, according to Breton, to "resolve the previously contradictory conditions of dream and reality into an absolute reality, a super-reality", or surreality.
Works of surrealism feature the element of surprise, unexpected juxtapositions and non sequitur; however, many surrealist artists and writers regard their work as an expression of the philosophical movement first and foremost, with the works themselves being an artifact. Leader André Breton was explicit in his assertion that Surrealism was, above all, a revolutionary movement.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surrealism
Ah!
But why did I connect this book in my head to Jerry Lewis, famous American slapstick comedian and star/director/writer of Big Hollywood movies? All I knew about Jerry Lewis and France was that I had read the French thought Jerry Lewis was a genius. His movies were still tremendously popular in France long after he had become a has-been in America. I never knew why. So I looked him up on Wikipedia.
“Critical acclaim in France:
While [Jerry] Lewis was popular in France for his duo films with Dean Martin and his solo comedy films, his reputation and stature increased after the Paramount contract, when he began to exert total control over all aspects of his films. His involvement in directing, writing, editing and art direction coincided with the rise of auteur theory in French intellectual film criticism and the French New Wave movement. He earned consistent praise from French critics in the influential magazines Cahiers du Cinéma and Positif, where he was hailed as an ingenious auteur.
His singular mise-en-scène, and skill behind the camera, were aligned with Howard Hawks, Alfred Hitchcock and Satyajit Ray. Appreciated too, was the complexity of his also being in front of the camera. The new French criticism viewed cinema as an art form unto itself, and comedy as part of this art. Lewis is then fitted into a historical context and seen as not only worthy of critique, but as an innovator and satirist of his time. Jean-Pierre Coursodon states in a 1975 Film Comment article, "The merit of the French critics, auteurist excesses notwithstanding, was their willingness to look at what Lewis was doing as a filmmaker for what it was, rather than with some preconception of what film comedy should be."
Not yet curricula at universities or art schools, Cinema Studies and Film theory were avant-garde in early 1960s America. Mainstream movie reviewers such as Pauline Kael, were dismissive of auteur theory, and others, seeing only absurdist comedy, criticized Lewis for his ambition and "castigated him for his self-indulgence" and egotism. "The total film-maker, so admired in France, made Hollywood uncomfortable, since the system has always operated otherwise."
Appreciation of Lewis became a misunderstood stereotype about "the French", and it was often the object of jokes in American pop culture. "That Americans can't see Jerry Lewis' genius is bewildering," says N. T. Binh, a French film magazine critic. Such bewilderment was the basis of the book Why the French Love Jerry Lewis. In response to the lingering perception that French audiences adored him, Lewis stated in interviews he was more popular in (Germany), Japan and Australia.”
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jerry_L...
Absurdist humor. Bite me.
I probably will read a few more books in the series because of curiosity, not love, gentle reader. I enjoy some absurdist humor, but I despised Jerry Lewis's style of it, if that is what it was. Something about the way Vargas writes reminds me of that kind of slapstick humor.
'The Chalk Circle Man' is a mystery featuring a police detective, Commissaire Adamsberg. The book is first in a series which is popular in France. Author Fred Vargus is a French writer. The book is translated into English from French. So, I was not surprised I felt "how foreign" this style of expression is that the book is written in. Initially. After awhile, I thought this is not only weird because it is written in French and has been translated into English. This is weird because it is written about characters who are very weird in their actions and thinking.
The novel definitely becomes a murder mystery! But first, the police and residents of the 5th arrondissement are disturbed by circles drawn in chalk around bits of garbage flotsom, placed on sidewalks here and there. Inside the circles are bottle caps, paper clips, a lamb-chop bone, a dog turd, and other garbage bits. Eventually, the weird circles attract the attention of a journalist who begins writing stories about what is discovered in the circles. They turn up every few days.
The Paris police detective Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg cannot stop wondering about the circles. His right-hand man, Adrien Danglard, cannot understand his boss, his investigation or administrative methods, or why he wants these circles photographed, but he arranges it. When a body finally turns up inside a chalked circle, the throat horribly mangled, the investigation becomes serious.
Forty-five-year-old Adamsberg is considered a strange man with strange methods of investigation. He also does not understand why he succeeds so well at solving murders. Adamsberg empties his mind of thought even as he collects data. He gets feelings about people. Not knowing why his intuition is often correct, his methodology has served him well. He has been promoted to Commissaire as the story begins after he solved four murders in previous postings in an "uncanny" way.
Mathilde Forestier is a marine scientist. She also is a peculiar person. She follows people who interest her in Paris cafes and streets. This is how she sometimes meets the tenants she invites into her large three-storied house with apartments. One is a blind man, Charles Reyer, who besides being very rude and weird, was blinded by rotten fluids which squirted into his eyes while he was dissecting a lion. Mathilde rents the top floor to seventy-year-old Clémence Valmont, another bizarre person. Clémence is constantly going on blind dates, answering ads in the newspaper to meet men.
One of the people Mathilde sees while following people around is the old man drawing the chalk circles. She loses him every time she begins following him. It was an accident that she saw him draw the circle. The man had interested her because of his clothes and manner of moving, causing her to follow him. Since she is a witness to the circles being drawn, Adamsberg talks to her before the body is found as he was concerned the circles were preliminary to some unknown evil. After the body is discovered, he begins talking to Mathilde in earnest.
The book is full of strange people who think, act and feel strange things in my opinion, gentle reader. Adamsberg is weird. Mathilde is weird. Charles is weird. Clémence is weird. The chalk circles are weird. I was not enchanted. But I was drawn in. Still, wtf?
So. I read about the author. 'He' is a 'she'!
Fred Vargas is the pseudonym of the French historian, archaeologist and writer Frédérique Audoin-Rouzeau (often mistakenly spelled "Audouin-Rouzeau"). She is the daughter of Philippe Audoin(-Rouzeau), a surrealist writer who was close to André Breton, and the sister of the historian Stéphane Audoin-Rouzeau, a noted specialist of the First World War who inspired her the character of Lucien Devernois.
What is surrealism?
Surrealism is a cultural movement that started in 1917, and is best known for its visual artworks and writings. Artists painted unnerving, illogical scenes, sometimes with photographic precision, creating strange creatures from everyday objects, and developing painting techniques that allowed the unconscious to express itself. Its aim was, according to Breton, to "resolve the previously contradictory conditions of dream and reality into an absolute reality, a super-reality", or surreality.
Works of surrealism feature the element of surprise, unexpected juxtapositions and non sequitur; however, many surrealist artists and writers regard their work as an expression of the philosophical movement first and foremost, with the works themselves being an artifact. Leader André Breton was explicit in his assertion that Surrealism was, above all, a revolutionary movement.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surrealism
Ah!
But why did I connect this book in my head to Jerry Lewis, famous American slapstick comedian and star/director/writer of Big Hollywood movies? All I knew about Jerry Lewis and France was that I had read the French thought Jerry Lewis was a genius. His movies were still tremendously popular in France long after he had become a has-been in America. I never knew why. So I looked him up on Wikipedia.
“Critical acclaim in France:
While [Jerry] Lewis was popular in France for his duo films with Dean Martin and his solo comedy films, his reputation and stature increased after the Paramount contract, when he began to exert total control over all aspects of his films. His involvement in directing, writing, editing and art direction coincided with the rise of auteur theory in French intellectual film criticism and the French New Wave movement. He earned consistent praise from French critics in the influential magazines Cahiers du Cinéma and Positif, where he was hailed as an ingenious auteur.
His singular mise-en-scène, and skill behind the camera, were aligned with Howard Hawks, Alfred Hitchcock and Satyajit Ray. Appreciated too, was the complexity of his also being in front of the camera. The new French criticism viewed cinema as an art form unto itself, and comedy as part of this art. Lewis is then fitted into a historical context and seen as not only worthy of critique, but as an innovator and satirist of his time. Jean-Pierre Coursodon states in a 1975 Film Comment article, "The merit of the French critics, auteurist excesses notwithstanding, was their willingness to look at what Lewis was doing as a filmmaker for what it was, rather than with some preconception of what film comedy should be."
Not yet curricula at universities or art schools, Cinema Studies and Film theory were avant-garde in early 1960s America. Mainstream movie reviewers such as Pauline Kael, were dismissive of auteur theory, and others, seeing only absurdist comedy, criticized Lewis for his ambition and "castigated him for his self-indulgence" and egotism. "The total film-maker, so admired in France, made Hollywood uncomfortable, since the system has always operated otherwise."
Appreciation of Lewis became a misunderstood stereotype about "the French", and it was often the object of jokes in American pop culture. "That Americans can't see Jerry Lewis' genius is bewildering," says N. T. Binh, a French film magazine critic. Such bewilderment was the basis of the book Why the French Love Jerry Lewis. In response to the lingering perception that French audiences adored him, Lewis stated in interviews he was more popular in (Germany), Japan and Australia.”
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jerry_L...
Absurdist humor. Bite me.
I probably will read a few more books in the series because of curiosity, not love, gentle reader. I enjoy some absurdist humor, but I despised Jerry Lewis's style of it, if that is what it was. Something about the way Vargas writes reminds me of that kind of slapstick humor.
July 5, 2010
While his crew of co-workers are trying to figure him out, the new commissaire Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg settles into his job in the Paris police force in the 5th arrondissement. Adamsberg started his police career in the "stony foothills of the Pyrenees," where another inspector told him that he wasn't "cut out" to be a policeman. But that was before he went on to solve several murders in the area, was promoted to inspector and then commissaire. When the job in Paris was offered to him, he grabbed it. Showing up to work with clothes in disarray, doodling all day, working largely on gut reaction and intuition, and moving very slowly, he didn't fit into what Adrien Danglard, one of his inspectors, considered to be the regular policeman mold.
This entire novel, like Adamsberg himself, is rather quirky, but the commissaire is just the tip of the iceberg. There is an assortment of offbeat and unusual characters that populate this book (more later), as well as a rather peculiar set of crimes that occur, all beginning with someone who draws blue chalk circles throughout the city, leaving different articles in each one: one day it's paper clips, another day it's a lamb-chop bone, and yet another a swimming cap, etc. And around each circle is written the same phrase: "Victor, woe's in store, what are you out here for?" The chalk circle phenomenon has become so widespread that the newspapers have a field day:
People will soon be jostling for the honour of finding a circle outside their door on the way to work in the morning. Whether the circles are the work of a cynical con artist or a genuine madman, if it's fame he's after the creator of the circles has certainly got what he wanted. Galling, isn't it, for people who've spent a lifetime trying to become famous? ... If he's ever tracked down, they'll have him on a TV chat show in no time (I can see it now: 'The cultural sensation of the fin-de-millenium'. (23)
But Adamsberg senses that there's more, and orders Danglard to have a police photographer out in the street to photograph the circle that he feels will come that night. And Adamsberg's intuition serves him well, as the harmless chalk circles escalate into murder.
Besides Adamsberg, who while doing his job is always thinking about his lost petite cherie Camille, a woman with a pet marmoset named Richard III, the author has created some other rather off-the-wall characters. Mathilde Forestier is a famous oceanographer whose hobby is following people around the city. Living with Mathilde is Clémence Valmont, her seventy-something year-old assistant, whose teeth remind Mathilde of those of crocidura russula, and to whom she often refers as "shrew mouse." Clémence spends her evenings combing the personals, looking for romance, and going out on pointless dates. There's also Charles Reyer, blinded when he was dissecting a lioness to study its locomotive system, and was squirted in the eye with rotten flesh. (Seriously -- I couldn't make up this stuff if I tried.) And finally, there's Adamsberg's colleague, Danglard, whose wife left him with two sets of twins and a child from a love affair. He's a good cop, but he also has a sense of compassion that doesn't stop, to the point where he worries about the sun dying in five billion years. Danglard, who has a bit too much to drink now and then, often holds "case conferences" with his kids, where he discusses police work and allows them their own voices in "theorizing" about the crimes. Vargas allows her characters to develop their own approaches to Adamsberg's character, but in the end, it's Reyer, the blind man, who says it best:
He just gets on with his life, letting it all swill about, big ideas and little details, impressions and realities, thoughts and words. He combines the belief of a child with the philosophy of an old man. But he's real and he's dangerous. (103).
When I read crime fiction or mystery novels, I'm not so much interested in the "who" but rather the "why," as my primary interest is in that well-worn cliché about the evil that lurks in men's souls. I look for motivations and underpinnings in the criminal's psyche and search for any hint of his or her existential crises in determining the why. I'm a puzzle solver and this type of fiction (if written well) appeals to that part of me. And then I decide whether or not an author has fulfilled my expectations in those categories. I must say that Vargas sends all of that flying right out of the window -- she has written a very unusual novel in which those things really don't matter. She lulls you into thinking along the lines of "it's this person, no, it's that person, but wait, that's also possible," and then she comes up with an ending that hits you like the proverbial ton of bricks. And I liked it. It was well written, the characters are so eccentric that they appealed to my sensitivity to the quirky side of life, and it may be a bit odd for most readers of general crime fiction who may become a bit frustrated with all of the philosophical outpourings from time to time. But it's good. There is just nothing orthodox about this book, and I think that's part of it its appeal. Most highly recommended.
This entire novel, like Adamsberg himself, is rather quirky, but the commissaire is just the tip of the iceberg. There is an assortment of offbeat and unusual characters that populate this book (more later), as well as a rather peculiar set of crimes that occur, all beginning with someone who draws blue chalk circles throughout the city, leaving different articles in each one: one day it's paper clips, another day it's a lamb-chop bone, and yet another a swimming cap, etc. And around each circle is written the same phrase: "Victor, woe's in store, what are you out here for?" The chalk circle phenomenon has become so widespread that the newspapers have a field day:
People will soon be jostling for the honour of finding a circle outside their door on the way to work in the morning. Whether the circles are the work of a cynical con artist or a genuine madman, if it's fame he's after the creator of the circles has certainly got what he wanted. Galling, isn't it, for people who've spent a lifetime trying to become famous? ... If he's ever tracked down, they'll have him on a TV chat show in no time (I can see it now: 'The cultural sensation of the fin-de-millenium'. (23)
But Adamsberg senses that there's more, and orders Danglard to have a police photographer out in the street to photograph the circle that he feels will come that night. And Adamsberg's intuition serves him well, as the harmless chalk circles escalate into murder.
Besides Adamsberg, who while doing his job is always thinking about his lost petite cherie Camille, a woman with a pet marmoset named Richard III, the author has created some other rather off-the-wall characters. Mathilde Forestier is a famous oceanographer whose hobby is following people around the city. Living with Mathilde is Clémence Valmont, her seventy-something year-old assistant, whose teeth remind Mathilde of those of crocidura russula, and to whom she often refers as "shrew mouse." Clémence spends her evenings combing the personals, looking for romance, and going out on pointless dates. There's also Charles Reyer, blinded when he was dissecting a lioness to study its locomotive system, and was squirted in the eye with rotten flesh. (Seriously -- I couldn't make up this stuff if I tried.) And finally, there's Adamsberg's colleague, Danglard, whose wife left him with two sets of twins and a child from a love affair. He's a good cop, but he also has a sense of compassion that doesn't stop, to the point where he worries about the sun dying in five billion years. Danglard, who has a bit too much to drink now and then, often holds "case conferences" with his kids, where he discusses police work and allows them their own voices in "theorizing" about the crimes. Vargas allows her characters to develop their own approaches to Adamsberg's character, but in the end, it's Reyer, the blind man, who says it best:
He just gets on with his life, letting it all swill about, big ideas and little details, impressions and realities, thoughts and words. He combines the belief of a child with the philosophy of an old man. But he's real and he's dangerous. (103).
When I read crime fiction or mystery novels, I'm not so much interested in the "who" but rather the "why," as my primary interest is in that well-worn cliché about the evil that lurks in men's souls. I look for motivations and underpinnings in the criminal's psyche and search for any hint of his or her existential crises in determining the why. I'm a puzzle solver and this type of fiction (if written well) appeals to that part of me. And then I decide whether or not an author has fulfilled my expectations in those categories. I must say that Vargas sends all of that flying right out of the window -- she has written a very unusual novel in which those things really don't matter. She lulls you into thinking along the lines of "it's this person, no, it's that person, but wait, that's also possible," and then she comes up with an ending that hits you like the proverbial ton of bricks. And I liked it. It was well written, the characters are so eccentric that they appealed to my sensitivity to the quirky side of life, and it may be a bit odd for most readers of general crime fiction who may become a bit frustrated with all of the philosophical outpourings from time to time. But it's good. There is just nothing orthodox about this book, and I think that's part of it its appeal. Most highly recommended.
August 3, 2019
Some (very) random thoughts:
An enjoyable read, though it bogged down in places and could have used some editing.
Commissaire Adamsberg is an interesting character. However, he ain't no Maigret.
The solution to the crime was very far fetched, although within the context of the characters, it almost seemed believable.
Adamsberg and Mathilde seemed to me like a better pairing than Adamsberg and Camille, but perhaps that's just me.
An enjoyable read, though it bogged down in places and could have used some editing.
Commissaire Adamsberg is an interesting character. However, he ain't no Maigret.
The solution to the crime was very far fetched, although within the context of the characters, it almost seemed believable.
Adamsberg and Mathilde seemed to me like a better pairing than Adamsberg and Camille, but perhaps that's just me.
February 12, 2021
3.5
Mi piace, questo Adamsberg.
Mi piace, questo Adamsberg.
December 12, 2020
This was a great introduction to a new mystery series that I'm looking forward to reading more of. The best part of this book was the cast of quirky characters and I'm curious to find out how many of them make an appearance in the rest of the series. The final solution to this particular mystery seemed a bit complicated, but the characters outshined the actual mystery in this case, which was perfectly OK with me.
And now that I have this short review written and posted, it's time to get more accomplished in this section one of my week.
And now that I have this short review written and posted, it's time to get more accomplished in this section one of my week.
August 18, 2021
Pues no he comulgado con Fred Vargas y... me fastidia. Lo que podría considerarse original, a mí me ha parecido extravagante, con personajes que de tan atípicos rozan el absurdo. La ambigüedad del comisario Adamsberg ha terminado por aburrirme e incluso ponerme un poco nerviosa. No sé si seguiré con la serie.
May 4, 2019
This is a slightly odd book. I liked it but I have my reservations.
Fred Vargas introduces us to Commissaire Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg, a successful provincial policeman who is transferred to Paris and is confronted with a rather bizarre series of events which culminate in murder. We are slowly introduced to Vargas’s main characters, especially Adamsberg himself, who is an introspective, intuitive man to whom normal logical deductive methods are a bit of a mystery. As a result, the book is digressive, quirky and actually rather endearing, and the crime aspects of the novel take second place to character and to Adamsberg’s unusual way of looking at things.
I quite enjoyed it, but I found it a little too digressive and “philosophical”. It was also hard to shake off the ghost of Maigret as a taciturn, inward-looking Police Inspector roams the streets of Paris and interviews people in a very individual way. It was good enough to make it worth trying another in the series, though, so I have rounded 3.5 stars up to 4. Cautiously recommended.
Fred Vargas introduces us to Commissaire Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg, a successful provincial policeman who is transferred to Paris and is confronted with a rather bizarre series of events which culminate in murder. We are slowly introduced to Vargas’s main characters, especially Adamsberg himself, who is an introspective, intuitive man to whom normal logical deductive methods are a bit of a mystery. As a result, the book is digressive, quirky and actually rather endearing, and the crime aspects of the novel take second place to character and to Adamsberg’s unusual way of looking at things.
I quite enjoyed it, but I found it a little too digressive and “philosophical”. It was also hard to shake off the ghost of Maigret as a taciturn, inward-looking Police Inspector roams the streets of Paris and interviews people in a very individual way. It was good enough to make it worth trying another in the series, though, so I have rounded 3.5 stars up to 4. Cautiously recommended.
May 25, 2016
It seems that readers either love this book or it is just ok for them. Unfortunately it was just ok for me. Comissionaire Adamsberg wasn't a realistic detective to me. He seemed to pull solutions out of the air by intuition. He didn't want to think about or analyze information. He drew leaves instead. He did have an excellent gut feel when something didn't ring true. He listened to Dangard his next in command interview people and analyze data. The secondary characters were all odd. They sat around and had conversations that interested them but not me as a reader. It just didn't seem like much was happening. Also, Adamsberg was always looking for the elusive Camille who he loved. That part rather bored me as a reader. It was all rather abstract but the murderer was captured and jailed.
February 19, 2016
Mon premier Fred Vargas et je ne suis pas sûre d'avoir vraiment accroché à l'histoire. J'ai trouvé ça un peu longuet malgré le fait que le livre soit court et je n'ai pas du tout été convaincue par la résolution de l'enquête.
Malgré cela, j'ai apprécié les personnages qui changent de ce qu'on trouve d'habitude dans les policiers, je pense donc continuer la série des Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg pour voir si la suite me plaît plus.
Malgré cela, j'ai apprécié les personnages qui changent de ce qu'on trouve d'habitude dans les policiers, je pense donc continuer la série des Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg pour voir si la suite me plaît plus.
June 30, 2015
This book just didn't work for me. After reading one-third, the characters still feel flat and washed-out. Character dialogue seems senseless. Actions are meaningless and other characters request for explanation are waved off. There may indeed be some sort of meaningful development, but not quickly enough for this reader.
June 26, 2023
No sé muy bien qué he leído. No sé si es maravillosa o un conjunto de palabros biensonantes. No lo sé. Es un libro muy raro, no por la trama, asesinatos, sospechosos y policías, hasta ahí bien. Es cómo se desenvuelven todas estas personas, muchas veces surrealista, otras veces raro e inconexo, pero todo tiene sentido, encaja y funciona.
Voy a seguir, me ha gustado y quiero ver cómo sigue.
Voy a seguir, me ha gustado y quiero ver cómo sigue.
March 24, 2022
Adamsberg, un detectiv mutat recent in Paris, are de furca cu un mister: cine deseneaza cercurile cu creta prin diferite districte ale Parisului? Nu dureaza mult si apar si cadavrele pe care le intuia Adamsberg.
Este o carte altfel fata de cele pe care le citesc de obicei, e adevarat ca nu sunt obisnuita cu scriitori francezi, dar mi-a placut acest detectiv excentric .
Este o carte altfel fata de cele pe care le citesc de obicei, e adevarat ca nu sunt obisnuita cu scriitori francezi, dar mi-a placut acest detectiv excentric .
January 22, 2016
GIOIELLINO DA RILEGGERE
Questo libricino è un piccolo gioiello. Purtroppo l'ho già letto tre volte (o forse quattro) e non voglio rileggerlo soltanto per scrivere questa recensione. Quindi probabilmente non riuscirò a trasmettere quell'entusiasmo che qualche anno fa mi faceva ripetere a parenti ed amici "Conosci Fred Vargas? Conosci il commissario Adamsberg? Hai letto i suoi libri? Devo prestarti il primo? Sicuro che non lo vuoi? Ha uno stile magnifico. Sei proprio sicuro sicuro?".
Mi ricordo persino che l'ultima volta che ho parlato con un lontano parente (una dozzina di anni fa, poi si è trasferito), gli ho parlato di questo libro. Non mi ricordo assolutamente nient'altro di quella conversazione. Non mi ricordo proprio niente di quel che mi ha detto. Quel libro mi aveva inghiottito nel suo mondo.
È un giallo insolito, molto psicologico, in cui gli investigatori sono più importanti dei sospettati, e scoprire il colpevole sembra quasi perdere importanza.
Lo stile è molto particolare. È lento ma non si fa fatica a leggerlo. È adatto al commissario Adamsberg che, con la sua calma, sembra galleggiare sul mondo che lo circonda. Lo stile mi ricorda i film, come "Il laureato", in cui le musiche e le scene accelerano o rallentano a seconda dello stato d'animo del protagonista. Nel primo romanzo di questa lunga collana sono sicuramente dominanti le sequenze lente. Penso che sia stata anche questa surreale lentezza ad incantarmi.
I dialoghi sono geniali. Molto coinvolgenti nelle loro assurdità. Tramite questi dialoghi, ironici e taglienti allo stesso tempo, la Vargas riesce a descrivere profondamente ogni singolo personaggio. Proprio l'ironia, anche se spesso è una triste ironia, è una delle arme vincenti della Vargas.
Come trama non è il miglior giallo della scrittrice francese, ma è sicuramente il mio preferito perché, grazie a questo piccolo romanzo, ho conosciuto Adamsberg ed il suo vice Danglard.
Due personaggi complessi ed indimenticabili. Non mi sono più perso un loro libro. Il commissario, con la sua camicia fuori posto, i suoi due orologi sfasati, ed il suo lento raccontare storie, è la classica persona capace di astrarsi dal mondo. Il suo vice è l'esatto opposto. É un'enciclopedia vivente. Sa tutto di tutto e non riesce mai ad uscire dalla realtà, tranne quando si fa aiutare dal suo amato vino bianco.
Questo insolito libro è quindi un gioiello che dovete provare assolutamente!
Siete esentati solo se non sopportate i gialli, se non riuscite a finire i libri lenti, se non vi piacciono i dialoghi surreali, ... In altre parole siete tutti esentati dall'obbligo.
Adamsberg non è il tipo che se la prende e si arrabbia. Se non volete conoscerlo, lui vi lascia fare tranquillamente. È la classica persona in grado di farsi scivolare addosso qualsiasi cosa. Anche il vostro rifiuto!
Questo libricino è un piccolo gioiello. Purtroppo l'ho già letto tre volte (o forse quattro) e non voglio rileggerlo soltanto per scrivere questa recensione. Quindi probabilmente non riuscirò a trasmettere quell'entusiasmo che qualche anno fa mi faceva ripetere a parenti ed amici "Conosci Fred Vargas? Conosci il commissario Adamsberg? Hai letto i suoi libri? Devo prestarti il primo? Sicuro che non lo vuoi? Ha uno stile magnifico. Sei proprio sicuro sicuro?".
Mi ricordo persino che l'ultima volta che ho parlato con un lontano parente (una dozzina di anni fa, poi si è trasferito), gli ho parlato di questo libro. Non mi ricordo assolutamente nient'altro di quella conversazione. Non mi ricordo proprio niente di quel che mi ha detto. Quel libro mi aveva inghiottito nel suo mondo.
È un giallo insolito, molto psicologico, in cui gli investigatori sono più importanti dei sospettati, e scoprire il colpevole sembra quasi perdere importanza.
Lo stile è molto particolare. È lento ma non si fa fatica a leggerlo. È adatto al commissario Adamsberg che, con la sua calma, sembra galleggiare sul mondo che lo circonda. Lo stile mi ricorda i film, come "Il laureato", in cui le musiche e le scene accelerano o rallentano a seconda dello stato d'animo del protagonista. Nel primo romanzo di questa lunga collana sono sicuramente dominanti le sequenze lente. Penso che sia stata anche questa surreale lentezza ad incantarmi.
I dialoghi sono geniali. Molto coinvolgenti nelle loro assurdità. Tramite questi dialoghi, ironici e taglienti allo stesso tempo, la Vargas riesce a descrivere profondamente ogni singolo personaggio. Proprio l'ironia, anche se spesso è una triste ironia, è una delle arme vincenti della Vargas.
Come trama non è il miglior giallo della scrittrice francese, ma è sicuramente il mio preferito perché, grazie a questo piccolo romanzo, ho conosciuto Adamsberg ed il suo vice Danglard.
Due personaggi complessi ed indimenticabili. Non mi sono più perso un loro libro. Il commissario, con la sua camicia fuori posto, i suoi due orologi sfasati, ed il suo lento raccontare storie, è la classica persona capace di astrarsi dal mondo. Il suo vice è l'esatto opposto. É un'enciclopedia vivente. Sa tutto di tutto e non riesce mai ad uscire dalla realtà, tranne quando si fa aiutare dal suo amato vino bianco.
Questo insolito libro è quindi un gioiello che dovete provare assolutamente!
Siete esentati solo se non sopportate i gialli, se non riuscite a finire i libri lenti, se non vi piacciono i dialoghi surreali, ... In altre parole siete tutti esentati dall'obbligo.
Adamsberg non è il tipo che se la prende e si arrabbia. Se non volete conoscerlo, lui vi lascia fare tranquillamente. È la classica persona in grado di farsi scivolare addosso qualsiasi cosa. Anche il vostro rifiuto!
March 3, 2018
Primo incontro con Fred Vargas e il suo commissario Adamsberg. Strampalato, un bambino silvestre cresciuto che scarabocchia e si perde fra i suoi pensieri. Una lettura piacevole ma ho sempre un certo fastidio per i gialli che fanno spuntare come funghi alla fine elementi per la soluzione del caso. Uffa.
Personaggio più riuscito: i gemelli dell’ispettore Danglard.
Personaggio più riuscito: i gemelli dell’ispettore Danglard.
February 7, 2022
Filosófico, curioso e intenso.
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