Left Bank by Kate Muir

I really enjoyed this book. I wasn't actually expecting to. In fact, I'd looked at it in harback in Sainsbury's when it first came out, and sniffed, despite the fact I actually really enjoy her Sunday Times column. But I finally cracked and bought it, and I'm so glad I did.

Spoilers below, although since no one seems to read this blog, ce n'est pas important.

The prologue is fantastic, it really draws you in, describing the disappearance of Madison and Olivier Malin's daughter, Sabine, from a ride at the Playworld themepark. It works brilliantly, although it meant that throughout the rest of the book, I was led astray by red herrings. I kept expecting it to turn into a thriller, although with a cover like that, you'd think I would have realised there wasn't going to be a breathless chase. But I did think that the way Muir dealt with the red herring themes (the Chechnyan immigrants, for instance) was actually very satisfying. I'd admit, I thought they were Sabine's kidnappers, which makes me a very naive reader, I suppose.

Paris is very evocatively described, there are some very funny jokes, and while I'm not certain how easy it is to write a dual language English language novel, with English masquerading sometimes as French, sometimes as English, it works. You could probably do a whole thesis on Foreign Languages as English, but fortunately for any readers, I won't. Also lovingly described: food. As a foodie, it had me craving all sorts of goodies.

I thought the characterisation was good, really believable people, in un-real situations (I'm supposing, perhaps it's all based on real life, although since I think it's satirical, I don't really think this is the case). I think it's also a pretty feminist novel, there's no doubt that the men are the baddies, and certainly no doubt by the end that Olivier the philosopher is the real villain of the piece, and in the form of unhappiness, present and future, he seems to get him come-uppance by the end. In fact, fathers come in for a pretty rough treatment at Muir's pen.

But then again, so do some women. There's a bit of a mystery about wet-nursing (an unusual theme), and Madison's later-life success is a result of learning to let go a bit, stop trying to be so perfect, and since perfectionism is something lots of women struggle with, I guess that's Muir's moral, stop trying to be thin, stop trying to please men, concentrate on being a whole person and a good mother. A recipe for happiness and success. Of course, contentment would be if you were happy even though losing your figure, getting wrinkles and losing your husband didn't lead to fresh career success, but contemporary women's literature does tend to have that fairytale element, and I certainly can't begrudge it here.