Although
at the start of the book this does not appear to be a wholly original work, as
numerous fictionalizations of Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald have
been attempted, when mid-way through the book murder strikes the Paris art
scene of the 1920s, it quickly becomes an intriguing new perspective on these
American writers’ lifestyles. The murder of a black man named Peterson in a
hotel room in 1925 is well-documented in historical texts, but never has the
crime been solved or used in a fictional context, though Hemingway, Fitzgerald,
and their compatriots were involved. The use of this true-to-life incident is
not the only aspect that makes this picaresque novel unique, however; the
literary techniques employed are reminiscent of the writers into whose lives it
delves.
The
story begins when journalist Nick Edwards arrives in Paris in May of 1925,
planning on writing an article about the lives of the expatriates there. The
first person he meets, by coincidence, is Ernest Hemingway, who quickly brings
him into what he calls the “writing fraternity.” Almost immediately, Nick is thrust
into the art scene, meeting characters including, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald,
Gertrude Stein, Dick and Nicole Diver, Pauline Pfeiffer, and numerous others. From
thereon in, the novel is almost strictly dialogue, which—though the lack of
description may leave some readers wanting—is witty, honest, and effective in
developing the characters.
The
macro setting—Paris in 1925—is apparent; the culture and vernacular of the time
and place are distinct. However, the micro settings from scene to scene are
often ambiguous. Most scenes take place in a café or at a party, but these are
the only qualifiers. Even the characters are not described in much detail,
unless their appearance is uniquely notable, like Pauline Pfeiffer, for
example, who, as a fashion writer, wears a fur coat and a silk shirt that
accentuates her beautiful figure.
While
during the first third of the book the reader may wish for more in the area of
description and action, and perhaps less in dialogue, it is only a matter of
time before they get swept up in the glamor and magic of 1920s Paris, much
like Nick Edwards does. He begins uncertain, insecure, and curious, but before
he knows it, he has abandoned his project and moved on to writing his own
novel, mingling with the expatriates and becoming one himself.
The
book on many occasions seems to be describing itself, in particular one
paragraph: “But it would also have the shortcomings of the picaresque—a series
of colorful scenes and short encounters connected only by the picaro, the vagabond protagonist. In
simple terms, Nick’s story lacked a plot.” This self-referential exposition is
not distracting—in fact it is intriguing—and resolves itself at the end of the
book when we see it is “Signed, N. Edwards, Paris, 1927.” While Nick Edwards is
altogether a fictional character, his interactions with these famous historical
figures, his and their dialogue matching in quality, quantity, and lyricism, he
seems as real as they do.
If one
were to analyze this novel with a critical literary eye, one would see numerous
shortcomings, including the complete lack of description of setting—Malmgren
simply states “He found himself in Paris,” and offers no further backdrop for
the dialogue—but even with a strict and expecting view, the pages of this book
simply melt away as the reader becomes absorbed with the beautifully developed characters—developed
solely through the medium of dialogue—and the thought processes of expatriate
artists and rogues. Malmgren follows the advice of Hemingway as embedded within
the book itself: “the same goes for words in a piece of fiction. Some few are
there to work and the rest are mere decoration. I try to strip away the merely
decorative, the inessential from my prose. And then I take it one step
further—by slicing into what some people would think belong to the essential:
names, background info, even to the point of contention… Like the character,
the reader lives the experience.”
In
theory, the literary techniques used in this book are risky to the point of
making a writer seem foolish to approach them, but Malmgren succeeds flawlessly
in adopting and meshing the writing styles of Hemingway and Fitzgerald.
Obviously well-researched, Paris Metro is
a truly absorbing read that keeps the reader gripped and perched on the edge of
their seat, even if there is no action. The action essentially is the non-action; the purpose of this novel is to reveal the context of the works published in the era: the utterly self-absorbed, sex-obsessed, and roguish behaviors of these writers that produced these works we today call great. Not only does this book paint a distinct
picture of time and place, but it also reveals the secrets of the minimalist
writing technique both in plainly describing it and in using it effectively.
Writers, history buffs, and those interested in the art scene of 1920s Paris will
enjoy this book.
