Decent naturalist novel, very much a la Zola." On the pavement, couples strolled along amid the yellow and green light refracted from the jars in pharmacists’ windows; the Plaisance omnibus came along, cutting through this teeming crowd, its headlamps splashing cherry-red light across the white rumps of the horses, and then the groups reformed, pierced here and there by columns of people streaming out of the Montparnasse Theatre, spreading out in a large fan that wrapped itself around a cart pushed by a shouting orange-seller.Bars exhaled an odour of alcohol and wine; the click of billiard balls could be heard through an open window; men would run up to someone they knew and greet them with a playful punch; urchins of thirteen smoked cigarette butts and spat; the belly of a fat woman swayed beneath her greasy apron; whole families gathered excitedly around pastry shop windows.Fingers foraged around in éclairs that were split and spilling their cream; others balanced soft almond tarts, barely held together by frail and flaccid crusts; mouths nibbled at foamy vanilla mousses; jaws closed over morsels of flan disembowelled on paper plates.And the turnovers and cakes were replaced as fast as they were bought. Steaming tarts sweated profusely and their latticework of pastry sagged under the pressure of welling juices; brioches erupted in bubonic blisters; pastry horns filled with white goo burst; rum babas collapsed, seeping rum. Every blob of preserve, every drop of jam was leaking, catching each other up, stopping briefly when they ran into one another, then flowing more quickly when they’d mixed and merged.Cheap wine, cassis, and marc formed rivulets on zinc counters. In the street, one could see nothing but men wiping their mouths and spitting purple spit on to the pavement. "----"A string of inanities was continuing to play out on stage. Men gave way to women and women gave way to men, the women entering from the left and the men from the right. Seated as they were, Cyprien and Céline could see the wretchedness of their costumes, the parade of dirty gloves, of frayed pockets, and the hob-nailed boots of water-carriers beneath dancing costumes. Every imperfection, all the defects of the face – bloodshot eyes, cheeks etched by smallpox, scars, clusters of cold sores at the corners of lips – every bit of flabby flesh, their brutish arms and big fat ankle-joints, was displayed before them, barely concealed by greasepaint and layers of make-up, by cotton stockings, by corsets armed with whalebone stays and stuffed with wadding."
What do You think about The Vatard Sisters (2013)?
