{ Illusionist - Great Reads No 1: Bel-Ami }

Bel-Ami
Guy de Maupassant
Non-Fiction
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SUMMARY
A chronicle of a young man's rise to power in Paris via his manipulation of the city's most influential and wealthy women.


BIRDS EYE: This novel is simply fantastic is all regards. I loved how sensory the writing is - it completely transports you into Georges Duroy's world. The plot is constantly shifting, gaining momentum, taking you deeper and deeper into 1890's Paris. There is never a dull moment. Its humorous, yet true to the colors of life and written quite light. Before long, it lingers around you like a fog - still sensed in everything you see and touch, even after you've put the book down. Its a wonderful study about life then and, how amusingly enough, human nature hasn't changed. I couldn't help but fall in love with Duroy - more in a brotherly fashion since many times you just want to beat his lights out for the careless way he quietly manipulates his peers. But one admiral thing about Duroy: Everything he sets his mind to, he gets. As my mother used to say: "Where theres a will, theres a way." Something I absolutely loved about this novel, was how the author painted Duroy with sensitivity and humanity. You can't help but feel sorry for him - because behind that cunning mind and thick skin of a man he fronts, hes really more like a boy who hasn't yet grasped just how much the wrong choices he makes bring about the consequences he is constantly battling, which threaten to rip apart his life. You can immediately grasp why he views the world like he does - and you find yourself wishing you could take him by the arm and whisper the secret to the end of his distress in his ear. So, even though our dear Duroy sets about getting every comfort possible, in the most ungentlemanly way possible - by the end of the book, you're still rooting for him.


CHAPTER 1 - EXCERPT
POVERTY


After changing his five franc peice Georges Duroy left the restaurant. He twisted his mustache in military style and cast a rapid, sweeping glance among the diners, among whom were three saleswomen, an untidy music teacher of an uncertain age, and two women with their husbands.

When he reached the sidewalk, he paused to consider which route he should take. It was the twenty-eight of June and he had only three francs in his pocket to last him the remainder of the month. That meant two dinners and no lunches, or two lunches and no dinners, according to choice. As he pondered upon this unpleasant state of affairs, he sauntered down Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, preserving his military air and carriage, and rudely jostled the people upon the streets in order to clear a path for himself. He appreared to be hostle to the passers-by, and even to the houses, to the entire city.

Tall, well built, fair, with blue eyes, a curled mustache, hair naturally wavy and parted in the middle, he recalled the hero of the popular romances.

It was one of those sultry, Parisian evenings when not a breath of air is stirring, the sewers exhaled poisonous gases, and the restaurants the disagreeable odors of cooking and kindred smells. Porters in their shirt-sleeves, astride their chairs, smoked their pipes at the carriage gates, and pedestrians strolled leisurely along, hats in hand.

When Georges Duroy reached the boulevard he halted again, undecided as to which road to choose. Finally he turned toward the Madeline and followed the tide of people.

The large, well-patronized cafes tempted Duroy, but were he to drink only two glasses of beer in an evening, farewell to the meager supper the following night! Yet, he said to himself: "I will take a glass at the Americain. By Jove, I am thirsty."

He glanced at men seated at the tables, men who could afford to slake their thirst, and scowled at them. "Rascals!" he muttered. If he could have caught one of them at a corner in the dark he would have choked him without a scruple! He recalled the two years spent in Africa, and the manner in which he had exhorted money from the Arabs. A smile hovered about his lips at the recollection of an escapade which had cost three men their lives, a foray which had given his two comrades and himself seventy fowls, two sheep, money and something to laugh about for six months. The culprits were never found; indeed, they were never sought for, the Arab being looked upon as the soilder's prey.

But in Paris it was different; there one could not commit such deeds with impunity. He regretted he had not remained where he was; but he had hoped to improve his condition--and for that reason he was in Paris!

He passed the Valdeville and stopped at the Cafe Americain, debating as to whether he should take that "glass." Before deciding, glanced at a clock; it was a quarter past nine. He knew that when the beer was placed in front of him, he would drink it; and then what would he do at eleven o'clock? So he walked on, intending to go as far as the Madeline and return.

When he reached the Place de l'Opera, a tall young man passed him, whose face he fancied was familiar. He followed him repeating: "Where the deuce have I seen that fellow?"

For a time he racked his brain in vain, then he suddenly saw the same man, but not so corpulent and more youthful, attired in the uniform of a Hussar. He exclaimed, "Wait! Forestier!" and hastening up to him, laid his hand upon the man's shoulder. The latter turned, looked at him and said: "What do you want, sir?"

Duroy began to laugh: "Don't you remember me?"

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