{"product_id":"inspector-maigretisbn-9780141393520","title":"Inspector Maigret","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A writer as comfortable with reality as with fiction, with passion as with reason.” —John Le Carré\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe city of Simenon's youth comes to life in this disturbing Inspector Maigret mystery set in Liège\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“In the darkness, the main room is as vast as a cathedral. A great empty space. Some warmth is still seeps from the radiators.  Delfosse strikes a match. They stop a moment to catch their breath, and work out how far they have still to go. And suddenly the match falls to the ground, as Delfosse gives  a sharp cry and rushes back towards the washroom door. In the dark, he loses his way, returns and bumps into Chabot.”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInspector Maigret observes from a distance as two boys are accused of killing a rich foreigner in Liège. Their loyalty, which binds them together through their adventures, is put to the test, and seemingly irrelevant social differences threaten their friendship and their freedom.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Georges Simenon:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“One of the greatest writers of the twentieth century . . . Simenon was unequaled at making us look inside, though the ability was masked by his brilliance at absorbing us obsessively in his stories.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “These Maigret books are as timeless as Paris itself.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The matchless French crime novelist.” —Adam Gopnik, \u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Maigret ranks with Holmes and Poirot in the pantheon of fictional detective immortals.” —\u003ci\u003ePeople\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “I love reading Simenon. He makes me think of Chekhov.” —William Faulkner\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “An astute observer of human nature, writing in a spare and vivid style.” —Amor Towles\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I never read contemporary fiction–with one exception: the works of Simenon.” —T.S. Eliot\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A writer as comfortable with reality as with fiction, with passion as with reason.” —John Le Carré\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “One of the most important writers of our century.” —Gabriel García Márquez\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A favorite writer of mine.” —Sigrid Nunez\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A great writer of detail, of atmosphere.” —Leïla Slimani\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Feels incredibly modern…A great writer.” —Ian Rankin\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “The greatest of all, the most genuine novelist we have had in literature.” —André Gide\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A supreme writer . . . Unforgettable vividness.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Independent\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Superb . . . The most addictive of writers . . . A unique teller of tales.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Observer\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Compelling, remorseless, brilliant.” —John Gray\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A truly wonderful writer . . . Marvelously readable—lucid, simple, absolutely in tune with the world he creates.” —Muriel Spark\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “A novelist who entered his fictional world as if he were a part of it.” —Peter Ackroyd\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Extraordinary masterpieces of the twentieth century.” —John Banville\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Gem-hard soul-probes . . . not just the world's bestselling detective series, but an imperishable literary legend . . . he exposes secrets and crimes not by forensic wizardry, but by the melded powers of therapist, philosopher and confessor\" ―\u003ci\u003eTimes\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Strangely comforting . . . so many lovely bistros from the Paris of mid-20th C. The corpses are incidental, it's the food that counts.\" ―Margaret Atwood\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"One of the greatest writers of the 20th century . . . no other writer can set up a scene as sharply and with such economy as Simenon does . . . the conjuring of a world, a place, a time, a set of characters - above all, an atmosphere.\" ―\u003ci\u003eFinancial Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Gripping . . . richly rewarding . . . You'll quickly find yourself obsessing about his life as you tackle each mystery in turn.\" ―Stig Abell, \u003ci\u003eThe Sunday Times\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cb\u003eGEORGES SIMENON\u003c\/b\u003e (1903–1989) was born in Liège, Belgium. Best known in Britain as the author of the Maigret books, he is a household name in continental Europe with a prolific output of more than four hundred novels and short stories.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eSiân Reynolds\u003c\/b\u003e has translated many books from French, including the Commissaire Adamsberg Mystery series by Fred Vargas, Georges Simenon, Virginie Despentes.\u003cp\u003eGeorges Simenon\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e                    \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e                                \u003cp\u003eTHE DANCER AT THE GAI-MOULIN\u003c\/p\u003e                \u003cb\u003eTranslated by Siân                    Reynolds\u003c\/b\u003e                                                           \u003cb\u003ePENGUIN BOOKS\u003c\/b\u003e            \u003cp\u003ePublished by the Penguin Group\u003cbr\u003e Penguin                Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Group                (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Group                (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P                    2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Ireland, 25                St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)\u003cbr\u003e                Penguin Group (Australia), 707 Collins Street, Melbourne, Victoria 3008, Australia                (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11                Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Group                (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson                New Zealand Ltd)\u003cbr\u003e Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, Block D, Rosebank                Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North, Gauteng 2193, South Africa\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003ePenguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80                Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                www.penguin.com            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eFirst published in French as \u003ci\u003eLa                    Danseuse du\u003c\/i\u003e                \u003ci\u003eGai\u003c\/i\u003e-\u003ci\u003eMoulin\u003c\/i\u003e by Fayard 1931\u003cbr\u003eThis translation first published in                Penguin Books 2014\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eCopyright 1931 by Georges Simenon                Limited\u003cbr\u003eTranslation copyright © Siân Reynolds, 2014\u003cbr\u003eGEORGES SIMENON ®                Simenon.tm\u003cbr\u003eMAIGRET ® Georges Simenon Limited\u003c\/p\u003e    \u003cp\u003eCover photograph (detail) © Harry Gruyaert \/Magnum Photos\u003cbr\u003eFront cover design by Alceu Chiesorin Nunes\u003c\/p\u003e    \u003cp\u003eAll rights reserved\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe moral rights of the author and                translator have been asserted\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eISBN: 978-0-698-18303-2\u003c\/p\u003e                                                             \u003cp\u003e            Title Page        \u003c\/p\u003e                \u003cp\u003e            Copyright        \u003c\/p\u003e        \u003cp\u003e            About the Author        \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                1. Adèle and Her Friends            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                2. Petty Cash            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                3. The Man with Broad Shoulders            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                4. The Pipe-Smokers            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                5. The Confrontation            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                6. The Fugitive            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                7. The Unusual Journey            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                8. Chez Jeanne            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                9. The Informer            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                10. Two Men in the Dark            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                11. The New Recruit            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                EXTRA: Chapter 1 from \u003ci\u003eThe Two-Penny Bar\u003c\/i\u003e            \u003c\/p\u003e                                \u003cb\u003eABOUT THE                AUTHOR\u003c\/b\u003e            \u003cp\u003eGeorges Simenon was born on 12 February                1903 in Liège, Belgium, and died in 1989 in Lausanne, Switzerland, where he had                lived for the latter part of his life. Between 1931 and 1972 he published                seventy-five novels and twenty-eight short stories featuring Inspector Maigret.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eSimenon always resisted identifying                himself with his famous literary character, but acknowledged that they shared an                important characteristic:\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy motto, to the extent that I have                    one, has been noted often enough, and I’ve always conformed to it.                    It’s the one I’ve given to old Maigret, who resembles me in certain                    points … ‘understand and judge not’.\u003c\/p\u003e                        \u003cp\u003ePenguin is publishing the entire series                of Maigret novels.\u003c\/p\u003e                          \u003cp\u003e                                PENGUIN CLASSICS            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cb\u003eTHE DANCER AT THE GAI-MOULIN\u003c\/b\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘I love reading Simenon. He makes me think                of Chekhov’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — William Faulkner            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘A truly wonderful                writer … marvellously readable – lucid, simple, absolutely in tune with                the world he creates’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — Muriel Spark            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Few writers have ever conveyed with such                a sure touch, the bleakness of human life’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — A. N. Wilson            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘One of the greatest writers of the                twentieth century … Simenon was unequalled at making us look inside,                though the ability was masked by his brilliance at absorbing us obsessively in his                stories’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — \u003ci\u003eGuardian\u003c\/i\u003e            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘A novelist who entered his fictional                world as if he were part of it’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — Peter Ackroyd            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘The greatest of all, the most genuine                novelist we have had in literature’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — André Gide            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Superb … The most addictive of                writers … A unique teller of tales’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — \u003ci\u003eObserver\u003c\/i\u003e            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘The mysteries of the human personality                are revealed in all their disconcerting complexity’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — Anita Brookner            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘A writer who, more than any other crime                novelist, combined a high literary reputation with popular appeal’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — P. D. James            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘A supreme                writer … Unforgettable vividness’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — \u003ci\u003eIndependent\u003c\/i\u003e            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Compelling, remorseless,                brilliant’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — John Gray            \u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Extraordinary masterpieces of the                twentieth century’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e                — John Banville            \u003c\/p\u003e                                            \u003cp\u003e1. Adèle and Her                Friends\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Who’s that?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘No idea! It’s the first                time he’s been in here,’ said Adèle, exhaling the smoke from her                cigarette.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eAnd she lazily uncrossed her legs,                patted down a lock of hair on her temple, and looked carefully into one of the                mirrors round the room, to check her makeup.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eShe was sitting on a banquette                upholstered in crimson plush, in front of a table holding three glasses of port. One                young man sat on her left, another on her right.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Do you mind, boys?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eShe gave them a kindly, confidential                smile, stood up, and swinging her hips, walked across the room towards the                newcomer’s table.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eAt a nod from the club owner, the four                musicians hired for the evening started crooning along to their instruments. Only                one couple was dancing: a woman in pink and the professional dance-partner.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eAnd as almost every night, it felt                empty. The room was too large. The mirrors round the walls magnified even further                its receding perspectives, punctuated only by the crimson seats and ghostly marble                tabletops.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe two young men, now that Adèle no                longer sat between them, moved closer together.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Charming, isn’t she!’                sighed Jean Chabot, the younger of the two,                gazing affectedly towards the dance-floor with half-closed eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Plenty of zip, as well,’                said his friend Delfosse enthusiastically, leaning on a cane with a gold top.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eChabot was perhaps sixteen and a half,                and Delfosse, thinner, more sickly looking, with irregular features, no more than                eighteen. But they would have protested indignantly if anyone had suggested that                they were not blasé connoisseurs of all the pleasures of life.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘I say, Victor!’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eChabot spoke familiarly to the waiter                who was passing nearby.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Do you know the man who just came                in?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘No, but he’s ordered                champagne.’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eAnd Victor winked.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Adèle’s looking after                him.’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe moved off with his tray. The music                stopped for a moment, then started up an American-style boston. The owner, standing                at the table of the promising customer, was opening the champagne bottle himself,                tucking a napkin round its neck.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Do you think they’ll stay                open late?’ whispered Chabot.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Two, half past … as                usual.’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Shall we have another                drink?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThey were on edge. The younger one                particularly, who was looking at each person in turn with a fixed stare.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘How much do you think there                is?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eBut Delfosse simply shrugged and said                impatiently:\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Shut up, can’t                you!’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThey could see Adèle, almost opposite                them, sitting beside the unknown customer,                who had ordered champagne. He was a man of about forty, with jet-black hair and a                dark complexion, Romanian, or Turkish perhaps, in appearance. He wore a pink silk                shirt and a jewelled tie-pin.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe seemed untroubled by the dancer, who                was laughing and chatting to him while leaning against his shoulder. When she asked                for a smoke, he held out a gold cigarette-case, still looking straight ahead.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eDelfosse and Chabot had stopped talking.                They pretended to be looking with scorn at the newcomer. But they really admired him                intensely! They missed not a detail, studying the way his tie was knotted, the cut                of his suit, and even his casual way with a glass of champagne.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eChabot wore a cheap off-the-peg suit and                shoes that had been mended more than once. His friend’s clothes, although of                better fabric, were ill-matched. Delfosse had the narrow shoulders, hollow chest and                fragile silhouette of an adolescent who had clearly shot up too fast.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Here comes someone                else!’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe velvet curtain inside the door had                been moved aside. A man was handing his bowler hat to the doorman, then standing                still for a moment, surveying the room. He was tall, broad-shouldered and heavily                built. He wore a placid expression, and did not even listen to the waiter who wanted                to escort him to a table. He sat down at random.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Got any beer?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘We only have English beer –                stout, pale ale?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe man shrugged, indicating that he had                no preference. The place was no busier than any other night. One couple on the                dance-floor. The jazz music carried on, becoming a background noise one hardly noticed. At the                bar, a well-dressed customer was playing poker dice with the owner. Adèle sat                alongside her companion, who was still taking no notice of her. A typical scene in a                small-town nightclub. At one point, three men, all slightly drunk, pushed aside the                curtain over the door. The owner hurried across. The musicians played frantically.                But the men left, and sounds of laughter came from outside.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eAs time passed, Chabot and Delfosse                began to look more serious. It was as if fatigue had sharpened their features,                darkened their skin to a sallow complexion, and drawn circles under their eyes.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘OK now?’ asked Chabot, in                such a low voice that his companion guessed rather than heard what he said.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eNo answer. Fingers drumming on the                marble tabletop.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eLeaning on the stranger’s                shoulder, Adèle winked from time to time at her two young friends, while maintaining                the flirtatious, smiling look she had adopted.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Victor!’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Going already? You’ve got a                date?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eIn the same way that Adèle was putting                on a come-hither expression, he was pretending to look knowing and interested.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘We’ll settle up tomorrow,                Victor. Got no change tonight.’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Of course, gentlemen. Goodnight!                You’re going out that way?’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe two young men were not drunk. But                they made their way out as if in a nightmare, without seeing anything.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThe Gai-Moulin has                two doors. The main entrance is on the street, Rue du Pot-d’Or. That is the                way customers normally arrive and leave. But after two a.m., when according to                police regulations the club should be closed, a small service entrance leads to an                ill-lit and deserted alleyway.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eChabot and Delfosse crossed the                dance-floor, passed in front of the stranger’s table, replied to the                owner’s goodnight, and pushed open the door of the washroom. They stopped                there a few seconds, without looking at each other.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘I’m scared,’ Chabot                stammered.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eHe could see his reflection in the oval                mirror. The muffled sounds of the jazz music had followed them in.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Quick!’ said Delfosse,                opening another door on to a dark staircase, where the air was damp and cold.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eIt led to the cellar. The steps were                made of brick. From below arose a sickening smell of beer and wine.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘What if someone comes!’\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eChabot almost stumbled, as the door                swung to behind them, cutting out all the light. His hands moved along the walls                covered with saltpetre crystals. He felt someone touch him and gave a start, but it                was only his friend.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003e‘Don’t move!’ the                other said.\u003c\/p\u003e            \u003cp\u003eThey could not exactly hear the music.                They could guess at it. What could be sensed above all was the beat from the                drummer. A rhythm throbbing through the air and bringing back the image of the                club’s interior with its red velvet seats, the tinkle of glasses and the woman                in pink dancing with a man in a tuxedo.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Penguin Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304586662117,"sku":"NP9780141393520","price":15.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780141393520.jpg?v=1730757838","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/inspector-maigretisbn-9780141393520","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}