It’s September 1929, and Paris during the Jazz Age is filled with artists—painters, photographers, writers, and filmmakers—and their hangers-on, many of them beautiful young women. When one such young woman goes missing, her American parents contact private investigator Harris Stuyvesant to make sure she’s all right. There is a slight wrinkle: Stuyvesant is more than just an acquaintance of Philippa Crosby, having had an affair with her some time back. Although he’s fairly certain Pip is just off having fun somewhere, he agrees to take the case (not least because he’s just arrived in Paris flat broke).
Stuyvesant begins by visiting Pip’s apartment. There he meets her intriguing roommate, which leads to even more complications not only because his previous relationship with Pip makes his growing attraction to her roommate awkward, but also because of the unexpected return of the woman he’s been trying to forget for the past three years. The complex web of relationships—everybody knows everybody, it seems—makes for a compelling investigation, as does the setting. Paris is a living, breathing entity. The pacing is deceptive; although the plot seems slow to develop with perhaps too much attention given to the visual arts, in fact the suspense steadily builds and the immersion into the artistic mind-set of the time is vital to solving the mystery of Pip’s disappearance.
Stuyvesant’s journey into the Paris art world is fascinating, and the integration of real artists and their work is seamless. There’s enough background and description of surrealist art to bring the art scene to life but not enough that my eyes glazed over. The horrors of the Great War opened up to a time of decadence and selfishness; within certain circles, Art was elevated above all else and the human body was just another medium. There’s a growing sense of desperation as the story unfolds, and knowing what’s around the corner—the Wall Street Crash is just a month away—makes the reader all too aware that this is a society headed straight for a cliff.
This is the second book in a series. I read the previous book, Touchstone, several years ago. While the events of Touchstone are referred to, I think The Bones of Paris stands up on its own. Anyone planning to read both books should read Touchstone first, however, not only to preserve the order of the series but also because it’s a weaker book, and readers who are impressed with The Bones of Paris might feel let down a bit by Touchstone.
This ARC was provided by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
My rating: 5 stars