Both mysterious and philosophical, 'Paris Nocturne; is a haunting meditation on the power of memory
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Modiano was clearly going for nebulous: the word, or variations of it, appear several times in the text, and even from the first few pages I felt befogged. Only the most cursory description of setting or mood; just vague outlines with occasional details of shadows. The narrator is utterly personalityless: I was reminded of [b:The Stranger 13480960 The Stranger Albert Camus https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1328988727s/13480960.jpg 3324344], intentionally, I'm sure. I could not care about anyone or any event in the book, and found myself slogging through it simply because it's so short—”it'll be over soon.” I'm sorry I stuck with it. Nothing is resolved; the fog never lifts.But maybe—ok probably—I'm just not smart enough to understand it. So I won't taint the Goodreads ratings average with a star-score; I'll simply leave it unrated, with these words to serve as warning (or perhaps recommendation?) to my friends.
