so now I know who the murderer is. I got to the last chapter, and even read his confession and motives. The murderer isn’t Victor Legris. Victor is actually the detective. No, the authors didn’t want to confuse us that much.
Of course I am not going to tell you! I wouldn’t ruin it for you in case you decide to read it. It is a great novel if you want to learn about life in Paris at the end of the 19th century. It’s the kind of historical mystery that creates the ambiance of a whole period with such detail that you see a film unfolding as you read.
One funny detail: Victor is entering a café where the best Impressionist painters exchange their paintings for food and drinks. The café owner is trying to sell Victor a Van Gogh for peanuts, and he praises his work. But Victor doesn’t even see the painting! All he cares about is a mediocre sculpture of Tasha, the girl he is obsessed with.
Is love blind?