The Disappearance of Adele Bedeau

There is a ‘translator's afterword’ at the end of the novel in which the author sets out the genesis of The Disappearance of Adèle Bedeau. He tells us that, although it has been in print since 1982, it had never been translated into English. He gives us the name of the author, Raymond Brunet, together with a synopsis of his career. Rather puzzlingly, the book makes no reference to Graeme Macrae Burnet as being the translator and it is not until we notice the similarity between the two surnames that it becomes clear that the whole of the ‘afterword’ is a joke, that there was no such French author and no such book. Apparently, what Burnet wanted to do was to create the illusion of a book which had been translated from French, thereby giving it greater verisimilitude.

As one begins to read this novel it is immediately obvious that no such trick was required because the thing that immediately stands out is the sense of place. Saint Louis, although only just in France, is unmistakably French and unmistakably provincial. Nothing very much happens in this tired small town that has clearly seen better days.

The shops, with their fading signs, appear to have given up trying to woo customers and the weary owner of the bistro frequented by Bauman sees no necessity to be pleasant to the regulars or to anybody else. The regulars themselves seem content to drink the same drinks, to have the same conversations and to keep to themselves. They are not openly xenophobic towards Manfred, whose family came from the Swiss side of the border, but neither are they very welcoming, even though he has lived in the town for many years. There is very little crime and Georges Gorski, the senior police detective, is at times almost without employment.

However, when Adèle Bedeau, an alluring waitress at the Restaurant de la Cloche, suddenly disappears, everything changes. The novel, however, resists the temptation to become sensational. It proceeds at the same pace, without ever causing the reader to lose interest. In this connection, there is something of Simenon about the writing and it is obvious that the author is influenced by the creator of Maigret. Whilst it is clear that the story is heading towards a climax, it is by no means clear what that climax will be.

Oddly enough, the disappearance of Adèle isn't hugely important in the novel, despite the title. The attention is centred throughout on the two main protagonists, Manfred and Gorski, both of whom have interesting, if flawed, personalities, the roots of which go back to their childhood. Manfred was the last person to see Adèle and as he realises that he is under suspicion, he becomes almost paranoid and can't go anywhere without feeling that he is being followed. He is already regarded in the town as rather odd – creepy is the word Adèle uses to describe him – and there are rumours about his sexuality. Then an event from his past returns to torment him and it becomes obvious that he is on the verge of a breakdown.

Gorski’s wife, with whom he does not get on, has always wanted her husband to be more ambitious – to make something of a splash, even if only in a provincial town. Like Bauman, however, he has his own devils to torment him in the form of a murder inquiry years ago which he entirely failed to solve. This convinced him that he was not going to make any further progress in his career and has influenced his decision to remain in a small town. The way in which the author explores the minds of these two characters, particularly Bauman, is fascinating. He is never afraid to take the time to do this and never for one moment do we feel a need for more 'action'.

However, when the action does come it is a complete surprise and we are left to contemplate the sadness of a life that never really got going, that was spent aimlessly and – except for one brief period – almost completely alone. This is a crime novel but it is so much more than that, and whilst it owes a lot to Simenon, it is in no way diminished by that comparison.