The Belly Of Paris

Florent Quenu has escaped from exile as a political prisoner, and he has returned to live in Paris with his brother and his brother's wife, Lisa. Though Florent was wrongly accused and sentenced, he continues to sympathize with the poor against those in power in France. He gets a job as an inspector, a job he took only to appease his sister-in-law, and he meets frequently with a group of others who seek to overthrow the government. Others, for petty personal reasons rather than for political ones, begin to gossip about Florent, and he is finally arrested and deported again.

Florent's passion for politics is compared in the book by Florent's artist friend, Claude Lantier, to Lantier's own desire to make art: “And—may I be quite frank with you?—if I like you it's because you seem to me to follow politics just as I follow painting. You titillate yourself, my good friend.”

Emile Zola. The Belly of Paris: (Annotated Edition) (p. 292). Kindle Edition.

The overriding theme of the book is what Lantier calls the Battle of the Fat and the Thin, with the fat wealthy bourgeoisie pitted against the thin lower classes. The story takes place in Les Halles, the huge market complex in Paris, and detailed descriptions of foods can be found throughout the book.

Some other favorite quotes from the book:

“No, Florent had never again been free from hunger. He recalled all the past to mind, but could not recollect a single hour of satiety. He had become dry and withered; his stomach seemed to have shrunk; his skin clung to his bones. And now that he was back in Paris once more, he found it fat and sleek and flourishing, teeming with food in the midst of the darkness. He had returned to it on a couch of vegetables; he lingered in its midst encompassed by unknown masses of food which still and ever increased and disquieted him.”

Emile Zola. The Belly of Paris: (Annotated Edition) (p. 19). Kindle Edition.

“Claude detected the entire drama of human life, and he ended by classifying men into Fat and Thin, two hostile groups, one of which devours the other, and grows fat and sleek and enjoys itself.”

Emile Zola. The Belly of Paris: (Annotated Edition) (p. 241). Kindle Edition.

‘Beneath the stall show-table, formed of a slab of red marble veined with grey, baskets of eggs gleamed with a chalky whiteness; while on layers of straw in boxes were Bondons, placed end to end, and Gournays, arranged like medals, forming darker patches tinted with green. But it was upon the table that the cheeses appeared in greatest profusion. Here, by the side of the pound-rolls of butter lying on white-beet leaves, spread a gigantic Cantal cheese, cloven here and there as by an axe; then came a golden-hued Cheshire, and next a Gruyere, resembling a wheel fallen from some barbarian chariot; whilst farther on were some Dutch cheeses, suggesting decapitated heads suffused with dry blood, and having all that hardness of skulls which in France has gained them the name of “death's heads.” Amidst the heavy exhalations of these, a Parmesan set a spicy aroma. Then there came three Brie cheeses displayed on round platters, and looking like melancholy extinct moons. Two of them, very dry, were at the full; the third, in its second quarter, was melting away in a white cream, which had spread into a pool and flowed over the little wooden barriers with which an attempt had been made to arrest its course. Next came some Port Saluts, similar to antique discs, with exergues bearing their makers' names in print. A Romantour, in its tin-foil wrapper, suggested a bar of nougat or some sweet cheese astray amidst all these pungent, fermenting curds. The Roqueforts under their glass covers also had a princely air, their fat faces marbled with blue and yellow, as though they were suffering from some unpleasant malady such as attacks the wealthy gluttons who eat too many truffles. And on a dish by the side of these, the hard grey goats' milk cheeses, about the size of a child's fist, resembled the pebbles which the billy-goats send rolling down the stony paths as they clamber along ahead of their flocks. Next came the strong smelling cheeses: the Mont d'Ors, of a bright yellow hue, and exhaling a comparatively mild odour; the Troyes, very thick, and bruised at the edges, and of a far more pungent smell, recalling the dampness of a cellar; the Camemberts, suggestive of high game; the square Neufchatels, Limbourgs, Marolles, and Pont l'Eveques, each adding its own particular sharp scent to the malodorous bouquet, till it became perfectly pestilential; the Livarots, ruddy in hue, and as irritating to the throat as sulphur fumes; and, lastly, stronger than all the others, the Olivets, wrapped in walnut leaves, like the carrion which peasants cover with branches as it lies rotting in the hedgerow under the blazing sun.'

Emile Zola. The Belly of Paris: (Annotated Edition) (pp. 266-267). Kindle Edition.

“The gossips looked at each other with a circumspect air. And then, as they drew breath, they inhaled the odour of the Camemberts, whose gamy scent had overpowered the less penetrating emanations of the Marolles and the Limbourgs, and spread around with remarkable power. Every now and then, however, a slight whiff, a flutelike note, came from the Parmesan, while the Bries contributed a soft, musty scent, the gentle, insipid sound, as it were, of damp tambourines. Next followed an overpowering refrain from the Livarots, and afterwards the Gerome, flavoured with aniseed, kept up the symphony with a high prolonged note, like that of a vocalist during a pause in the accompaniment.”

Emile Zola. The Belly of Paris: (Annotated Edition) (p. 270). Kindle Edition.