THE PARIS EXPRESS

It begins on the Normandy coast on Oct. 22, 1895, as Mado Pelletier boards the eponymous train after buying some unspecified “supplies.” Donoghue displays her usual flair for in-depth research with the next scene, when 7-1/2-year-old Maurice Marland is confused by the 5-minute discrepancy between the times on the clocks over the station entrance and on the platform. The station clock is set ahead to prod tardy passengers, the train guard explains. Similar nuggets of train lore throughout—most notably detailed descriptions of the driver’s and stoker’s perfectly synchronized teamwork—add to rather than detract from the Hitchcockian suspense as readers wait for the crash. (It’s a nice touch that, reminiscent of Donoghue’s contemporary novels, the aforesaid driver and stoker, both men, are unspokenly in love.) The author assembles a large cast, many of whom are real-life figures, though some were not actually on the train. Readers won’t care as Donoghue imagines compelling inner lives for her factual and fictional characters. They include ammunitions manufacturer Jules-Félix Gévelot, who has secret proclivities; African American artist Henry Tanner, who finds a kindred spirit in Cuban-descended medical student Marcelle de Heredia, also the subject of prejudice; and Alice Guy, secretary to the head of Gaumont and Co., who battles sexism to convince her clueless boss there’s a future in moving pictures. About a third of the way through the trip, we learn that Mado, an anarchist, carries a bomb to blow up the train; her principal targets are deputies on their way to the National Assembly session, but she knows many innocent people will also die, and her private struggle with this knowledge joins other expertly juggled plot lines to render each character a sharply delineated individual. Donoghue doesn’t aspire here to the thematic depth that distinguishes such earlier historical novels as Life Mask (2004); this one’s just for fun.

Mar 18, 2025 - 07:35

It begins on the Normandy coast on Oct. 22, 1895, as Mado Pelletier boards the eponymous train after buying some unspecified “supplies.” Donoghue displays her usual flair for in-depth research with the next scene, when 7-1/2-year-old Maurice Marland is confused by the 5-minute discrepancy between the times on the clocks over the station entrance and on the platform. The station clock is set ahead to prod tardy passengers, the train guard explains. Similar nuggets of train lore throughout—most notably detailed descriptions of the driver’s and stoker’s perfectly synchronized teamwork—add to rather than detract from the Hitchcockian suspense as readers wait for the crash. (It’s a nice touch that, reminiscent of Donoghue’s contemporary novels, the aforesaid driver and stoker, both men, are unspokenly in love.) The author assembles a large cast, many of whom are real-life figures, though some were not actually on the train. Readers won’t care as Donoghue imagines compelling inner lives for her factual and fictional characters. They include ammunitions manufacturer Jules-Félix Gévelot, who has secret proclivities; African American artist Henry Tanner, who finds a kindred spirit in Cuban-descended medical student Marcelle de Heredia, also the subject of prejudice; and Alice Guy, secretary to the head of Gaumont and Co., who battles sexism to convince her clueless boss there’s a future in moving pictures. About a third of the way through the trip, we learn that Mado, an anarchist, carries a bomb to blow up the train; her principal targets are deputies on their way to the National Assembly session, but she knows many innocent people will also die, and her private struggle with this knowledge joins other expertly juggled plot lines to render each character a sharply delineated individual. Donoghue doesn’t aspire here to the thematic depth that distinguishes such earlier historical novels as Life Mask (2004); this one’s just for fun.