Inspector Maigret

“Simenon could produce endless variations, as similar and as different as Shakespeare’s sonnets or Monet’s haystacks.” —Adam Kirsch When the glamorous wife of an American industrialist is murdered at a luxury Paris hotel, her past life as a nightclub dancer is the key to finding the...

'Try to imagine a guest, a wealthy woman, staying at the Majestic with her husband, her son, a nurse and a governess . . . In a suite that costs more than a thousand francs a day . . . At six in the morning, she's strangled, not in her room, but in the basement locker room' Below stairs at a...

He went out, lit his pipe and walked slowly to the harbour. He could hear scurrying footsteps behind him. The sea was becoming swollen. The beams of the lighthouses joined in the sky. The moon had just risen and the judge's house emerged from the darkness, all white, a crude, livid, unreal white...

“The most extraordinary fictive shaper in our time.” —George Steiner Exiled to a sleepy town in western France, Maigret is relieved when he has to handle a challenging case. There’s been a murder in a mussel farming village and its most respected resident, the former judge Monsieur...

“I want to know what goes on in people’s minds. I suppose that’s why I love Georges Simenon so much. He was such a master of the small domestic situation.” —Ruth Rendell Tomorrow, at five in the afternoon, I will kill the clairvoyant. Signed,Picpus. This chilling message is seen...

A small, thin man, rather dull to look at, neither young nor old, exuding the stale smell of a bachelor who does not look after himself. He pulls his fingers and cracks his knuckles and tells his tale the way a schoolboy recites his lesson. A mysterious note predicting the murder of a...

In everyone's eyes, even the old ladies hiding behind their quivering curtains, even the kids just now who had turned to stare after they had passed him, he was the intruder, the undesirable. No, worse, he was fundamentally untrustworthy, some stranger who had just turned up from who knew where...

“Open any of his novels—from the outset, the magic operates: from the first paragraph you are caught in the jaws of a trap that will not release you until the full-stop at the end of the last page, and even then with the book closed, you remain dizzy and panting as you try to regain your...

In his mind's eye he would see that slim figure in the striking clothes, those wide eyes the colour of forget-me-not, the pert nose and especially the hat, that giddy, crimson bonnet perched on the top of her head with a bronze-green feather shaped like a blade stuck in it . . . Félicie had...

“Simenon was fascinated by peculiarities of human personality, which he described in elegant, simple prose . . . as pure as running water.” —Roger Ebert It’s the height of spring, and Maigret is grappling with doubly unfamiliar circumstances. He’s in the surreal new village of...