Olive Senior - PEN International

Casey Merkin
Excerpt from the novel
The Crimes of Paris
WORDS ... CASEY MERKIN 41
The Crimes of Paris is a darkly comic anti-travelogue and histoire de la déception
amoureuse. The opening section, ‘Les chroniques de Bruce’ , from which this excerpt
is taken, follows the experiences of the narrator, Casey, with his ‘sometimes fictitious
French roommate’ , Bruce (whose influence is felt in the casual use of French
vocabulary and typographical style throughout the novel). Casey has recently
landed in Paris after a so-called divorce in Los Angeles.
Café Philosophique: The Institution of Marriage
One of the great advantages of my new apartment is that it’s only a five-minute
walk to the Canal Saint-Martin. Paid for in wine by Napoléon and built to bring
fresh water and goods into the city, the canal now supplies the 19e, 11e and 10e
arrondissements with a wash of young guitar players and elderly winos. From
the Bassin de la Villette to the rue du Faubourg du Temple (whence it continues
underground all the way to the Porte de l’Arsenal, just below the Bastille), the
bords du canal are a popular pique-nique destination and a home away from
homelessness for the hundreds of sans abris who have taken up residence there
in tents.
To kill time before meeting up with some people at a club upstream, B. E. and
I are sitting over a couple of demis at Chez Prune, a café branché located along the
canal in a bobo section of the 10e. For the past half hour, he’s been telling me about
his attempts to get some trim in Paris, and how they have all ended in failure.
But with a frustrated shake of his head, he changes the topic :
–So how’s life with Bruce ? You know, it’s never too late to look for a place
together.
–Yeah, I moan, and go through all that shit you have to do here to get a legit
place ?
–It’s not that big a deal …
–The paperwork, the agents, the intense scrutiny of your bank history –
which, incidentally, I don’t even have in France –, finding a guarantor willing
to cover a year’s worth of rent … If I at least had a visa, that would be one thing.
Besides, I told you : I don’t want to live with another American.
B. E. has been in France for a few months already on a student visa. (I should
mention that « B. E. » is not really his name. For years now, he’s been using his
initials as a nom de plume, a literary affectation I find hilarious. Since my arrival,
I’ve been adding to the ostentation by encouraging everyone we know to call him
« B. E. », and it’s actually become an identity he begrudgingly embraces.) B. E.’s
master plan was to get into the country by taking a course at the Sorbonne, make