Είναι αυτη η πίκρα που μένει ανάμεσα στα λαχανικα, τα λουλουδια, την αθωοτητα, τα ψαρια, τα κρεατα, τα πουλερικα....και τους νικητές Χοντρους και άδικα ηττημένους Αδύνατους...Η ανθρώπινη μικρότητα σε όλο το μεγαλείο της, η πολιτικη, η επανάσταση, το ψεμα...ολα ζωντατευουν για χαρη του αναγνώστη μεσα από ζωντανους ζωγραφικους πινακες λεξεων, "πηγμένους" σε λεπτομέρειες προσωπων, ρουχων, χαρακτήρων, οσμών, γεύσεων, χρωμάτων....τόσο δυνατο που στο τελος μένεις με ένα γιατί...αλλά ακόμη και σήμερα λέμε το ίδιο γιατί και όλα απλώς συνεχίζουν...ΥΓ Εαν σου αρεσει το φαγητο διαβασε το!

This book was gifted to me after it was recommended by the great Anthony Bourdain.

The evocative imagery of the sights & smells of Les Halles food market is the central theme of the book. It reflects the huge gulf between the 'haves' and 'have-nots' in 19th century Paris. The descriptions of the market are powerful and are used as a means for Zola to express his political sentiments.

The actual plot seems secondary to the metaphor of the market. The protagonist Florent is no revolutionary hero, he was uninspiring and dejected throughout. This is probably because his fate was already sealed from the outset and yet he was the last person to know.

Enjoyable read and probably worth revisiting.

The Belly of Paris is an unusual literary feat, a seeming polemic with a virtually hidden message. In prose that describes the food markets of the city in glorious (and sometimes squalid) detail, Zola introduces us to this specialized world that feeds the rich and poor of the capital city. These descriptions are beautifully written and even the squalid details are often metaphorically lovely.

Beneath that surface, however, is the battle of the "Fats" and "Thins" (also an alternate title of the book). These are not simply to be taken as haves and have-nots. It's more complicated than that. The fat are somehow more acceptable, more successful, even if not financially so. To be thin is to be suspect.

To this milieu returns Florent Quenu, a Parisian wrongly imprisoned and exiled to Devil's Island. He has escaped and now is back, but for what purpose? The people of Les Halles, the produce market, live on gossip, spreading stories whether true or false. The government sits in the background, watching all, making plans.

There were times when I became impatient with Zola's concentration on seemingly endless description over character and/or plot. But, admittedly, these descriptions were beautifully wrought. And, in the end, I found that they served a purpose toward the overall end. There was a message about the fruits of excess and the role of the state, not the message I might like but amazingly modern. And perhaps his technique mirrored that excess.

I will readmore of Zola in the future.

I love Zola because he's always so much a part of his time, and so ready to describe life in Paris, and with such detail!

When innocent Florent Quenu escapes from prison on Devil's Island, he returns to his native Paris, to Les Halles marketplace, where the poor, downtrodden struggle to survive.

From page one, the reader feels as if he/she is right there in the heart of it all, smelling, tasting, hearing all that the mid-19th Century marketplace has to offer. The pictures are quite vivid, "...red bouquets of carrots, white bouquets of turnips, or the bursting greenery of peas and cabbages." And if you're a cheese lover, there are two pages dedicated just to cheese.

This is a book where not only food and politics mix but where the gap between rich and poor forever widens.

Ēdiens, tauki, "skaistie" resnie paēdušie cilvēki, kam viss ir labi, un "ļaunie" tievie, kas dzīvē grib kaut ko vairāk, kam vēders nav galvenais. Zolā ar milzu apetīti apraksta gan tirgu, gan dažādos ēdienu veikaliņus, to sortimentu, bet uz visa šī fona ar vēl lielāku ēstgribu kvartāla ļaudis ražo un kāri sakošļā tenkas. Resnie pret tievajiem. Interesants skatījums! Absolūti nemoderns, tāpēc man patika.

Prima carte finisata in acest an, a doua mea intalnire cu Zola. Sunt carti pe care le indragesti pentru continut, pentru emoțiile care ti le trezesc sau pentru deznodământul neasteptat. Si sunt carti, autorii cărora te vrajesc prin stilul lor nemaipomenit de frumos de a scrie. Cărțile lui Zola, cel putin pentru mine, fac parte din a doua categorie. Sunt acele carti pentru care am nevoie de liniste si o atmosfera ambianta ca sa le citesc si sa pot sa le savurez din plin.
In viziunea mea, Zola, e scriitorul care stie cel mai bine sa aleagă si sa plaseze in asa fel cuvintele încât sa ti se creeze impresia ca ele dansează pe pagina, iar descrierile lui sa te teleporteze exact in locul unde are loc acțiunea. Citind "Pantecele Parisului" am simtit si mirosul de mezeluri din hale, si mirosul pestelui care se imbiba in hainele si viata lui Florent, aroma proaspătă a florilor care le vindea tanara Cadine, si cea a zarzavaturilor proaspete de la doamna Francois care parca inca mai aveau viata in ele.
Viața mea parca a prins la mai multe culori. Zola, asteapta-ma, caci voi reveni neaparat la inca o capodoperă a ta. :)

I was so happy to finish this piece of Zola's Rougon-Macquart epic as quickly as I usually tear through his books, especially because I'm having so much trouble getting through La Fortune des Rougon. This is no l'Assommoir or Nana, but Le Ventre de Paris falls nicely in place within the series, almost as an aside. It's almost as if this book's purpose was to let Zola stretch his wings as nothing more than a typical novelist, a break from the intense tragedies he usually describes so vividly, a sort of writer's workshop. Not that le Ventre de Paris isn't a tragedy--it's just tragic on a less soul-crushing level than the rest of the series so far.

The plot is loosely woven between rambling descriptors to bait each of the five senses, rivaled only by Huysmans in sheer excess. The reader feels like a goose being fattened to be made into foie gras, force-fed words that seem fulfilling at first, yet which quickly become overwhelming in their richness. Also like Huysmans, the intent seems to be exactly that: to describe things with such detail as to completely overwhelm one's senses, emphasizing and effectively mimicking the brutally uncomfortable feeling of overindulgence.

The descriptions of Les Halles, Paris' central market, leave absolutely nothing to the imagination--this passage describes the window display of the Quenu-Gradelle charcuterie, where the protagonist, Florent Quenu, is first saved and ultimately doomed:

"Here and there fern-leaves, tastefully disposed, changed the plates which they encircled into bouquets fringed with foliage. There was a wealth of rich, luscious, melting things. Down below, quite close to the window, jars of preserved sausage-meat were interspersed with pots of mustard. Above these were some small, plump, boned hams, golden with their dressings of toasted bread-crumbs, and adorned at the knuckles with green rosettes. Next came the larger dishes, some containing preserved Strasbourg tongues, enclosed in bladders coloured a bright red and varnished, so that they looked quite sanguineous beside the pale sausages and trotters; then there were black-puddings coiled like harmless snakes, healthy looking chitterlings piled up two by two; Lyons sausages in little silver copes that made them look like choristers; hot pies, with little banner-like tickets stuck in them; big hams, and great glazed joints of veal and pork, whose jelly was as limpid as sugar-candy. In the rear were other dishes and earthen pans in which meat, minced and sliced, slumbered beneath lakes of melted fat. And betwixt the various plates and dishes, jars and bottles of sauce, culis, stock and preserved truffles, pans of foie gras and boxes of sardines and tunny-fish were strewn over the bed of paper shavings. A box of creamy cheeses, and one of edible snails, the apertures of whose shells were dressed with butter and parsley, had been placed carelessly at either corner. Finally, from a bar overhead strings of sausages and saveloys of various sizes hung down symmetrically like cords and tassels; while in the rear fragments of intestinal membranes showed like lacework, like some guipure of white flesh. And on the highest tier in this sanctuary of gluttony, amidst the membranes and between two bouquets of purple gladioli, the window stand was crowned by a small square aquarium, ornamented with rock-work, and containing a couple of gold-fish, which were continually swimming round it."

It's simultaneously revolting and intriguing, and the reader digests it as ravenously as Florent, who is nearly starved to death as he takes this all in. Most of the intensely descriptive parts involve market scenes, and Zola uses them brilliantly to illustrate his point about "the fat and the thin," or the rich and the poor.
Another passage describes the window of a jewelry store in the eyes of a market girl:

"In the evenings she would dazzle herself with the displays in the windows of the big jewellers in the Rue Montmartre. That terrible street deafened her with its ceaseless flow of vehicles, and the streaming crowd never ceased to jostle her; still she did not stir, but remained feasting her eyes on the blazing splendour set out in the light of the reflecting lamps which hung outside the windows. On one side all was white with the bright glitter of silver: watches in rows, chains hanging, spoons and forks laid crossways, cups, snuff-boxes, napkin-rings, and combs arranged on shelves. The silver thimbles, dotting a porcelain stand covered with a glass shade, had an especial attraction for her. Then on the other side the windows glistened with the tawny glow of gold. A cascade of long pendant chains descended from above, rippling with ruddy gleams; small ladies' watches, with the backs of their cases displayed, sparkled like fallen stars; wedding rings clustered round slender rods; bracelets, broaches, and other costly ornaments glittered on the black velvet linings of their cases; jewelled rings set their stands aglow with blue, green, yellow, and violet flamelets; while on every tier of the shelves superposed rows of earrings and crosses and lockets hung against the crystal like the rich fringes of altar-cloths. The glow of this gold illumined the street half way across with a sun-like radiance. And Cadine, as she gazed at it, almost fancied that she was in the presence of something holy, or on the threshold of the Emperor's treasure chamber."

Le Ventre de Paris is a collection of indulgences, and in the backdrop a harmless, idealistic revolutionary is so blinded by this excess that he doesn't notice the backstabbing, greedy, ravenous vultures circling around him throughout the entire book (until it's too late, of course).

Da mi je neko rekao da ću bez problema uživati u opisima povrća, cveća, putera, mesa i ribe, stvarno ne znam šta bih mu odgovorila. Ovu knjigu sam ostavila za kraj serijala, jer sam svuda viđala komentare da je ovde Zola deskripciju doveo do maksimuma i savršenstva. Potpuno se slažem sa tim, a za kompletno uživanje u romanu, ipak mi je nedostajao malo čvršći kostur priče. Doduše, na nekim mestima, Zola me je oduvao sposobnošću da dočara rečima sliku koju je on video, osećala sam da ni najmanji detalj nije propustio.

"Trbuh Pariza" je simbolični glavni junak priče, u pitanju je ogromna pijaca, veliki građevinski projekat s početka 19. veka odakle se sva hrana "širila" u ostale "udove" grada. Pored ovog, postoji i drugi naslov romana "Debeli i mršavi", koji olakšava shvatanje Zoline poruke. Njegove romane iz ovog serijala odlikuje to da pored porodice Rugon-Makar, mi pratimo i uticaj države na razne društvene slojeve. Ovde niži srednji sloj slepo podržava sve što car i država rade, sve dok su oni "debeli i srećni". U svojim malim svađama, Debeli pokušavaju da "progutaju" mršave otvaranjem novih prodavnica, osvajanjem bolje hrane na licitaciji, a čak se Debeli i nelagodno osećaju u prisustvu Mršavih koji ih svojim upalim obrazima podsećaju na strašnu sudbinu i bolest.

Zola je za izradu ovog romana provodio nebrojeno mnogo sati i dana na pijaci Les Halles, koja je, nažalost, srušena krajem 20. veka. Njegovi opisi cveća, čiji miris ostaje u odeći i na telu satima posle šetnje pored tezgi, zaista su neverovatni. Kontrast čine tezge sa ribom čije prodavačice, pored mirisa koji uvek nose sa sobom, i same deluju agresivno i "bore se za vazduh". Nisam nikad više opisa povrća videla u životu, tako da ko voli da čita o kupusu, rotkvicama i paradajzu, ovde će to naći na bar 30 stranica. On na isti način opisuje i ljude, žene koje pucaju od zdravlja i čiji se prosperitet vidi u velikim grudima, širokom struku i jakom vratu, na pijaci su prava sila prirode. Jedan od nosilaca priče, mršavi Floren, stalno je u strahu od njih i on je jedini koga ova pijaca i neumereno uživanje u hrani plaše i gade. Njegova nesklonost hrani i ostavljanje punog tanjira neke ljude čak okreće i protiv njega.

Od porodice Makar, tu je Lisa, ćerka Antoana Makara. Iako članove te nelegitimne strane Zola uglavnom opisuje kao gramzive, pohotne, lenje i divlje, Lisa je odlična kontrateža toj negativnosti. Ona je promoćurna i racionalna. Dobra je sve dok nešto ne ugrozi njenu finansijsku dobrobit i dobar glas njene prodavnice, tu postaje beskrupulozna. Zanimljivo je upoređivati je sa njenim ocem i sestrom Žervezom, glavnom junakinjom "Trovačnice" (jedan od najjačih Zolinih romana). Pored njih, u ovom romanu se pojavljuju i junaci ostalih delova serijala (što je vrlo nekarakteristično za Zolu, uglavnom ih izokola pominje), tu je slikar Klod Lantije, nesrećni slikar iz "Dela", pominje se Sakar iz "Kaljuge" i "Novca", a Lisina ćerka biće glavna junakinja romana "Radost života". Time je zaokružen Lisin položaj na ovom razgranatom porodičnom stablu.

Nije lako čitati ovaj roman, ili sam ogladnela od opisa, pa pravila pauzu za užinu, ili sam bila zgađena, osećala mučninu pred mirisima i ukusima o kojima čitam. Takođe, opisa je stvaaarno mnogo, jedino što me je vuklo dalje jeste njihova živopisnost. Sama radnja i zaplet nisu baš na nivou ranijih romana, očekivala sam nešto dramatičnije, s obzirom na građenje priče na preko 300 strana, ali finale je bilo skoro neprimetno. Ipak, ja sam odavno već Zolu uvrstila u svojih top 3 pisaca bez premca, tako da preporučujem ovaj roman svakako.

I hadn’t read Zola in years (“Thérèse Raquin” was forced on me in college and it left a bitter taste in my mouth – despite the fact that I barely remember anything about it now), but last year, I binged-read everything Anthony Bourdain wrote, and he mentions “The Belly of Paris” over and over again as his favorite book. He was one of my favorite humans, so I take his book recommendations seriously, and got my hands on a copy of what he referred to as “the greatest work of food porn ever written”.

Anthony did not lie to me. The food descriptions in this book are… well… obscene. Not in a bad way, though I must say that not unlike porn, it occasionally gets a little disturbing and overwhelming. Vegetarians beware!

The story follows Florent, a rather naïve man, who after escaping wrongful imprisonment, is taken in by half-brother and his wife, and lands a job as an inspector in Paris’ central food market, les Halles. This situation will put him in the middle of a strange rivalry between his sister-in-law and a stubborn fishwife, but will also expose him to the plotting of a group of would-be revolutionaries who want to stage another uprising of the working-class and topple the Empire. Side plots involving orphans who grew up between the markets stalls and a cynical but friendly painter punctuate Florent’s story.

Zola was fond of painting vividly detailed pictures of the best and the worst aspects of humanity. The school of Naturalism was about observing (through the lens of “natural sciences”) and commenting, but this movement certainly had a strong tendency to focus on less savory aspects of human behavior. There is precious little optimism to be found in Zola’s work, and when it’s there, you kind of know it will end badly anyway. The constant conflicts between the “fats” and the “thins”, the mean-spirited gossip, the strange hierarchy of Paris’ famous food market paint a pretty bleak picture. But Cadine and Marjolin's story cuts through it with its innocent and liberated joy - albeit for a rather short interlude. It is also lovely to see that Zola created strong, clever and realistic female characters, who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty, work hard and plan the downfall of the monarchy.

Zola’s prose is simply amazing: it is so evocative that you can see, smell and feel the settings he describes, from the odorous fish market to the warm and cozy charcuterie store. He captures the demeanor of his characters perfectly, and while their huge number can sometimes be confusing, I could picture them as well as if I had been sitting on those quarrelsome meetings in the poultry shop. People, full of thoughts, contradictions, needs and wants, clashing or agreeing with each other truly come alive through his pen.

A beautiful book, that food lovers might just drool all over. I’m going to go have a snack now…

Voilà un repas bien gras et copieux que nous est servi par Zola dans ce troisième tôme de la série les Rougon-Macquart.

Il me semble que les bouquins de la série s'améliorent de plus en plus, et la qualité de déscription est bien plus profonde que jamais. Avec cette déscription merveilleuse qui marque l'écriture de Zola, nous sommes emmenés au quartier des Halles, qui déborde de nourriture à faire lécher les doigts.

C'est les gras contre le maigre, les gras sont les Quenu, les poissonières, les Mehudins, et tout le monde du quartier, contre un seul, Florent, qui revient du bagne et ne reste pas plus de deux ans avant d'y revenir à cause de sa belle-soeur Lisa qui le dénonce auprès de la police.
Ça allait peut être finir par arriver, bien entendu. Quoi avec les plans de révolte de Florent, les complots de vengeance qu'il voulait mener contre le régiment de France.
Mais Florent a été haï de tous, parce qu'il était maigre, et il n'y a pas place à un maigre au quartier des Halles. Un maigre n'est pas quelqu'un à qui on peut faire confiance.

J'ai vécu ces événements avec beaucoup d'esprit et d'espoir pour Florent, envers qui je ressentais plein de sympathie.

La façon dont Zola écrit continue à me fasciner, et je ne pense pas que je vais m'y habituer, parce que personne ne peut décrire des choses aussi banales à les rendre merveilleuses comme Zola le fait.

Really 3 and a half stars.

Un roman sublime et malgré tout, tout à fait pénible à lire pour moi tant les commérages et autres méchancetés sont encore bien trop présents dans notre société pour ne pas que cela fasse violemment écho. Cela dit, la lucidité et l'ingéniosité littéraire de Zola sont toujours autant un délice ! On sent les Halles, on entend les Halles, on mange les Halles. Les tableaux sont puissants !!