On my trip to New York City this spring, I picked up a pocket-sized edition of Maurice Leblanc’s seminal work, The Adventures of Arsène Lupin, Gentleman-Thief, in the gift shop of the New York Public Library. I was thrilled to find a copy in English because to my own dismay, I have yet been able to get into/through the French version I purchased a few years ago on a trip to Paris.

As my schedule temporarily slowed down when spring shifted to summer, I took my little gentleman burglar book on a weekend trip to Bentonville, Arkansas. Though I love to nap on airplane rides, as I opened to the first chapter, I was pulled back through time into the often glittering, sometimes seedy, presumptively smelly and definitely charming literary setting of Paris in the late 1800s.

I was already a fan of the French series Lupin (viewable on American Netflix), so I read the source material with joyful anticipation. The modernized series followed the storylines of The Adventures of Arsène Lupin much less that the BBC’s Sherlock followed Conan Doyle’s stories. And yet, the book still delivered an incredibly engaging read. I must note that as I got in to the stories, I did my subpar dual language skills a bit of grace — I probably haven’t encountered some of the vocab that was regularly utilized at the turn of last century.

Leblanc was a contemporary of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and is often cited as France’s version of the well-known detective novelist. In fact, Leblanc incorporated a character called Herlock Sholmes into the Lupin series. His striking imitation of the Sherlock Holmes character couldn’t possibly have been ignored at the time both men were writing their serials. But, the Lupin stories are not knock-offs of Doyle’s mysteries. Rather, Lupin’s antics can be seen as the type of impossible questions to which Sherlock Holmes provides totally plausible answers.

In some ways, the character of Lupin reminded me of Stéphane Breitwieser, the art thief from one of last summer’s reads, The Art Thief. To some extent, Lupin steals because he can and because he enjoys an improbable challenge. But I wouldn’t write him off as a common criminal, lured by greed. Most often, Lupin employs his thievery skills in hopes of avenging some great wrongdoing. Think along the lines of Robin Hood — steal from the rich because of their dastardly deeds — although Lupin rarely sees fit to fill anyone’s bank account but his own. But in the end, his motivations and actions are largely redemptive: he seems to have a strong moral compass in terms of justice, and gladly compensates unknowing accomplices.

This book may be for you if you also like: Lupin (the French Netflix series); Sherlock Holmes (books & the BBC series); art/jewelry/book heists; transatlantic voyages; train travel; underdog stories; French society of the early 20^th century; Paris; socialites; detective stories; clever getaways.

SDG

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