Amit Chaudhuri’s new novel: Paris bears little resemblance to a visiting writer’s idea of the city

It was two stops from the Gare du Nord. But the Gare du Nord was new to me. I was thrown into chaos. Crossing barriers, I found myself in the silence of the underground. I felt I was headed in the wrong direction since there were so few stops to the end of the line. Two stops is a relief for someone who’s just arrived.

Château Rouge: beautiful name. I know it means red castle. The thought that accompanied the words whenever I heard or read them was Malevich’s painting of the red façade. I was nervous. New cities make me nervous. I would have been nervous arriving into any part of Paris. But this nervousness was of a different kind: of whether or not the location I’d chosen was safe. The first word used by Holly, my interlocutor on email, that made me prick up my ears was “vibrant”. Holly was the admin in charge of incoming fellows; by all accounts an accomplished person, enthused, helpful, with a degree in art history from Yale. “Vibrant” is not a word you use anymore of a Western city – “exquisite”, “beautiful”, even “exciting”, yes. It made me think something was wrong. In another...

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