Death in Paris is a mashup of some of the most favorite literary tropes. An American expatriate in Paris, fish out of water, suspicious death of an old friend, curious amateur sleuths, a surprise inheritance, and a female buddy romp. Author Emilia Bernhard gives the reader all that as well as a you-are-there tour of Paris ... Francophiles in particular will enjoy and be familiar with the descriptions of Parisian food, clothes, fashions, hairstyles, boulevards, streets, shops, cafes, language, and culture. The reader will find the ending surprising, yet not a surprise.
...Rachel Levis and her best friend, Magda, investigate the death of Rachel’s old beau, Edgar Bowen, who appears to have drowned in his soup. Rachel tries to keep her sleuthing under wraps from her husband, but once she’s named in Edgar’s will and is asked to organize the dead financier’s library, she has to come clean about how she’s been spending her time—learning about suspects ... Though set in the present, the book has a timeless quality—mentions of a podcast or a pop-culture reference are the only things keeping the story from taking place at any point in the last 30 years. Fans of cozies and the City of Lights, or drawn to the theme of female friendship, will eagerly await an encore. Pair this with Cara Black’s beloved Aimée Leduc series.
Bernhard’s delightful debut and series launch, an often witty comedy of manners, gives a view of the highs and lows of contemporary Parisian society through the eyes of Rachel Levis, an American who has lived in the city for some 20 years and is now married to a successful banker ... Bernhard fills the novel with entertaining characters, conjures up an authentic Paris, and gives the reader intelligent, if frothy, fun.
...Rachel's first lover, wealthy American banker Edgar Bowen, taught her how to navigate the city like a Parisian. Now that she’s married to a slightly less wealthy banker, Alan Field, she spends her days pleasantly at the Jardin du Luxembourg rather than the more touristy Jardin des Tuileries and enjoys oeufs en cocotte at Le Chant de Voyelles, her local bistro. But hearing that Edgar died suddenly, and even worse, that he drowned at his own table in a bowl of vichyssoise, rocks her comfortable world ... With a tepid mystery, no real clues, and only a superficial stab at local color, Bernhard’s Paris debut is more Carolyn Keene than Cara Black.
