The Venice Train - Classic Text | Alexandria
The Venice Train, a novel by Georges Simenon published in 1965, is more than a mere mystery; it is an exploration into identity, deceit, and the suffocating weight of a past one cannot escape. Seemingly straightforward on the surface, the narrative's relentless probing of its protagonist, Justin Calmar, invites questions about the nature of truth and the masks we wear to conceal our true selves. Is Calmar truly the man he believes himself to be, or is he a fabrication, a consequence of events beyond his control?
Simenon’s works share thematic similarities, but The Venice Train distinguishes itself through the constrained setting and the psychological unraveling of its protagonist. Although not explicitly referencing earlier works, some claim to see echoes of Joseph Conrad's themes of guilt and expiation. Simenon, writing during the Cold War era, a time of espionage and shifting allegiances, subtly embeds elements of paranoia and suspicion mirrored in his character’s desperate search for certainty.
The novel's reception was relatively muted compared to some other Maigret stories, perhaps because it lacks the comforting presence of Simenon's iconic detective. Yet, it persists in academic discussions concerning themes of existential dread and the malleability of identity. It raises difficult questions about the influence of external forces in shaping us. The choice of Venice as a backdrop is particularly evocative. A city built on water, seemingly solid yet constantly shifting, reflects the fluid nature of Calmar's perceived reality. How much of our identity is truly ours, and how much is imposed upon us by circumstance and the actions of others?
Today, The Venice Train finds renewed relevance. In an age dominated by "fake news" and constructed realities, Calmar’s journey resonates. It challenges readers to confront the fragile nature of memory and to question the narratives they accept as truth. The novel’s lasting power lies not only in the suspenseful plot. The Venice Train's enduring mystique encourages us to ask: how do we know who someone is, and more importantly, how do we truly know ourselves?