The critics greeted this book with a churlish and horrified outcry. Certain virtuous people, in newspapers no… — Emile Zola
The critics greeted this book with a churlish and horrified outcry. Certain virtuous people, in newspapers no less virtuous, made a grimace of disgust as they picked it up with the tongs to throw it into the fire. Even the minor literary reviews, the ones that retail nightly the tittle-tattle from alcoves and private rooms, held their noses and talked of filth and stench. I am not complaining about this reception; on the contrary I am delighted to observe that my colleagues have such maidenly susceptibilities.
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More from this book
In reality, one single thought tormented them: they were irritated at their crime, and in despair at having for ever troubled their lives.
Sometimes, forcing themselves to hope, they sought to resume the burning dreams of other days, and were quite astonished to find they had no imagination.
It was like a lightning flash of passion, swift and blinding in a leaden sky.
