The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard by Anatole France

An old scholar finds there’s more to life than books

The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard, published in 1881, was French author Anatole France’s debut novel, after having previously established his literary reputation as a poet. I have seen several websites that classify this novel as “detective fiction.” It is certainly not that, and despite its title, not crime fiction by any means. It is, however, a very entertaining read. The novel won a prize from the Académie Française the year it was published, and the author would go on to win the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1921.

Sylvestre Bonnard is a 62-year-old historian and philologist whose specific area of expertise is the medieval history of the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Pres. Bonnard is a bachelor, lives with a housekeeper and his cat Hamilcar, and spends much of his time in his extensive library, which he has dubbed the City of Books. Browsing through a catalogue of manuscripts, he discovers a mention of the existence of a previously unknown book that would be integral to his studies, one that contains the legends of various saints as written by a 14th century clerk at Saint-Germain-des-Pres. Desiring this volume for his collection, he obsessively sets about hunting for it.

With this beginning, Bonnard calls to mind the scholarly bookworm heroes of novels by Umberto Eco like Foucault’s Pendulum or The Name of the Rose. The plot takes a different turn, however, when, over the course of his bibliophilic pursuits, Bonnard indirectly reconnects with a lost love, a coincidental event that changes the course of his life. Formerly quite set in his ways, Bonnard opens his heart to receive a friend in need. From here, the story turns into a touching story of the platonic relationship between an aged man and a young woman. Though that sounds like the plot description of many a European film, the story of The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard is refreshingly distinctive and unpredictable. France causes the reader to care about his characters through judiciously paced moments of lighthearted humor, suspenseful distress, and heartwarming love, without the narrative ever becoming overly sentimental or sappy.

The most enjoyable aspect of the book is hearing the story told through the unique voice of its narrator, Sylvestre Bonnard himself. The reader gets a glimpse inside the mind of this aged scholar who is in some respects an intellectual giant crossed with an emotional child. At a young age, Bonnard turned away from matters of the heart to sequester himself among his dusty old books, yet among the cobwebs of his soul there still beats a warm heart of gold. Through Bonnard’s voice, France tells his tale with humor and poignancy. To be receptive to Bonnard’s charm, however, the reader should really have an interest in old books, libraries, and arcane areas of study, otherwise the old man’s digressions on books and history might not appeal to you. I for one, however, enjoyed all my time spent amid Bonnard’s City of Books, and at times I envied his quasi-monastic lifestyle.

Anatole France is known for satire and social criticism, but that’s not really evident here, other than he may be gently poking fun at the academicians of the Académie Française, of which Bonnard is a member. France himself would join that club 15 years later. France clearly has an affection for his character, and it rubs off on the reader. The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard is a very well-written and delightfully engaging novel. My only other experience with Anatole France has been his 1912 novel The Gods are Athirst, which I did not enjoy as much, but after reading this book I will certainly delve further into his fiction.
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