The Paris Architect

Lucien is repeatedly unsettled by the idea that the civilized and profane can exist in the same person—especially if that person is German. He does not understand how a country that systematically orchestrated the deaths of millions could also produce a funny cartoon or how German soldiers who would coldly shoot a man on the street for being Jewish would also give up their bus seats to the elderly. This confusion is illustrated by Lucien’s thoughts concerning Herzog’s appreciation for fine art:

It bothered Lucien that a German could value such beautiful things—like an ape appreciating a string of rare pearls or an ancient Grecian red-and-black vase. They were monsters without a shred of decency, yet they could hold the same things in high esteem as a Frenchman could. It didn’t seem right (109).

These concerns continue as he meets Reich Minister Speer, a fellow architect. He wonders how someone who appears to be very similar to himself could be responsible for the atrocities that he orchestrated.

Speer didn’t look evil at all. He was an architect, a respectable—looking, professional man like himself. A man of great intelligence and charm who was responsible for the implementation of the death and destruction of tens of thousands of people in the past six months. He was a cold—blooded murderer, but he didn’t personally use a gun or a knife. Instead, he ordered others to use the weapons he planned and produced. And to what end? The pure evil of dominating other nations merely because the Nazis deemed them inferior? (219).

This particular theme goes beyond Lucien’s own perceptions and scenes. Schlegal, a cruel, sadistic, anti-Semitic Gestapo officer, also exhibits good manners at times. After viciously torturing a man, he instructs his men to clean up the blood because “‘this is someone’s home, you know. I don’t want to leave it a mess’” (205).

In the same way that the French have a difficult time believing that cultured people could commit genocide, some German soldiers express surprise and disgust for the French informing on one another. Captain Bruckner thinks, “They didn’t understand that these denunciations deepened the contempt the Germans had for them and made it much easier to use brute force on the French” and that “it was odd that the French were so dignified in death but in life acted like shits squealing on each other” (101, 103).

These varied situations illustrate the same confusing paradox: human nature is multifaceted and has the capacity to be both brutal and genteel, cultured and cowardly.

As events transpire, priorities and perspectives change. This is seen in several different areas within the novel. For example, after the Occupation, Parisians went from having many goals to having only one: survival. Their main focus is acquiring food, prompting adjustments in lifestyle such as keeping rabbits in hutches on balconies for meat. A more specific example comes from Monsieur Geiber, whose priorities undergo explicit shifts. When he and his wife first went on the run from the Nazis, they hoped for something resembling the luxury they were used to. Instead, they paid 5,000 francs for a pit and a bucket in pure darkness. He was initially offended when a pharmacist offered him cyanide, but after experiencing Gestapo raids, he regretted not taking it. While hiding under the stairs, he was not ashamed to be covered in sweat and his own excrement because “all that mattered was that they had survived” (117).

Of course, the biggest priority shifts come from Lucien. His motivations for designing the hiding spots evolve from self-interest to pride and spite to moral righteousness. Once Pierre is introduced to his life, his priorities shift again. As he grows increasingly attached to the boy, he values Pierre’s wellbeing more than his own. This is evidenced by his willingness to approach an SS officer in the National Library to draw attention away from Pierre’s hiding spot. It is also directly addressed when he considers jumping to his death after Schlegal summons him to the apartment building where Janusky is hiding. Despite having lived in a state of paralyzing fear of this exact situation for most of the book, Lucien feels happy knowing that Pierre would be safe with Bette.