Mont Oriol by Guy de Maupassant (1887)

I call Maupassant one of 'the syphilitics' - and, yes, there is some disparagement tucked away in that. Those late 19th century French writers like Flaubert, Daudet and company are with him in that group for me. And obviously not just because of a medical reality, but an attitude as well. Mont Oriol is really no different to the other Maupassant novels I've read (Une Vie and Bel-Ami). A catalogue of selfism which no doubt passed at the time as harsh reality. The story of the abandonment of Christiane Andermatt by Paul Bretigny is a familiar one and not extraordinarily well-handled here, apart from a couple of set-pieces which I really like - one revealing many seemingly intelligent men's superficial attitude toward women and another more philosophical statement of the ineffable distance between people and the illusion of melding that happens in love. This story is surrounded by a more successful comic expose of spa culture and its attendants; the many 'doctors' cynically prescribing various 'waters' for diseases which are themselves highly spurious, as well as the businessmen offering them new springs to exploit. All set in the remarkable volcanic landscape of Auvergne, which provides occasional welcome relief.