The Paris Architect: A Novel

“It’s so overdone. You don’t need all that glass, and what’s this tower at the front? For chrissake, this is a factory, not a goddamn cathedral.”


Lucien was enraged, and without realizing it, he got to his feet. He was about to begin defending his design to Colonel Lieber when Major Herzog walked leisurely over to the drawings, which were tacked to the wall of Manet’s office. Lucien sat down, realizing that he had almost done something quite stupid. He had to remember that he wasn’t dealing with a normal client but one who could have him deported on the spot. He looked down at his shoes in embarrassment as Herzog began to speak.

“Colonel, the tower contains the mechanical equipment for the plant, plus it’s the front entrance, where the workers will clock in. All that glass brings in sunlight. Indeed, the whole design is quite functional; everything you see helps productivity. And isn’t that what the Reich insists on—to produce the most in the least amount of time?”

Colonel Lieber didn’t look convinced as he pulled out his gold cigarette case from his tunic. “Well, Herzog, if you say so. But a lot of the outside design seems unnecessary. I think we could do with a plain concrete building with a few windows. Something that could survive an attack from the Americans.”

“The entire structure is done in reinforced concrete that’s been strengthened to withstand a bombing,” said Herzog, in a tone of voice one might use with a recalcitrant four-year-old. “And you must remember, Colonel, that this factory will be used by the Reich after the war is won. So it shouldn’t be a slapdash affair but a permanent, well-designed building, like all our factories in Germany.”

Lieber waved his hand as if he were swatting away a fly, meaning the matter was settled and the design approved. Lucien could tell Lieber knew absolutely nothing about construction or armaments. This surprised him. He thought that the well-organized Germans would make it a point to pick qualified men for positions of responsibility. But, like the French government, they chose dolts who had to depend on men like Herzog to get the job done. Still, Lucien knew he was lucky to be dealing with these men. They belonged to the Wehrmacht, the regular army, not the Waffen-SS.

Lucien was simultaneously embarrassed and flattered by Herzog’s defense of his design. He felt both bad and good that someone was sticking up for him when he should’ve been the one doing the talking. He had failed many times in the past when trying to defend a modern design. It had inevitably been altered into something more classically inspired—either change it or lose the job and the fee. He was committed to the new modernism but not that committed. One had to eat and pay the rent.

The meeting continued with discussions of electrical service to run machinery and the cheapest way to heat the building. Lucien had cleverly run steam pipes behind the horizontal mullions of the ribbons of windows, a fact that did not escape Herzog’s notice. Throughout the meeting, Herzog piled compliment upon compliment on Lucien. Praise, Lucien discovered, negated his fear of being in the lion’s den.

At the two-hour mark, Lieber cleared his throat and rose from the plush, upholstered armchair Manet had provided for him, signaling that the meeting had come to an end. Everyone then looked over at Herzog, who also stood up. As had become routine, he would do his summation at the conclusion of a meeting.

“Well, if Monsieur Bernard will make these small revisions to the design plans, which we will need in one week,” said Herzog, wearing a great smile. “I know that’s an incredibly unreasonable amount of time, but I’m sure you can do it.”