What do you think?
Rate this book
The French Art of Revenge
The only person in Paris who doesn’t think Luke Johnson is an art thief is Luke himself.
The police have arrested Luke for stealing the James Ensor masterpiece The Despair of Pierrot from the Grand Palais. Kidnappers have abducted Luke’s friend Benoît and demanded that Luke hand over the stolen painting as ransom. And Yves Saint Laurent’s business partner Pierre Bergé wants Luke dead.
Now, Luke must rescue Benoît while escaping the police and matching wits with the inscrutable mastermind who stole the painting in the first place. And everyone Luke meets wants some kind of revenge—including his ex-girlfriend.
In Paris, the only thing as romantic as falling in love is getting even.
The police have arrested Luke for stealing the James Ensor masterpiece The Despair of Pierrot from the Grand Palais. Kidnappers have abducted Luke’s friend Benoît and demanded that Luke hand over the stolen painting as ransom. And Yves Saint Laurent’s business partner Pierre Bergé wants Luke dead.
Now, Luke must rescue Benoît while escaping the police and matching wits with the inscrutable mastermind who stole the painting in the first place. And everyone Luke meets wants some kind of revenge—including his ex-girlfriend.
In Paris, the only thing as romantic as falling in love is getting even.
216 pages, Paperback
First published July 2, 2014
267 people want to read
About the author
Mark Zero
5 books58 followersMark Zero has been a gourmet ice cream manufacturer, magazine editor, funeral home attendant, German instructor, photographer, music agent, film archivist, farm laborer and patient care technician to the physically and mentally disabled. He has lived in many places throughout the United States and in Paris, France; Leipzig, East Germany; Heidelberg, West Germany; and Santa Elena, Costa Rica.
In his twenties, Mark wrote and performed comedy in clubs and theaters around Southern Arizona. He was half of the comedy duo Blind Rage and Nick, who toured New Mexico, Arizona and Southern California before deciding that Vaudeville was, indeed, dead. Mark thinks fondly of the time his one-act play "Lost in the Promised Land" was staged by the Happy Accidents Theater Troupe in Tucson, and he still juggles and plays the ukulele out of nostalgia.
In his twenties, Mark wrote and performed comedy in clubs and theaters around Southern Arizona. He was half of the comedy duo Blind Rage and Nick, who toured New Mexico, Arizona and Southern California before deciding that Vaudeville was, indeed, dead. Mark thinks fondly of the time his one-act play "Lost in the Promised Land" was staged by the Happy Accidents Theater Troupe in Tucson, and he still juggles and plays the ukulele out of nostalgia.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 of 1 review
February 11, 2015
The novel reads like a James Bond adventure. Luke engages in a madcap exploit to steal the painting and rescue his friend. All while trying avoid the police. Even in that, the author finds moments of reflective descriptions.
After the commotion and the stress, the silent streets seemed surreal, but welcoming. It was an hour after late-night revelers tottered home and before the bakers and fishmongers got up, and more than an inch of snow had gauzed the avenues and sidewalks, absorbing every sound. The snow continued to fall, now in exhausted, featherlight flurries, making the night’s silence visible. In my twelve years of living in Paris, this was my first glimpse of a snowfall heavy enough to round the rough edges of buildings and bicycles parked on the street, snow so milky it was blue, snow like a ripped fringe of sky laid quietly over steeples and gargoyles and rusting cars, snow unsullied by the tumult of traffic and million hurrying footsteps and urinated dogs. ~Loc. 1239
Please read my full review here: http://mwgerard.com/parisian-art-heists/
After the commotion and the stress, the silent streets seemed surreal, but welcoming. It was an hour after late-night revelers tottered home and before the bakers and fishmongers got up, and more than an inch of snow had gauzed the avenues and sidewalks, absorbing every sound. The snow continued to fall, now in exhausted, featherlight flurries, making the night’s silence visible. In my twelve years of living in Paris, this was my first glimpse of a snowfall heavy enough to round the rough edges of buildings and bicycles parked on the street, snow so milky it was blue, snow like a ripped fringe of sky laid quietly over steeples and gargoyles and rusting cars, snow unsullied by the tumult of traffic and million hurrying footsteps and urinated dogs. ~Loc. 1239
Please read my full review here: http://mwgerard.com/parisian-art-heists/
Displaying 1 of 1 review