Père Goriot

Balzac was a French realist author during the early half of the 19th century, and as a realist, wrote on subjects that were not traditionally considered beautiful or lofty. This tragic story, in its broadest brushes, is about Paris - and Paris of the early 1800s was the singular greatest city in the whole world, the greatest and richest and poorest and most debauched. We follow the the young and idealistic student Eugène as he arrives from the southern provinces to make a name and fortune for himself in the city by studying law. He meets Goriot, who lives in rags and poverty yet spoils his two daughters in high society with riches - however, Goriot’s daughters return his affections with cold and unfilial apathy and instead spend their care on their life in society and affairs. He meets Vautrin, a mysterious and ominous man with connections to the underworld who tempts Eugène at every twist. In short, the story explores unconditional parental love (even in its excessive faults) and genuine human connection against a dark backdrop of ambition, social climbing, false friends, and keeping up appearances; conniving city-folk trying to get ahead at the game. It’s quickly become one of my favorite works because of how deeply it struck a chord with what I’ve personally seen as someone who’s lived in the suburbs all my life and having just moved to a big city a year ago.

In a mesmerizing monologue by the Mephistopheles-figure of the novel Vautrin, he says to Eugène that there are two ways to succeed in society: through brilliant intelligence or skillful corruption: “Corruption thrives, talent is rare, so corruption is the weapon of the mediocre majority, and you will feel it pricking you wherever you go”. In my first few months in LA, especially in some early business obligations, I’ve felt its pricking everywhere around me: from bullshit tech founders creating scammy web3 shitcoins, to social climbers grifting themselves into the right clubs or parties (in order to, what?). People who created no value to anyone, parasitical leeches who somehow were still surviving, some even thriving. I thought it was a uniquely LA phenomenon, something someone once warned me on as being “caught up in all the LA bullshit”, but in reading Balzac there was something refreshingly funny in seeing everything analogous play out in a much different time and social milieu. Modern LA and New York could very well pass as Parises of the 21st century, in their density of people who want to rise up through not brilliantly intelligent value creation but rather skillful corruption; that combined with each city’s absurd amount of visibly opulent wealth to tempt and corrupt. A year later and many personal journeys later, I’m feeling much better-adjusted to the city and its myriad of dreamers making their way through it and how to navigate the real world without getting sucked into the chaos and losing myself.