Here is a true publishing event–the first modern translation of a lost masterpiece by one of fiction’s giants. Censored upon publication in 1871, out of print since the 1950s, and untranslated for a century, Zola’s The Kill (La Curée) emerges as an unheralded classic of naturalism. Second in the author’s twenty-volume Rougon-Macquart saga, it is a riveting story of family transgression, heedless desire, and societal greed. The incestuous affair of Renée Saccard and her stepson, Maxime, is set against the frenzied speculation of Renée’s financier husband, Aristide, in a Paris becoming a modern metropolis and “the capital of the nineteenth century.” In the end, setting and story merge in actions that leave a woman’s spirit and a city’s soul ravaged beyond repair. As vividly rendered by Arthur Goldhammer, one of the world’s premier translators from the French, The Kill contains all the qualities of the school of fiction marked, as Henry James wrote, by “infernal intelligence.” In this new incarnation, The Kill joins Nana and Germinal on the shelf of Zola classics, works by an immortal author who–explicit, pitiless, wise, and unrelenting–always goes in for the kill. "Goldhammer's translation of Zola's satiric, transgressive tale--about, among other things, Paris, modernity, incest, and the order of the new--is a work of pure delight. And his introduction to the novel is simply brilliant." --Jean Strouse, author of Morgan: An American Financier "Zola's ferocious, brutally direct novel of modern desire is made fully present in Arthur Goldhammer's new translation. It is Paris then, it is our city now. " -Jay Cantor, author of Great Neck and Krazy Kat "Elegantly translated, with his customary urbane sparkle and precision, by Arthur Goldhammer, this new edition of The Kill is a pleasure to be savored." -Ella Taylor, film critic, LA Weekly Here is a true publishing event-the first modern translation of a lost masterpiece by one of fiction's giants. Censored upon publication in 1871, out of print since the 1950s, and untranslated for a century, Zola's "The Kill (La Curee) emerges as an unheralded classic of naturalism. Second in the author's twenty-volume "Rougon-Macquart saga, it is a riveting story of family transgression, heedless desire, and societal greed. The incestuous affair of Renee Saccard and her stepson, Maxime, is set against the frenzied speculation of Renee's financier husband, Aristide, in a Paris becoming a modern metropolis and "the capital of the nineteenth century." In the end, setting and story merge in actions that leave a woman's spirit and a city's soul ravaged beyond repair. As vividly rendered by Arthur Goldhammer, one of the world's premier translators from the French, "The Kill contains all the qualities of the school of fiction marked, as Henry James wrote, by "infernal intelligence." In this new incarnation, "The Kill joins "Nana and "Germinal on the shelf of Zola classics, works by an immortal author who-explicit, pitiless, wise, and unrelenting-always goes in for the kill. "From the Hardcover edition. Émile Zola was born in 1840 and worked as a journalist before turning to fiction. He wrote his first major novel, Thérèse Raquin , in 1867, and the publication of L’Assommoir ten years later made him the most famous writer in France. His work has influenced authors from August Strindberg to Theodore Dreiser to Tom Wolfe. He died in 1902. 1 On the way back, in the crush of carriages returning via the lakeshore, the caleche was obliged to slow to a walk. At one point the congestion became so bad that it was even forced to a stop. The sun was setting in a light gray October sky with streaks of thin cloud on the horizon. A last ray of sunlight descending from the distant heights of the falls threaded its way along the carriageway, bathing the long line of stalled carriages in a pale reddish light. Glimmers of gold and bright flashes from the wheels seemed to cling to the straw-yellow trim of the caleche, whose deep blue side panels reflected bits of the surrounding landscape. And higher up, fully immersed in the reddish light that illuminated them from the rear and caused the brass buttons of their cloaks, half-folded over the back of the seat, to glow, the coachman and footman in their dark blue livery, putty-colored breeches, and striped black-and-yellow waistcoats held themselves erect, grave and patient, as was only proper for the servants of a good house whom no crush of carriages would ever succeed in ruffling. Their hats, ornamented with black crests, possessed great dignity. Only the horses--a superb pair of bays--snorted with impatience. "Look over there," said Maxime. "Laure d'Aurigny, in that coupe. ... Do you see, Renee?" Renee lifted herself up slightly and squinted with that exquisite pout she always made on account of her weak eyesight. "I thought she'd run away," she said. "She's changed the color of her hair, hasn't she?" "Yes, she has," Ma