Where Clorinde in lusted for power Helene in for peace and requited love Lisa in for lawful society and a roof over her family's head Nana is thoroughly selfish, but seeks not so much power as luxury. The novel, like all of the Rougon-Macquart volumes, stands in lovely contrast to those around it. Instead, the Empire crumbled before he had even published the first volume! As a result, not only has Nana aged a few years mysteriously since L'Assommoir but her entire dramatic life takes place over barely three years. His plan was to let Nana's life rise and fall over a decade. When he began planning the series, the Second Empire had not yet fallen he assumed it would take another 5-10 years. Nana caused Zola a bit of trouble as a character. (Her poor prepubescent son, Louis, described by those who meet him as sad and old before his time, never gets a chance to live with her, and is an accessory at best.) She's a disastrous user of her fellow man, a scourge on polite society, as selfish as they come. And this means taking, grabbing, pilfering from anyone she can find. More specifically, she wants money and comfort.

Having run away from home in her teens, Nana becomes a famous stage actress - despite an arguable level of talent - and then aims for the stars. Set in 1867-70, the final years of France's Second Empire, Zola centres his novel on Anna 'Nana' Coupeau, daughter of the impoverished laundress from that previous volume. Nana is, not importantly, a kind of sequel to. While the first eight are all - to my mind - wonderful works of fiction, this is an example of a book justly famous in its time, but unjustly classified as a highlight of 19th century French lit by modern readers. Regular readers of my reviews know I'm a diabolical fan of, and especially his 20-volume Rougon-Macquart series, of which Nana is the ninth. Filth at the top, filth down below, there's nothing but filth and more filth.' You ought to see them when they take their wrappings off. 'You know, that lot up there doesn't impress me anymore. A turgid nightmare of style over substance.

Nana émile zola