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Bronwasser’s second novel takes a studied look at how “the banal and the exceptional” interact in the lives of three relative strangers.

Although the author insists that “every story rests on three points,” two of her three linchpins never meet. Florence da Silva teaches photography at an unnamed university in the Netherlands, traveling to Paris only briefly when her rising fame demands it. Damaged middle manager Philippe Lambert, on the other hand, rarely leaves the city, even though his wife, Laurence, who works for Air France, travels the Continent extensively. Marie, their point of intersection, comes to Paris from the Netherlands after a shocking betrayal leads her to bury herself in the daily drudgery of work as an au pair. If Flo has taught Marie anything, it’s the difference between looking and seeing, and through her eyes, the reader discovers a Paris seldom visible. Scuttling back and forth between Philippe’s cramped apartment in the banlieue and her dreary servant’s room on the eighth floor of the building housing his parents’ spacious flat, she rides the Metro underneath the Champs-Élysées, attends language class near the Sorbonne, and walks Philippe and Laurence’s two children in the park, always adjacent to but never quite able to access the City of Light. Beneath Bronwasser’s tight narrative beats the drum of a sinister force that surfaces in the attacks that rock the city periodically between 1986 and 2015. More terrifying than anything the terrorists can concoct is the pain people can inflict on each other, whether from deliberate malice, toxic indifference, or horribly bungled efforts to forge a misguided connection. Between the banal and the extraordinary, the banal wins by a mile.

Bronwasser makes the banal exceptional with an eye that not only looks but sees.