Peripherique Vision : SECRETS OF PARIS <i> By Luanne Rice (Viking: $19</i> .<i> 95; 264 pp.) </i>

Luanne Rice’s third novel, “Secrets of Paris,” is situated in rich literary soil. Not only have French writers such as Balzac and Proust evoked Paris’ mystery and romance, indeed “Americans in Paris” has become what might be considered a literary sub-genre. Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Henry Miller and Irwin Shaw, among others, used Paris as the backdrop for their romantic and sexual intrigues. But Rice does not allude to her American predecessors; instead, she begins each chapter with a quotation from Madame de Sevigne, the renowned 17th-Century courtesan whose letters vividly chronicled the mores and passions of her time.

Expectations are raised, for it appears that Rice intends to suggest a comparison between that mysterious, extremely rich and romantic period in Paris’ past and the Paris of her novel. How disappointing to find, upon closer inspection, that the treasure chest that Rice has opened up is filled with paste imitations that lack substance, luster and depth.

Rice’s novel focuses on an American couple whose rather glamorous work has brought them to Paris for a year. Michael McBride has been commissioned to build a new reception room in the Louvre museum; his wife, Lydie, a race-car driver/photo stylist, is along for the experience, but also is coordinating photo shoots for French fashion photographers.

All the ingredients for a thrilling, original novel are present: Lydie is running from the recent suicide of her father. Michael is stuck in a bureaucratic morass at work, and is dissatisfied at home; he lusts after a Louvre co-worker, Anne Dumas, the renowned biographer of Madame de Sevigne. Lydie meets the ultra-chic Patrice d’Origny (her name is Patricia, but she changed it because Patrice sounded more French, which seems a tad suspect, as Patricia also exists in French), an American expatriate married to Didier d’Origny, of d’Origny Bijoutiers, an elite jewelry house. Patrice also has a Filippino maid, Kelly (named for Grace), who is obsessed with the idea of immigrating to the United States. Patrice shares Anne’s fascination for the 17th Century; Anne, however, takes her passion to extremes, play-acting at being Madame de Sevigne at her job and in her bedroom.

But the interesting set-ups seem to be included only as plot-thickeners, for they lead to culs-de-sac. One expects, for example, penetrating insights into Patrice’s and Anne’s shared interest in the 17th Century, and a convergence or confrontation between them; however, they never cross paths until the end, and then only briefly. The friendship between Lydie and Patrice is developed almost entirely off-stage, demanding a leap of faith from the reader, as suddenly they are referring to each other as best friends.

Patrice’s mother, who comes to visit for a month and stays a week, is described as hateful by Patrice. Yet one never sees the mother behaving badly, only Patrice behaving badly toward her.

Michael, who walks out on Lydie after six years of what is termed an excellent marriage, announces cavalierly to her that he has fallen in love with someone else. But not long afterwards he grows tired of his new lover. What had been breathtaking as fantasy was boring, even oppressive, as reality. The truth was he loved Lydie.”

Is the reader to take this statement at face value? Lydie, seemingly a strong, liberated woman, cries, and waits for Michael to return to her. Should one forgive Michael, as Lydie appears to? She seems to feel responsible for his betrayal, but this aspect of their past relationship hardly is explored.

Lydie turns her energy toward helping the maid Kelly, in France illegally, to immigrate to the United States. It is unclear whether Lydie’s effort should be interpreted as an act of great generosity or of total selfishness, for Kelly, whose character never is explored beyond the “poor, struggling immigrant” pastiche, ends up getting in serious trouble as a direct consequence of Lydie’s interference.

By this time, it is apparent that the narrative does not intend to clarify these ambiguities; an omniscient, moral view is lacking, as the characters’ actions and thoughts are only observed through their own, limited perspective. The rich, literary soil goes uncultivated; Paris as a setting seems almost arbitrary (with a few changes, this could be London, or Rio). Even the letters of Madame de Sevigne ultimately have no metaphoric consequence.

Lydie’s racing skills are finally, but only perfunctorily, addressed. She goes for a drive in a Citroen, around the city on the peripherique (the motorway surrounding Paris) with no direction, or penetrating thoughts, in mind. This seems an exemplary metaphor for this novel, which creates a potentially fascinating situation and then proceeds to circle round and round it, never attempting to explore beyond its periphery.