One of the eternal questions is: What is a good life? Or, slightly differently, what is THE good life? In the first chapter of this memoir, 3.75 stars
One of the eternal questions is: What is a good life? Or, slightly differently, what is THE good life? In the first chapter of this memoir, Wright describes himself as a theatre critic living the all-amenities urban life in London. By his own description, he is a cerebral (perhaps a bit geeky) but soft-handed modern man. “My Surrey childhood was as safe and soft as a padded cell in an open prison.” He is 38, recently split from a long term partner, and more than a bit bored of reviewing yet another Shakespeare production. A long-term train spotter with a romantic streak, he dreams of flying Spitfires and does have a 1946 Luscombe Silvaire of his own. That plane is a bit of ‘tell’, as it reveals to the reader that Michael Wright is not as bland as his self-deprecating self-analysis would suggest. By his own admission, he has always idolised heroes and longed to be one himself. But how does a man become heroic, if only in his own eyes, in peacetime conditions? Obviously, he sets himself a challenge - one beset with discomforts. He decides to buy a large wreck of a house in the French countryside and the proceeds to make a life there with only a cat for a companion.
This memoir will mostly appeal to people who have either (1) just renovated a house in the French countryside, or (2) dream of doing so. I am in the first category, and although I do not have plans to raise sheep or chickens (as the author does), I could certainly recognise many aspects of Michael Wright’s Englishman Abroad experience. This book was published in 2006, so for those Brits in this post-BREXIT world, it has already taken on the nostalgic tone of a lost world of possibilities.
Predictably, but enjoyably, the book is made up of vignettes which have the author either ‘roughing it’ or learning the cultural ways of his new community. He is good at describing the richly eccentric personalities of his French friends and neighbours without falling into cliche or caricature. Although he is not successful at finding a French female partner - at least within the confines of this book - he does share how he becomes part of the community. One of the things I really noticed is that his friendships encompass a wide range of ages and social classes, which seems more possible in a French village than it does in a big city like London. There is also a lot of emphasis on his relationship with the animals he brings into the La Folie fold, and that definitely gives the book a bucolic flavour which chimed with Clarkson’s Farm (a TV programme I was watching at the time).
It’s an enjoyable and good-natured book, but probably easier to enjoy if its themes have some personal relevance. I liked it a lot, but I wouldn’t describe it as a page-turner....more
I never deviate from a plain croissant, the apotheosis of the baker's art, but you could also go with the child-friendly pain au chocolat, the suga
I never deviate from a plain croissant, the apotheosis of the baker's art, but you could also go with the child-friendly pain au chocolat, the sugary almond croissant (which, according to my friend Caroline, who worked for a spell in a Parisian bakery, is yesterday's leftovers drenched in syrup and rebaked) or any number of regional specialities. Indeed, the benefit of cycling long distances is you can usually justify several items: I even have a Paris-Brest for breakfast one day, though I'm not sure I'd recommend it unless you want to feel slightly queasy for the first few kilometres.
This book, by British food writer Felicity Cloake, mixes food writing and humorous travelogue to fairly good effect. There may be too many cycling and camping misadventures for some readers, whilst other readers may tire slightly of the endless preoccupation with food. Undeniably, Cloake has a likeable voice, and most of this book was a pleasure to read - either in small segments (which is how I read the first half), or one large meal (the second half). It is also undeniable that there was a good deal of repetition in the main themes - despite the fact that Cloake's cycling tour of France is impressively extensive in scope.
Cycling the entire periphery of France, Cloake's mission is to sample each region's specialities - preferably in the towns or locations most noted for them. Most of these specialties are well-known: tarte tatin, cassoulet, ratatouille, quiche Lorraine, boeuf bourguignon, etc. At the end of each food quest, Cloake also provides a recipe: sometimes straight from a chef, but more often altered to her own specification. (Cloake is known for her "How to cook the perfect . . . " columns in The Guardian I haven't tried any of the recipes from the book, but I have no doubt that they are solid examples of the classic French dishes she is seeking out on her quest.
The distance that Cloake cycles is impressive, and so is her appetite - although there are often feast and famine periods in her journey. (France - unlike the US and UK - does not have 24 hour access to food and drink. Readers who are unaware of the restricted shopping/eating rhythms of that country will be shocked by how often Cloake ends up with a scanty dinner, or even no dinner at all.) I was also awed (and sometimes slightly sickened) by her ability to eat multiple meals of something excessively heavy and rich: cassoulet, for instance. She's also, shall we say, a very adventurous eater, and there may be descriptions of offal which will nauseate readers of a sensitive nature. I bow down to Cloake's endurance, tested over many fields of challenge.
I would certainly recommend this book to anyone interested in France and/or French cuisine. For the non-foodies - and especially for those who are judgemental of greediness - I would exercise extreme caution in approaching this book. It might make you feel slightly ill.
In 'The Road to le Bearn,' the author's introduction/explanation of how a family of five Australian expats ended up living in a chateau in southwest FIn 'The Road to le Bearn,' the author's introduction/explanation of how a family of five Australian expats ended up living in a chateau in southwest France, I learned a new French term: dans son jus. Sara Silm translates this as 'a renovator's delight'.
This is a decorating/style/lifestyle book which will appeal to anyone who adores French country style, but it will be especially appreciated by anyone who actually wants to renovate a house (in France, or anywhere else) in a French style. The book is divided into four parts, all of them sumptuously photographed: 1) Provenance, 2) Bringing France Home, 3) La Grange Aux Tourterelles, and 4) Living With The Seasons. Parts One and Four are beautiful bookends of French style and lifestyle, but the most interesting and valuable parts are Two and Three. I have read a good number of books on French style, but this is probably the most thorough in terms of explaining how to achieve that style.
The author is a professional photographer and an experienced renovator and she generously shares information on paint colours and painting techniques. There is an entire chapter devoted to different (but all typically French) colour palettes and Silm includes specific information about how to recreate those colours or textures or techniques.
Part Three - in which she shares photographs and information about the renovation of her barn into a guest house - is chockfull of useful information. She is a knowledgable and crafty 'repurposer' and many readers will be amazed by the beautiful old bits of furniture and furnishings she manages to buy for a song (she includes prices) and then refashion and restore. She also has examples of how to achieve a good effect using less expensive building techniques. This attitude and know-how may be the most 'French country' aspect of the book.
My advice for decorating is always to use what you have. If something is meaningful to you, if it's well made, functional and well-designed, but a little shabby - reinvent it. The less demand there is for modern mass-produced furniture, the better off the planet will be.
Although readers in other countries may be able to adapt her techniques and ideas, sadly they won't have the same access to French brocantes and vide-greniers. Even so, this book is a million times more inspiring and useful than a Pinterest board. Prepare yourself for a serious case of house-envy.
A friend of mine has a copy of this book at her house in France and every time I visit her I end up paging through it. Finally, I've bought my own copA friend of mine has a copy of this book at her house in France and every time I visit her I end up paging through it. Finally, I've bought my own copy because it is exactly that kind of book which always yields up something new.
As the title states, the author focuses on the decorative elements of a room which give it warmth and personality and distinctiveness. These are the elements which make a room come alive - and differentiate homes from the cold perfection of interior decoration.
The book is grouped into categories: (1) Pictures, mirrors and wall art; (2) Flowers and plants; (3) Soft furnishings; (4) China and glass; (5) Living, which includes items like books and lighting; and (6) Decorative objects and collections. I find it especially useful to look at if I am looking in particular at one element: for instance 'lighting'.
The book was published in 2009, so it is not brand-spanking new - but I think that is an asset in some ways. Much of the style leans towards French country and it is definitely 'timeless' in the sense that it is perennially popular as opposed to the most current design trends....more
I'm never really sure how to rate an interior decor book . . . do I base my rating on my pleasure at looking at it, or how useful I think it will be fI'm never really sure how to rate an interior decor book . . . do I base my rating on my pleasure at looking at it, or how useful I think it will be for me?
This book is arranged like a mood board - with photographs of interior decor punctuated by lots of images and ideas to borrow from. The 'Get the Look' sections feature water colours and a font that looks like hand-writing - a quirky touch which makes the book seem more personal and more reflective of its co-authors Ines de la Fressange and Marin Montagut. The Parisian apartments/style do vary, but they all share a common theme in terms of favouring personal collections, vintage bits and pieces, and an eclectic mixing-up of eras/styles. All of the homes have a strong and artistic presence, but it's not an overly 'designed' look at all. There is also a lot of artful clutter; maybe not for the Kondo-obsessed. I found it very appealing.
I have earmarked a few ideas to borrow, but mostly I have enjoyed reading and gazing and imagining a life in Paris. Definitely a keeper. ...more
It has been said that France is everyone's second country, and perhaps it is the country that we would create if we had time and energy enough. Tha
It has been said that France is everyone's second country, and perhaps it is the country that we would create if we had time and energy enough. That sublime French style, which seems to beckon to each of us, is all about choosing a little of what is absolutely excellent rather than a lot of what's nearly right.
This is a perfectly pleasant book, with lots of lovely photographs, but I would describe it is a 'primer' to French style. Anyone who is already au fait with French culture won't find anything new here. It's divided into three major categories: Tradition, Romance and Style and then there is an 'At Table' section at the end which includes about a dozen classic French recipes (onion soup, cheese soufflé, madeleines, etc). Under Tradition, you will find essays on hospitality, craftsmanship, gardens and champagne; Romance covers fragrances, flowers and the writer Colette; and Style takes in fashion, interiors, antiques, and shopping. None of the subjects are treated with much depth, but they do give a flavour of what most people would identify as important elements of French culture and style.
This memoir about an Australian in Paris is more than 20 years old, but I think that the fundamentals of the story still hold true. At the b3.75 stars
This memoir about an Australian in Paris is more than 20 years old, but I think that the fundamentals of the story still hold true. At the beginning of the book, and then again at the end, the author reflects on an observation made by a man she meets in Greece: It's a bittersweet thing, knowing two cultures. Once you leave your birthplace nothing is ever the same. When she first hears this observation, Sarah Turnbull can only sympathise in a limited sort of way, but by the end of the book, she understands completely what he means. I'm an American who married an English man and spent most of my adult life in England, so I understand, too. One grows to understand and even love another culture without ever completely belonging to it. At the same time, immersion in another culture means you lose a bit (or even a lot) of your own cultural identity. Simultaneously one belongs to both places and also to neither.
A huge part of the appeal of this book is Paris itself - mostly because it is a city that so many people romanticise. Whilst acknowledging every beauty that Paris has to offer, this author's mission is to present 'reality', not romance. She in no way glosses over the difficulties of life in France's capital city, nor does she downplay the moments of loneliness and insecurity that she endures in her struggle to 'fit in' to Parisian life. Although her boyfriend Frederic helps her in many ways, at times he is just as baffled by her thoughts and actions as she is of his.
The author is a journalist and her style is straightforward and easy to read. This is a very middle-class sort of book, and although she doesn't speak the language of 'privilege' (a la 2020), there is an awareness that her access and acceptance into a certain kind of Parisian life is not shared by all immigrants. Frederic is a lawyer, and he helps her navigate the world of French politesse and cover letters, but she doesn't gloss over the fact that it takes a lot of persistence (and rejection) before she begins to get writing assignments in Paris. However, in the latter half of the book some of her feature writing does help shape the material of the book - for instance, when she covers the haute couture fashion shows and interviews Christian Lacroix.
She manages to cover most of the well-known aspects of French culture, whilst providing some insight into why going to a French dinner party is quite different from a similar occasion in Australia. Female friendship, style, grooming, food, dogs, the civil service and the French attitude to 'pays' are also examined. I think there is a good balance of providing insight into French behaviour and values without overly valuing (or for that matter, denigrating) them.
It's a likeable book, and a good introduction to the culture for those who don't know it at all. Even those readers far more au fait with France will probably appreciate many of her insights....more
It would be unfair to say that this book offers no advice on interior decoration, but its raison d'être is to be a showcase for Kathryn Ireland's fabrIt would be unfair to say that this book offers no advice on interior decoration, but its raison d'être is to be a showcase for Kathryn Ireland's fabric range - and for Kathryn Ireland herself. In her own words: Classic Country is a reference tool for anyone who loves colors, texture and layering of fabrics to help bring life to a room.
I do love fabric - and I appreciate that Kathryn Ireland knows a lot on that subject - but the tone of this book did grate on me. If she's not bragging on herself, then one of her famous friends or clients is bragging for her.
I'm known for my parties. My mother was a great hostess and good at mixing people. It's really such an art but something that comes naturally to me. (Kathryn bragging on herself)
Kathryn's fabrics are a total reflection of her personality - vibrant, captivating, completely original, and classy. (Kathryn's client bragging on her behalf.)
I do like Kathryn's style, although this book (pub in 2007) is somewhat dated. Country style doesn't change so much, though, and if you like English style that is very 'cosy country house' you will enjoy seeing how she uses fabrics to dress a room. She does a good job of showcasing a real range of colours and not just sticking to one palette. She is adept at serene looking rooms, but she's not someone who just sticks to the neutral colour spectrum.
She does give a person confidence to experiment - partly by imparting advice on how to build a room through a few key details (fabric, a favourite picture, an important piece of furniture) - but she does somewhat undercut this by suggesting that either you have taste or you don't. This is such a 'classic' Kathryn Ireland quote that I will close with it: Unless you have gut instincts about mixing fabrics and lending textures and patterns, it's better to rely on a decorator's sense. I love it when clients trust my gut instincts. They're always surprised and delighted with the results....more
People ask me: Why do you write about food, and eating and drinking?
The easiest answer is to say that, like most other humans, I am hungry. But the
People ask me: Why do you write about food, and eating and drinking?
The easiest answer is to say that, like most other humans, I am hungry. But there is more than that. It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others.
I've only recently begun to read MFK Fisher - definitely one of the doyennes of American food writing - and I can certainly understand why she has passionate devotees. Her writing is vivid, distinctive and definitely flavourful. It has, always, a strong point of view. It doesn't focus so much on recipe and technique as much as does it sensation, atmosphere and memory.
This book is a memoir of her development as a woman and a food writer. It is episodic, a series of vignettes punctuated by journeys. Although she begins by describing some early memories from her California childhood, and a brief stint at a Midwestern university, most of these vignettes take place in Europe or or the various ships she takes as she crisscrosses the Atlantic. She lived in France with her first husband Al and Switzerland with her second husband Dilwyn/Tim (she refers to him as "Chexbres" in the narrative). Most of these journeys are set during the 1930s and occasionally the turbulent politics of that decade intrude. Bizarrely, she and her second husband travel to Switzerland in 1940 - and although Switzerland, and their own personal tragedy, are buffers of a surreal sort, one is still very aware of the fact that Europe is at war. One of the most affecting chapters, for me, is a journey she takes from Europe to the United States on a 'staidly luxurious Dutch liner'. She is travelling to the US in order to break the news to her family that she is divorcing her first husband; most of the other people on board the ship are 'fleeing' Jews. At times this book is just so surreal and so charged with tragedy. It ends, bizarrely, with a family trip to Mexico in 1941 and lots of beer and a cross-dressing (possibly transvestite) mariachi singer. There is a lot of drinking, and sometimes the drinking eclipses the eating. One is often reminded how smoking and heavy drinking were so much more the norm in that era than they are now. Fisher is the kind of person who prides herself on her 'masculine' appetites, and she occasionally points out her superiority by demonstrating her knowledge of wines and her ability to surprise by ordering a particularly fine cognac
Fisher has a particular gift for recreating the people she met on her journeys and waiters and landladies play a large role in her memories. Nobility (in the sense of largeness of character) and various forms of absurdity and grotesqueness seem to accompany her everywhere, in the people she meets and the (sometimes very strange) scenes she describes. It's impossible to know when her memories edge into fiction, and I suspect more often than not; but that doesn't really spoil the story-telling.
I'd like to read this rich book again someday. I need a little rest first, though....more
Straightforward and accessible, this interior decor book is an excellent 'primer' for anyone interested in the elements of French 'country' style. CliStraightforward and accessible, this interior decor book is an excellent 'primer' for anyone interested in the elements of French 'country' style. Clifton-Mogg describes the furniture, colours, textiles and decorations associated with French country house decor. Her clear descriptions are accompanied by photos that emphasise her point with beauty and simplicity. This book has a narrower range than some French decor books I've read, but I think that proves to be a strength. It presents a very clear and consistent look, which it makes it all the easier to learn from and, presumably, ultimately recreate. ...more
No battlefield or shattered country he had seen was as ugly as this world would be if men like his brother Bayliss controlled it altogether. Until
No battlefield or shattered country he had seen was as ugly as this world would be if men like his brother Bayliss controlled it altogether. Until the war broke out, he had supposed they did control it; his boyhood had been clouded and enervated by that belief.
The sound of the guns had from the first been pleasant to him, had given him a feeling of confidence and safety; tonight he knew why. What they said was, that men could still die for an idea; and would burn all they had made to keep their dreams. He knew the future of the world was safe; the careful planners would never be able to put it into a strait-jacket, - cunning and prudence would never have it to themselves.
This book was published in 1922 and won the 1923 Pulitzer Prize. It's not Cather's best, but then it seems a common thing for the slighter-lesser books or films to carry away the big prizes. The lucid, elegant writing is there, and so are the nuanced characterisations. The book has a strong sense of place, and it has a not-unsympathetic protagonist. And yet something keeps the book from entirely coalescing as a story. It just doesn't have the dramatic narrative power that other books like My Antonia and O Pioneers! do. Many of its best bits don't really go anywhere; they feel as unresolved as loose threads.
The book divides neatly into two halves: the first half focuses on the protagonist Claude and his life as the middle son of a prosperous Nebraskan farmer. His relationship with his family is explored, as are his feelings about his friends. He spreads his wings a bit, when he goes up to Lincoln to study and meets a family far more culturally sophisticated than his own. He has a romance; he is disappointed in love. Then, just as his life seems to settle into a predictable groove, the USA becomes drawn into World War I. The second half follows Claude on his journey across the Atlantic Ocean to the battlefields of France.
Claude has the strong physique and work ethic of the natural born farmer, but he has the imagination and sensitivity to be something more than a farmer - but what, and that is his besetting problem. He is well-liked, but he is self-conscious and awkward, and dogged by a constant sense of his own inadequacy; he wants to understand more about the world, and experience more, but he feels held back by his own shortcomings. I hesitated for a long time about whether it was accurate to describe this book as a 'coming of age' story. In one sense, Claude does grow to manhood in this book; and yet in another far more important sense I don't think he ever matures in the fullest sense of that word. His mother, who knows him best, divines that Claude never really experiences that 'awakening' that could be described as the passage from innocence to experience. He experiences some bitter disappointments in his story, none more so than his brief, unfulfilling (and unfulfilled) marriage; but he still believes that his life can have some noble purpose.
In the end, I couldn't quite pin down Cather's feelings about the war: did she believe it was a worthwhile quest, as the book seems to imply, or was she merely trying to get into the head (to literally embody) the quixotic/noble impulse that would make a young American farm boy willing to cross the sea and take up arms against the Germans? The book is definitely not a piece of patriotic propaganda, but nor does it slot into the usual 'World War I' senseless tragedy category. Like Claude's life, it has an unsatisfying and unfinished quality - but I don't think any symbolism to that effect was meant by the author.
When I turned onto Espariat toward the Hotel de Provence I stopped, listening with my sharp ghost-ears to the sound of the water dropping serenely
When I turned onto Espariat toward the Hotel de Provence I stopped, listening with my sharp ghost-ears to the sound of the water dropping serenely from basin to basin in the Albertas fountain. This time my children would be waiting for me under the faint returning green of the trees on the Cours. The next time, I knew by now, might be any time at all, whether or not the map was exactly true to scale, and plumb, and legible to other eyes than mine. I need not worry about coming back, for I was there anyway.
The famous food writer M.F.K Fisher first lived in France in the late 1920s; then she was living in Dijon with her husband Al Fisher, and during this four year period she fell in love with French cuisine and began developing what would eventually become a significant body of knowledge and expertise for both the cooking and the culture of the country. Later, in 1954 - and then again in 1960 - she came to Aix-on-Provence to live with her two daughters Anne and Mary. It is her memories of Aix which form the basis of a book which combines memoir with travel writing, but definitely skews more toward the personal experience.
There are some descriptions of food in this book - but this is not a book of food writing, and in that sense it is not at all what I expected from a M.F.K. Fisher book. Instead, it is a series of sketches that attempt to capture - in a very personal sense - how Fisher experienced the city of Aix on the two occasions she lived there. Other readers, also familiar with Aix, might recognise her descriptions of Aix's famous fountains, and the ubiquitous presence of the university students, or perhaps the importance of the regional theatres and music festivals, or maybe just the two cafes (the Glacier and the Deux Garcons) she describes as 'havens'. These are the more universal outlines of what she refers to throughout as her own personal 'map' of Aix. But most of the book concerns itself with a more internal landscape, not just of the individuals she mixed with or observed, but also of her emotions whilst living in this place. She refers to herself over and over as a 'ghost', so perhaps you can get a sense of the emotional tenor of the book from that. There is something quite haunted, and haunting, about this memoir.
Although Fisher never goes into any detail about the personal events which made her into a 'ghost', even a brief reading of any potted biography will provide lots of clues: the deaths of her parents, the suicides of her second husband and brother, a divorce from her third husband, and really just a general sense of someone being unmoored by every security-giving relationship other than motherhood. The Aix she describes is an old, distinguished city crowded with ghosts, and perhaps that is why she was drawn to live there - although she also makes much of its various beauties. The damage from World War II is still evident, not so much in the buildings as in the broken bodies and impoverished circumstances of so many of the city's inhabitants. Fisher is not writing horror, but she definitely has the gift for the ghoulish and grotesque and many of the book's most vivid bits of writing are character sketches of the damaged people she mingles with. Algeria's war for independence is also going on during the years she lives in Aix, and she touches on the fear and turbulence it creates in France during the time.
Although I enjoyed her writing style, there was something heavy and depressive about the book; her anxieties and fears were all too evident, and they made for oppressive and even hallucinatory reading. I had to drag myself through this book, to be honest, and that's a pity - because I had been expecting something much more sun-drenched and pleasurable. ...more
If you are interested in the elements of French style this book is a good place to start.
Josephine Ryan has made her living as an antiques dealer andIf you are interested in the elements of French style this book is a good place to start.
Josephine Ryan has made her living as an antiques dealer and stylist, but this book is not just about the ‘passementerie’ of French style (although there is some of that, too); it’s also very grounded in history of French interior decor, starting with the bones, those being the rooms of the French house. The reader will possibly learn new vocabulary, as Ryan explains the history of various pieces of furniture or decoration and the ways in which they have become part of the French decorating vernacular. She’s also attentive to the decorative elements other than furniture, and she devotes a chapter to each of the following: architectural details, colour, textiles, mirrors & pictures, lighting, ceramics & glass and collections & display.
It’s all very clear and well-organised and very, very pretty to look at. Unfortunately, without access to French Brocantes (or at least those dealers who buy from them), it will be difficult for the enamoured reader to emulate. ...more
This is a sumptuously photographed book if you like your French style on the ‘vieux’ and elegantly faded spectrum. Ros Byam Shaw features 13 houses inThis is a sumptuously photographed book if you like your French style on the ‘vieux’ and elegantly faded spectrum. Ros Byam Shaw features 13 houses in rural France - and although they differ (to some degree) in style and approach, what they all have in common is a reverence for the antique and authentic and for those elements of French style which are considered typique. These are mostly rustic interiors and exteriors with an emphasis on utilising as much as possible from the past. These are not houses designed by interior decorators; rather, they are expressive of the personalities and collecting enthusiasms of their owners. In many cases, the owners were directly involved in not just the furnishing but also the refurbishment of the house.
At the book of this book is a guide to stockists in the US and UK that will help you achieve the ‘perfect French country style’. The author also makes this telling comment: Every home owner, bar one, cited brocante and vides greniers as the source for some of their furnishings. Many used local craftsmen to restore, adapt, and make furnishings and fittings for their homes. Such craftspeople and markets are found locally, by word of mouth. Almost every owner also used elements of architectural salvage....more
Josephine Ryan’s French Home, published two years before this book, is a better and more thorough introduction to the quintessential elements of FrencJosephine Ryan’s French Home, published two years before this book, is a better and more thorough introduction to the quintessential elements of French architecture, decor and style. The charms of this book are far quirkier - partly because she is featuring the homes, but also the collections, of various antique sellers in France. (Most of them are French, but not all.) There are a lot of tableau in this book, in the sense of ‘artistic groupings’. Although there are clearly some valuable antiques featured in the book, many of the objects could be described as ‘bric-a-brac’ - definitely the sort of thing anyone with a good eye could pick up at the local Sunday brocante.
The book is divided into three sections: Simple French, Elegant French and Eclectic French. Ryan’s own house, in the Gard region, is one of those featured in the ‘simple’ section of the book. I would certainly recommend this book to the French antique enthusiast, but not perhaps to those who want the glossier elements of French style. ...more
I read this book in an afternoon, and then I asked my daughter to read it. The next morning I spent an hour discussing it with my hairdresser, which lI read this book in an afternoon, and then I asked my daughter to read it. The next morning I spent an hour discussing it with my hairdresser, which led to the most profound conversation I’ve ever had whilst having my hair done. I used to think of reading as a primarily solitary experience; but lately, it has become more of a social one. This is the sort of book that I had to talk about in order to fully resolve how I felt about it.
First of all, the title: deliberately misleading, I think, if one is expecting feel-good romance, but in the final analysis also appropriate. Love - ‘amour’ - is the author’s subject. In her Introduction, author Stefania Rousselle explains how her career as a video journalist meant that she covered the darkest, most violent spectrum of human experience. Hate, not love. The Bataclan concert massacre, followed by a period of closely monitoring France’s far-right party, the National Front, led to an emotional state that Roussell describes as ‘broken’ and heart-crushing. Her personal life was equally desperate, and she describes a relationship which constantly undermined her confidence and felt like ‘poison’. In a state close to despair, Roussell embarks on a project to see if she could find any evidence of love. What was it exactly? Did it exist? How many people actually experienced it?
The book that came into being is a series of interviews presented as direct monologues. Each interview is accompanied by photos, which are striking in their simplicity, directness and mundanity. An extremely diverse cross-section of people are part of this conversation about love, but not one of them is remotely imaginable as a social media ‘influencer’. The English have a colloquial expression that ‘there’s nowt so queer as folk’, and this book is a reminder of how just how varied and, well, weird is the spectrum of human experience. So many of us seem to be striving for perfection all the time; well, here is a place that shines a very strong light on ‘warts and all’ imperfection. I was stunned, at times, by the honesty of the accounts. Roussell writes: ‘It was brutal. People were pure. They were raw.’ Yes, all of those words - but over and over again, what struck me most was the rawness.
Simply, each person in the book talks a bit about their experiences with love. Some of the stories are in the romantic vein, but far more of them deal in the realm of disappointment and loss. I was struck mostly by two things: first, how profoundly lonely most people are; and second, how very few people, no matter how bitter their experience has been, ever totally lose their optimistic hope that love may still be possible for them. Roussell describes the subjects of her study as ‘brave’, and I wholeheartedly agree with that assessment as well.
One of the reasons I read is a deep desire to want to know (and hopefully understand, if only partially) about human experiences very different from my own. This book does an admirable job of getting at the ‘heart’ of what makes relationships so difficult, whilst at the same time underscoring that the need to love and be loved is at the very core of human experience. It’s painful to read, at times, but oddly uplifting, too.
Thanks to Viking Books UK for a copy of this book. ...more
I don’t think I’ve ever read two biographies on the same subject alongside each other. It just goes to show how a biographer’s choice of material, andI don’t think I’ve ever read two biographies on the same subject alongside each other. It just goes to show how a biographer’s choice of material, and attitude towards his/her subject, can shape the ‘story’ of a person’s life - and also, then, how the reader feels about the person. After reading Selina Hastings’ 1985 biography of Mitford I found myself disliking the author, and yet her eccentricities seemed endearing again when reading Acton’s version of her life.
Harold Acton was a close friend of Nancy Mitford’s and his great affection for her is definitely the frame of this biography. Even when she is being outrageously opinionated, bigoted and snobby, he is an indulgent narrator - never a judgmental one. His own ‘reading’ of Mitford’s character is that, like her great friend Evelyn Waugh, she had ‘delicate and kind heart’ but a sharp tongue. Acton’s main role in this biography was to choose and organise from Mitford’s own voluminous correspondence to friends and family over the years. The book reads, at times, more like an epistolary memoir than an actual biography because Mitford’s letters are the majority if not the entirety of the book. Because Mitford’s letters were made up largely of references to shared acquaintance and shared jokes, and allusions to whatever project she was working on, they aren’t always terribly easy to follow. However, there is the advantage of feeling like you have direct access to her private voice and something of her fabled charm and distinctive thought processes. Although this was the first biography to be written about Mitford, I would recommend it only to those readers who already know the writer (and her work) fairly (if not very) well. It’s Advanced Mitford, so to speak. ...more
I’m well-acquainted with the Mitford sister lore through other works about their extraordinary family - and I would especially recommend Mary S. LovelI’m well-acquainted with the Mitford sister lore through other works about their extraordinary family - and I would especially recommend Mary S. Lovell’s 2002 biography titled The Sisters or Charlotte Mosley’s The Mitfords: Letters Between Six Sisters for a good overview of the family and the interaction between all six sisters. This was my first biography to feature Nancy on her own, and while it was very readable, there was also something dissatisfying about it. Although the author seemed at pains to give equal time/weight to the various ‘eras’ of Nancy’s life, I felt like the book often just skimmed the surface. I did learn a bit more about Nancy’s frustrating and painful relationships with men (first Hamish Erskine, then her husband Peter Rodd, and finally her great unrequited love for Gaston Palewski), and of her friendships, her travel, her houses and finally her writing, but I felt like I got no greater insight into her character. Perhaps this is partly the fault of the subject, because Nancy was well-known for her ‘shopfront’ - the Mitford expression for concealing one’s inner feelings and putting on a brave face or a good show. Her letters were arch, teasing, comical and prone to huge exaggeration - and although they give a sense of the social personality she projected, they don’t hint much at true thoughts or feelings.
There were many things I found myself disliking about Nancy - her enormous snobbery, and inexplicable likes and dislikes, and surprisingly disloyalties - and overall, I feel like I finished this biography with less sympathy for its subject than I had previous to reading it. I think I will always be fond of The Pursuit of Love - that novel with so much of her own experience in it - but for me, Nancy is of more interest when placed within the context of her family....more
In the second of the Claudine novels, 17 year old Claudine is transplanted (rather unwillingly) from her country home in Montigny to a “dark flat” in In the second of the Claudine novels, 17 year old Claudine is transplanted (rather unwillingly) from her country home in Montigny to a “dark flat” in the “dismal, shabby Rue Jacob” in Paris. Having left school and her country home, the beginning of Claudine’s transformation to a young woman in Paris begins with a long illness which leaves her thin and weak. Her long hair has been chopped off into a rough curly mop, but her initial opinion of this unfortunate event - “transformed into a boy!” - changes when she realised that this more gamine style suits her face and character. Claudine is a rather self-possessed character from the beginning, quite sure of her opinions and tastes, but this book is a sort of turning-point from the schoolgirl world of her crushes to a broader canvas: the city, and men. Much older men.
There is a noticeably sensual tone to this book, and although Claudine is innocent in some ways - still a virgin, and a “good girl” in her own mind - the storyline is all about testing her powers in the world of attraction/seduction. She practises on her cousin Marcel - a very pretty boy her age who is attracted to other boys. She amuses and titillates him with confidences from her own past with Luce - the young country girl she teases and dominates. (Luce makes a rather disturbing appearance in this book - both a victim and an opportunist in the game of sex/love.) Claudine’s white cat Fanchette and her earthy maid Melie are also in the background, both of them encouraging Claudine on in their various ways. Melie, who “dreamily cups her uncorseted breasts” urges Claudine to find a young man. Not only does Fanchette seem like the “spirit animal” of her owner, but her feline exploits are very much a part of the atmosphere of the book. Like Fanchette, Claudine is in heat and testing her claws. Claudine’s academic father - very much the absent-minded scientist - allows his young daughter a lot of latitude, and she takes full advantage of it. Despite all of Claudine’s strength of mind, and her sometimes outrageous sauciness, the story was very much of its time in the sense that no one (not even Claudine herself) could imagine a life beyond beau-conquering and marriage proposals.
The writing is often lovely, and the story does have a certain charm - although it often felt mannered and superficial to me. I can see why it caused quite a sensation for its time, though. Claudine’s emotions seemed truest when describing - not her infatuations with men - but rather, her longing for the countryside of her childhood.
”Alas, my mind kept going back to Montigny. Oh, to clasp armfuls of tall, cool grass, to fall asleep, exhausted, on a low wall hot from the sun, to drink out of nasturtium leaves, where the rain rolls like quicksilver, to ransack the water’s edge for forget-me-nots for the pleasure of letting them fade on a table, and lick the sticky sap from a peeled willow-wand; to make flutes of hollow grass-stalks, to steal tit’s eggs and rub the scented leaves of wild currants; to kiss, to kiss all those things I love!”...more
I freely admit that my ratings are always a (highly subjective) amalgam of (1) my perception of the book’s literary merit, combined with (2) how much I freely admit that my ratings are always a (highly subjective) amalgam of (1) my perception of the book’s literary merit, combined with (2) how much I enjoyed reading it. The books from the Penguin European Writers series have been challenging for me to rate because although I have admired their experimentalism and art, I have not found them to be particularly enjoyable to read. This has so far been my favourite of the three - the other two being Death in Spring and The Beautiful Summer - and I think it’s because it delves so completely into the interior world of one character. I’m quite partial to books which give the reader a sense of how another person perceives and experiences the world. It’s one of the reasons, maybe one of the most important reasons, why fiction is so important to me.
Not that this interior world is a comfortable place to dwell. In her perceptive introduction, the writer Deborah Levy tells us that Leduc “can make this reader laugh out loud at her grand themes: loneliness, humiliation, hunger, defeat, disappointment - all of which are great comic subjects in the right hands.” So that’s what you will find in the this novel: loneliness, humiliation, hunger, defeat and disappointment. It’s an incredibly compressed storyline with the most airy and fanciful sentences. The protagonist is an ‘elderly’ woman of 60; this is not a well-nourished and well-oiled 60, but rather a frail, brittle 60 which is about as sturdy as a dandelion. At several points in the narrative, the main character worries that if she gets any lighter she will float away, or cease to exist. The woman is starving, literally starving; and the reader is not spared any detail of her meagre diet and her pitiful attempts to eke out her physical existence. But this sense of being weightless has also to do with the fear of becoming, quite literally, invisible. The loneliness which permeates every sentence of this book is heart-wrenching; and yet it is handled so - again, this word - lightly. Leduc’s old woman has lost her mind, and seems somehow better for it. She lives in a world of fantasy, making the most of chance encounters and her association with objects. She spends her last francs to ride the Metro, just so she can feel close to the bustle of human life - just so she can observe and bear witness.
One of the weirdest aspects of the book is the sexual undercurrent which runs through the old woman’s physical loneliness. She longs for human touch and connection, but in this most intimate sense. The plot (what there is of it) turns on her desperate decision to sell what she ‘understands’ to be her last asset: a fox fur. (In reality, this fox fur is a nasty bedraggled thing that she found in the garbage one summer when she was looking for an orange.) Her attachment to the little fox fur is creepy, funny, pathetic and strangely moving. But just when the story threatens to fragment into absurdity, its narrator ‘gets’ the joke of it all.
Truly unique and oddly affecting.
Thanks very much to Penguin/Random House UK for sending me a free copy of this book....more
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