Comme le vent (Like the wind)…

I read like the wind — two books over the weekend.  Admittedly, they were quite short books, but I seem to have reclaimed my reading mojo.

Both current French fiction with wry Gallic style and observations. (Sorry to admit, I read them translated to English – my French is nowhere near “reading novels” proficient)

 The President’s Hat by Antoine Laurain

Dining alone in an elegant Parisian brasserie, accountant Daniel Mercier can hardly believe his eyes when President François Mitterrand sits down to eat at the table next to him.

Daniel’s thrill at being in such close proximity to the most powerful man in the land persists even after the presidential party has gone, which is when he discovers that Mitterrand’s black felt hat has been left behind.

After a few moments’ soul-searching, Daniel decides to keep the hat as a souvenir of an extraordinary evening. It’s a perfect fit, and as he leaves the restaurant Daniel begins to feel somehow … different.

A french fairy tale of sorts, set during the Mitterrand years (1980s) tells of a hat lost, found and lost again and its magical powers of transformation.  This is a fast-paced and whimsical story chock full of French perspective.

Voila – here is President Mitterrand’s hat accidentally left behind for a hapless accountant to snitch and wear out of the restaurant.  The hat brings the new wearer confidence and recognition and when he leaves it behind on a train, it is found and worn by a woman needing courage and hope.   The hat brings each new finder just what they need to change their lives. Somewhat improbably, all the characters connect in the latter half of the book, and the epilogue cunningly ties everything together and back to the President.

Layered over and under this simple tale is Monsieur Laurain’s fully observed French society of the 1980’s.  You are there — when France was still Starbucks free and regular workers could afford a lunch of oysters and crisp white wine.  Decades-old class distinctions were just starting to crumble and new political views were taking hold.  Neighborhood bistros have not yet evolved into swanky restaurants and an answering machine is new technology.

There are inside observations that will be obvious to the native French but have to be teased out if you’re like me, an unaware American.  Who knew that the pronunciation of Mitterrand’s name was code for a French person’s political views?  Or that such serious consideration is given to a choice of perfume for both French women and men?

This novel reminded me of an O’Henry or Evelyn Waugh story but with a delightful French twist.  At only 200 pages this book goes quickly – and perfect for that picky Francophile on your gift list.

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My Wish List by Gregoire Delacourt

If you won the lottery, would you trade your life for the life of your dreams?

Jocelyne lives in a small town in France where she runs a fabric shop, has been married to the same man for twenty-one years, and has raised two children. She is beginning to wonder what happened to all those dreams she had when she was seventeen. Could her life have been different?

Then she wins the lottery—and suddenly finds the world at her fingertips. But she chooses not to tell anyone, not even her husband—not just yet. Without cashing the check, she begins to make a list of all the things she could do with the money. But does Jocelyne really want her life to change?

This is a sad but thoughtful novella and the author writes with cynicism and sentimentality.  A study of contrasts all wrapped up in a winning-the-lottery dream.

Jocelyne is ordinary – really ordinary, but she has hopes, wishes and desires.  She is married to a materialistic man, her grown children are a disappointment and her closest friends are silly twins who, unlike Jocelyne, are young, thin and desired.  Out of character one day, Jocelyne buys a lottery ticket and somehow predicts to herself that she will win.  Thus begin the lists – her lists of things she needs.

When she does actually win the lottery, she hides the win from everyone, doesn’t tell a soul, except her father who is in a nursing home and has a six minute memory span.  Her conversations with her father about the money and what she should do, are alternately hysterical and heartbreaking.

Jocelyne fears the change and impact of such riches (18.5 million Euros).  She knows her husband wants a flat screen TV, a sports car, and a fancy watch, while Jocelyne’s list includes a new shower curtain and a better reading lamp.  As the novel progresses, her lists evolve to include going to a spa and a Chanel bag.  She kindly starts to include things her husband would want such as every James Bond Film on DVD.

Jocelyne carries on with her life, she works in a fabric shop and has a very successful crafting blog, but her hidden lottery check is never far from her mind. Soon her lists start to include such sad items as To be told I’m beautiful…and To be envied, at last.

OK, so you think you get it – the lottery win is a metaphor for life and how things of value can’t be bought.  But here’s where Monsieur Delacourt doesn’t take the easy road, he lets Jocelyne want her things as badly as her desires.  Such as this passage:

“Because our needs are our little daily dreams.  The little things to be done that project us into tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, the future;  trivial things that we plan to buy next week allowing us to think that next week we’ll still be alive.  It’s the need for a nonslip bath mat that keeps us going.”

Jocelyne is the only fully developed character, I couldn’t warm to any of the others, but she is enough to pull the novel along.  The novel is told entirely in the present tense, which is a typical for modern-day French novels, and I’m happy the translator didn’t try to adapt the style for English-readers. Here’s a quote from the book that is insight into this  author’s unusual writing style:

“I love words.  I love long sentences, sighs that go on forever.  I love it when words sometimes hide what they’re saying, or say it in a new way.”

I think M. Delacourt gets a few things wrong.  Jocelyne’s husband is named Jocelyn which the author introduces slyly, (and it’s important later in the book) but I found it distracting. This male author has Jocelyne (the wife — see, confusing!) viewing her naked overweight body in the mirror and thinking it beautiful.  I doubt any overweight woman would do that – maybe French women, but not this American women – perhaps I lack such evolved confidence, but it felt female-false. There is a betrayal and an strangely abrupt bittersweet ending, which I won’t spoil here.

At only 163 pages, this novella packs the import of a much longer novel, I find myself thinking about it still.

Note:  The original French title was List of My Desires – which I think would have been a better English title as well.

My Wish List was provided by Penguin via NetGalley

 

 

 

 

 

Testament of Gideon Mack by James Robertson

For this Throwback Thursday, I revisit a most memorable book from 2007.

From the back cover:  A critical success on both sides of the Atlantic, this darkly imaginative novel from Scottish author James Robertson takes a tantalizing trip into the spiritual by way of a haunting paranormal mystery. When Reverend Gideon Mack, a good minister despite his atheism, tumbles into a deep ravine called the Black Jaws, he is presumed dead. Three days later, however, he emerges bruised but alive-and insistent that his rescuer was Satan himself. Against the background of an incredulous world, Mack’s disturbing odyssey and the tortuous life that led to it create a mesmerizing meditation on faith, mortality, and the power of the unknown.

Reverend Gideon Mack, a Scottish minister who doesn’t believe in God, ends up meeting and being saved by the devil.  The sudden appearance of a standing stone in the woods, visible only to him, is a chilling precursor of his encounter with the horned one.
Yet, in telling his tale, his sanity is questioned and his place in the church is threatened.   Is Gideon Mack crazy or suffering from a nervous breakdown?  Did what happened to him actually happen?

This is a strange, yet fascinating tale and Mr. Robertson is a masterful writer to be able to pull off such an unusual premise.

Gideon’s written account (his testament) tells the tale and is delivered into the hands of a publisher after Gideon’s sudden disappearance followed by the discovery of his body. The publisher launches an investigation into claims from Gideon’s story. The results leave the reader mystified and, in the end, left to make their own decision as to what really happened.

The novel is many layered, there is the manuscript and the narration told through a number of differing Scottish accents.  Then there is the tale itself with questionable validity.  And finally, there is the rich undercurrent which questions the nature of our beliefs and held truths.  It leaves the reader with more questions than answers.   There is even a website dedicated to the novel and its many unresolved answers and interpretations.  Here.

This would be an excellent book group selection, as there are bound to be as many explanations as members of the group.  The Penguin edition has a very good readers guide.

While I often skip prologues (sshh don’t tell anyone) do not skip the prologue or the epilogue in this novel – they are Mr. Robertson’s best work and vital to the storyline in The Testament of Gideon Mack. 

 

A brief intermission

It’s raining here, perfect reading with a cup of tea weather. But, despite bookshelf full of books and a Kindle 3/4 full of books I haven’t read, I can’t seem to land on a book to read right now.  I pick one up, read a few chapters, put it down uninterested…try another and so on. I know from experience this will pass but it is quite unsettling not to be reading anything right now.  So during this lull  – HERE  is the New York Times Book Review’s 100 Notable Books of 2014 for inspiration…hmmmm, maybe a trip to my favorite independent  bookstore later …don’t judge.

P. D. James 1920-2014

“When I first heard that Humpty Dumpty fell off the wall, I immediately wondered: Did he fall–or was he pushed?”

P. D. James,  the beloved mystery author and creator of Commander Adam Dalgliesh and Cordelia Gray, died Thursday at age 94.  I was fortunate to hear her speak in person (at City Arts and Lectures here in San Francisco) and she spoke with quiet intelligence and was remarkably down to earth and unassuming — and I imagined that she would happily welcome you to sit down in her kitchen to share a cup of tea.

Beauty in the Messiness.

So this Thanksgiving I continue to be thankful for growing older, for everything I have learned, and for my beautiful messy, imperfect life.  May you also find some beauty in the messiness of your life.

 

Read the full post on Lisa’s blog HERE.

Palm Springs – Where the Flintstones meet the Jetsons

We spent a warm and sunny week in ultra-cool Palm Springs, California.  Where mid-century modern butts up with desert rockiness. Cadillacs drive slowly through town with well-tanned, silver hair drivers.  Martinis are the preferred drink, steak is on every restaurant menu and orange is the favorite color.   We stayed at the Palm Springs Tennis Club, designed by the famous mid-century architect Quincy Jones (no the other Quincy Jones).  And where Dean Martin, Lucille Ball and Frank Sinatra played tennis and presumably got drunk by the pool.

Click on photos to view  larger.

 

    We swam in the pool – but without drinking.

 

 

 

Ray played tennis almost every day.  He’s playing in the very furthest court…I couldn’t get a good photo…

Our unit was in this building.  The resort is nestled up against the San Jacinto Mountains.  You could touch the side of the mountain from our deck.  Only downside of being in the shadow of the mountains – it gets dark at 3:30 PM. We had visiting wildlife – a roadrunner – click on photo and look carefully.

 

 

 

 

 

Went exploring the neighborhoods – even went through an open house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contemplated Palm Spring’s take on gardening.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Discovered a former Holiday Inn renovated by designers apparently high on crack cocaine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even Palm Springs’ municipal buildings are “say what?” ultra cool.

When here, one can appreciate why Palm Springs was and still is, the playground for the Hollywood/Rat Pack set.  Nothing beats the warm sun, brilliant blue skies and hip surroundings.

Robert B. Parker

Just returned from a week in Palm Springs (more on that in a later post). I pulled out several unread Robert B. Parker mystery novels for the trip.  Does anyone else pick out their books for a trip even before thinking about packing other essentials like clothes and shoes?

If you don’t know about Robert B. Parker you are missing some great entertainment.  He wrote over 70 novels and his most popular was the Spenser series.  I’ve been a cult follower since the 1980’s, went to multiple readings and have several of his books personally autographed (I know I’m a NERD).

Mr. Parker’s novels crackle with wit and the best dialogue ever written.  (If you are an aspiring author, read Parker and learn how dialogue can and should deliver.)

These are quick reads (I once read one of his mysteries cover-to-cover during a 2 hour flight) but all are engaging and tightly written.  The chapters zoom along as you rapidly turn pages to chuckle at another slyly written escapade.  Spenser is a wonderful character — a hard boiled private eye who is evolved.  Spenser cooks, adores baseball and his long-time psychiatrist  girlfriend – Susan who is based on his wife Joan.  Go to the Robert B. Parker website to see pictures of Joan and you’ll see the muse and model.  Spenser is funny, yet serious but not anguished. Most of the scenes with his sidekick Hawk are laugh out loud fun.

Jessie Stone, star of his other well-known series, is a burned out, heavy drinking LA cop who rediscovers himself and a new life as a chief of police in a Massachusetts seaside village.  (Watch for the made-for-TV movies with Tom Selleck as Jessie Stone – they’re spot on and well-worth watching!)

No need to read Mr. Parker’s books in order but, in my opinion, the first five in the Spenser series are extraordinary.

Sadly, Mr. Parker (at 77) passed away in 2010 – a sudden heart attack while at his desk writing his next novel.

The Parker estate has recently hired a new writer to take over the series, but I can’t bring myself to read those.