The Contradictions is Sophie Yanow's memoir-in-comics about a semester she spent in Paris when she was twenty years old. There she meets Zena, a felloThe Contradictions is Sophie Yanow's memoir-in-comics about a semester she spent in Paris when she was twenty years old. There she meets Zena, a fellow student and an "anarchist" whose political beliefs seem to manifest mostly in shoplifting and sponging off other people for everything she needs in life. Sophie and Zena decide to go to Berlin for their school break, but because they don't have any money and Zena is an "anarchist," they hitchhike rather than traveling by train or plane. In addition to dealing with the hazards of hitchhiking, Sophie, who seems to have a crush on Zena, has to deal with the fact that although the two young women have ostensibly similar political views, the ways those views play out in their lives and personalities are very different.
Sounds interesting, no? It sounded interesting to me, and it took me a while to figure out why I was underwhelmed. Oftentimes in memoirs-in-comics, the author is not just a character in the book but also the narrator, filling in the blanks and explaining, with the value of hindsight, what she was thinking and feeling at the time. If done well, this can be both effective and affecting. The Contradictions employs no such narrative technique, which means all the work of the story must be done by the characters' words and actions as well as the art. The problem is, a lot is left unsaid in this book, and the art just isn't very expressive. Sophie in particular wears glasses that hide much of her face, and her eyes are just pinpricks hovering above them, so as a reader you're constantly trying to guess what she truly thinks and feels. Ultimately, it's very hard to feel a connection to her. The end result is that I was entertained by The Contradictions but I just don't really feel much about it. ...more
When I found out there was going to be a graphic novel version of the first Tales of the City book, obviously I was going to jump on that ASAP. The onWhen I found out there was going to be a graphic novel version of the first Tales of the City book, obviously I was going to jump on that ASAP. The only catch? The graphic novel was in French, no English version available, and as I've previously mentioned here, my French is poor to nonexistent. No matter! I went on Amazon.fr and managed to click the appropriate buttons, and a copy made its way to me across the ocean.
I figured between the little French I did have, the pictures, and the fact that I already knew the story quite well, I'd have a good experience reading this, and I was mostly right. I was able to tell what was going on, but I was acutely aware that the writer of this comic probably made her own choices about what dialogue to include or perhaps even modify, and that I was missing out on nearly all of that. Still, as I continued to read I was able to figure out some of the text through sheer repetition of certain words. It made me think that if I just read enough graphic novels in French I might indeed master it someday!
The art was wonderful. Some of it reminded me a bit of Tintin and some of Chris Ware, but mostly it was its own delightful thing, a bit impressionistic and full of vivid color. The characters were all perfectly drawn, and thinking of them now makes me smile.
Although I got this book sometime last year, the craziness of 2021 meant I just got to it this month. It's an odd bit of timing, because today I learned that an English version is coming out next month after all! Still, although I'm happy I'll have an opportunity to read and understand all the speech bubbles, I don't regret "reading" this French version; it was a lovely experience all its own....more
A brief book about writing and the writer's life, Devotion begins with a short section wherein Patti As a reading experience this was unsatisfactory.
A brief book about writing and the writer's life, Devotion begins with a short section wherein Patti Smith travels to Paris to spend a week doing business with her French publisher. Her time there is fairly quiet, a lot of walks and relaxed meals in cafes. On a train trip she is suddenly inspired to write and feverishly turns out a short story in her notebook; she mentions that it contains several elements inspired by the preceding few days: a round piece of ham in a restaurant becomes a round pond in the story; a figure skater she sees on TV becomes her main character; a bit of a film she saw provides some of the imagery.
The entire short story then appears as the book's middle and longest section. This is a cool idea in theory, a glimpse of the writerly process, but sadly the story itself was odd and unenjoyable, with remote characters and a fablelike quality that lacked immediacy. It felt endless.
The last section of the book details Patti Smith's trip to Albert Camus's house. Camus's daughter invites her there, and Smith gets to stay in Camus's room, have lunch with Camus's daughter and spend time with Camus's granddaughter, take in the same views Camus took in, and even look at Camus's last manuscript, handwritten and complete with his crossouts and insertions. The point of this section is that looking at Camus's manuscript inspires Smith to do some more writing of her own, but to me it honestly just felt like she was bragging about her amazing experience at Camus's house; the writing element was peripheral.
This Camus section unfortunately cast the Paris section of the book in a new light for me; Devotion now felt like a mediocre short story bookended by two vignettes about how awesome Patti Smith's life is. The whole thing ends with photographic reproductions of the pages she wrote on the train. I guess these were meant to inspire the reader in the way Camus's pages inspired Smith, but they were pretty much illegible.
So that's it. It wasn't terrible or anything, but there is nothing about it that would make me recommend it to anyone. Thanks for stopping by....more
Ugh, Flâneuse was such a disappointment. It doesn't really deliver what it promises; it just reads like a bunch of research papers Lauren Elkin has wrUgh, Flâneuse was such a disappointment. It doesn't really deliver what it promises; it just reads like a bunch of research papers Lauren Elkin has written and strung together with a flimsy scaffold of personal reflections. The writing is not nearly as lively as I'd hoped and neither is Elkin; at one point she describes herself as "no rebel," and she's right, she isn't. I'm giving this 3 stars because there were a few interesting sections and some insights worth underlining, but I don't recommend it. Might I suggest Paris Was a Woman, The Dead Ladies Project, Spinster, or the Virginia Woolf chapter of Men Explain Things to Me instead?...more
The Dud Avocado is like a haphazard cross between F. Scott Fitzgerald and Henry Miller, although funnier than Fitzgerald and less philosophical than MThe Dud Avocado is like a haphazard cross between F. Scott Fitzgerald and Henry Miller, although funnier than Fitzgerald and less philosophical than Miller. It has young broke (but not poor) white people bumming around Europe, and when the plot isn't happening there are a lot of descriptions of the artistic milieu of Paris and the random debauched nightlife. I thought the heroine, Sally Jay Gorce, was kind of ridiculous, but I wasn't bothered by that or anything else because this book is HILARIOUS. So much more fun than I was expecting. True, things don't wrap up in the most satisfying way, but really, it was the 1950s—there was only one way this could actually end. And I had so much fun getting there that I didn't care at all. Thanks to Greta Gerwig for getting me to finally read this!...more
I like most kinds of books, but if I had to point to a particular type of book and say, “This is exactly the kind of book I like,” The 6:41 to Paris wI like most kinds of books, but if I had to point to a particular type of book and say, “This is exactly the kind of book I like,” The 6:41 to Paris would be exactly the kind of book I would point to. The chance meeting! The awkwardness! The interior monologues! The hurts from decades earlier coming back to the surface! I loved just about all of it. I related to some of it. My only complaints: (1) while I liked the ending, I didn’t feel entirely that it was earned; and (2) if I were these people, I absolutely would not have sat in silence for so long. Say something, people! These are minor criticisms, though. Both in real life and in fiction there’s a lot of fun to be had on a train, and The 6:41 to Paris is a stellar example of this....more
Even I am a bit surprised by the fact that I’m giving this novel one star. I mean, what was I expecting when I picked it up? Did I think it was going Even I am a bit surprised by the fact that I’m giving this novel one star. I mean, what was I expecting when I picked it up? Did I think it was going to be some kind of literary masterpiece? Don't I like books that take place in Paris between the wars? Don't I like books about creative people? Didn't I read this in two days? Didn’t I love the way the font on the spine looked kind of like the lettering on that one Paris Metro sign? Answers: I don't really know, no, yes, yes, yes, yes. So what went so horribly wrong?
It's safe to say that, unless a book is highly experimental, plot and character are both important to the success of a novel. For a book like this one, I would've settled for an absorbing plot, and at the beginning, it seemed like that was what I was going to get. All the promising elements were in place: interesting characters (real-life—but fictionalized—photographer-slash-model Lee Miller, and her lover and mentor, avant-garde photographer Man Ray), interesting setting, intriguing story line (Lee's rise from fashion model to esteemed photographer). But very quickly, the book became repetitive: Lee Miller would get a prestigious photography assignment; Man Ray would become insecure and worry that she was outgrowing being his protégé; they would argue; she would say something flirtatious, and they would make up. Everything would then be fine until the next time she got a prestigious assignment, when the cycle would repeat. Insert some boring descriptions of fancy parties and call it a day.
This humdrum plot might have been okay if the characters were well drawn, but they just weren't. The book is populated with various creative types; besides Lee Miller and Man Ray, there were Andre Breton, Andre Gide, Jean Cocteau, Charlie Chaplin, Luis Buñuel, Dalí, Picasso, and other, less well known actors, artists, and writers. Yet not a single soul in this book ever said anything truly interesting. All the dialogue was frightfully obvious, and the depiction of Man and Lee’s relationship was overwhelmingly simplistic in a way it couldn’t have been in real life.
Lee’s personality was the most disappointing. As at least one other Goodreader has mentioned, she was more like a spoiled teenager than a woman with a creative soul, less fiery than bratty. She was more than happy to sponge off Man Ray’s career in order to advance her own, yet she cheated on him at just about every turn, so much so that I was put in mind of I Take You—never a good thing. She also (view spoiler)[strung him along for months and months before finally breaking up with him in the most heartless way possible. (hide spoiler)] Of course, as alluded to above, Man Ray didn’t always treat Lee Miller as well as he could have, so you’d think it wouldn’t have been that difficult for me to sympathize with her—to say nothing of the fact that I tend to give artistic geniuses a fair amount of leeway, in fiction anyway: if you’ve truly got a unique talent and intellect, I don’t necessarily expect you to abide by the same rules as the rest of us. But this depiction of Lee was just so shallow, dull, and self-centered that I could see nothing of the sought-after photographer she was in real life. I got so fed up with her that I simply couldn’t wait for the book to be over, and the stars kept dropping off my rating as I waded through the endless pages before the book finally wound down to a depressing epilogue that compressed some important aspects of Miller’s life into one bummer of an ending.
In retrospect, I should have known this book might be a disappointment when I read the publisher’s letter that accompanied it, wherein the book was described as “richly drawn” and “tempestuous.” First of all, a novel can’t be tempestuous (and this one surely isn’t)—only people and weather can. And what does “richly drawn” even mean? (I would in fact like to call a moratorium on using the word “rich” to describe anything other than a person with a lot of money or a dish with a lot of butter.) Meaningless phrases like these would seem to indicate that even the publisher can’t quite tell you what’s good about this book, so why should I be able to? And quite obviously, I can’t. Color me disappointed.
I received this book via a First Reads giveaway here on Goodreads....more
In some ways it wasn't really this book's fault that I didn't like it. It came out in the U.S. in 1990 and was probably one of the first "I-lived-amonIn some ways it wasn't really this book's fault that I didn't like it. It came out in the U.S. in 1990 and was probably one of the first "I-lived-among-the-French-and-they-are-peculiar" memoirs. Since then, there have been countless other memoirs on this same topic, several of which I have read and enjoyed, so by the time I got to this, the flagship volume, the subject matter was a little old hat. Also problematic is that, while some of this book is composed of funny anecdotes, some of it is just Mayle explaining how the French do things (cheek kissing, for example), and those sections not only aren't particularly funny, they're sometimes rather dull. Maybe they were fascinating in 1990, I don't know. But frankly, once you've read David Sedaris on French villagers, Peter Mayle is just never going to stack up.
The book does contain the obligatory shout-outs to French paperwork and the way business is conducted there, as well as copious descriptions of food and wine, so it hits all the right marks, and I considered giving it an extra star (3 total) in recognition of the fact that I read it about 25 years too late. But I started to get annoyed at the way Mayle poked fun at French peasants, accusing them of being either penny-pinchers with ancient cars (hilarious, right?), or "greedy" for hoping to sell their houses for high prices. Meanwhile, he was spending a gargantuan sum on remodeling his large Provence house, not to mention all those cases of wine. His ridiculing the less well-off, even if all in good fun, rubbed me the wrong way, so the extra star came right back off. When my sister gave me this book years ago (after she had read it and loved it), she also gave me its sequel, Toujours Provence, but it's going to be a long time before I'll be willing go in for more of this sort of thing....more
One Hour in Paris is two books at once: the author's memoir of her rape while traveling in Paris and a more general look at trauma and recovery. ThereOne Hour in Paris is two books at once: the author's memoir of her rape while traveling in Paris and a more general look at trauma and recovery. There seem to be a lot of these types of books nowadays, where the author uses her own experiences as a jumping-off point to talk about larger issues in a more general way. I found the personal sections absorbing, vivid, and very well written; the more general sections were a bit dry and textbook-like. But overall it was a good reading experience, and I have no doubt this book would be helpful and informative to many....more
Sometimes you go to Paris to escape your life and when you get there all you find is your same old life, and sometimes, surrounded by so much that's uSometimes you go to Paris to escape your life and when you get there all you find is your same old life, and sometimes, surrounded by so much that's unfamiliar, your life actually gets worse. You won't find this viewpoint in any rom-com, but James Baldwin sure knew it, and Samantha Dunn knows it too. Failing Paris certainly has echoes of Giovanni's Room, but beyond that made me think of any number of novels about women who deal with their problems by going somewhere else (like this one, or this one, or this, this, or even this). The difference is that Failing Paris, published by the little-known Toby Press in 1999, came before all of those.
It's hard to quantify exactly what makes a book like Failing Paris valuable. The writing is beautiful and poetic and the story is interesting and even suspenseful, but oddly what appeals to me most is the sense that sometimes things are a big mess and they just don't work themselves out as quickly as we might want them to. I think women in particular are encouraged to put a happy face on everything, but sometimes there is just no happy face that's going to hide the disaster that is your life, and a city like Paris, a city of dreams, can easily become as nightmarish as whatever it is you've left behind. You thought getting out was some kind of victory, but still you end up failing. Books that are honest about this are a relief to me. I'm not going to say I identified with it, but I certainly identified with it more than some story that tries to tell us that everything happens for a reason and turns out all right in the end. Does Failing Paris have a happy ending, a sad ending? Both? Neither? I don't actually know, and I appreciate that more than I can properly express....more
This book's average rating here on Goodreads is not the best, and I suspected it was probably because of the way Miller kept mentioning the influencesThis book's average rating here on Goodreads is not the best, and I suspected it was probably because of the way Miller kept mentioning the influences that led her to move to Paris in the first place: de Beauvoir and Sartre, Colette, Godard. I thought for sure reviewers would think she was acting too intellectual and showing off (for the record, I loved that aspect of the book). But I was wrong--it turns out the low ratings are the result of too much boy craziness and sexytimes. Guess you can't please everyone!
It's true: young Nancy Miller seems to go from one man to the next with scarcely any time in between, and usually with some overlap. She has more pregnancy scares than such a smart person should have and makes some terrible choices. She barely seems attracted to most of these people and barely seems to love the man she marries. It can get a bit exasperating at times.
However, I eventually came to see this memoir in a slightly different way. Miller moves to Paris not just because it's the city of her dreams, but because she's trying to establish her independence from her parents. However, in the early 1960s, it was difficult for many women to imagine an independence from their parents that didn't involve getting married. Paradoxical, yes--trading one form of dependence for another, because a lot of women quit working after marriage. Yet there was a part of Miller that knew that getting married wasn't really her own path to independence--hence her tendency to say yes to just about anything. As she puts it (paraphrasing), "How can I be sure I don't want to do something unless I try it?"
This book was very well-written, dealt with some serious issues, and was a welcome change from the typically frothy Paris memoir where the heroine, who isn't even looking for a man, somehow has the best-looking, most romantic Frenchman fall madly in love with her, and whose only real problem is that French people can be so standoffish sometimes. If that's what you're looking for, try this or this. But a glance at my ratings will give you a sense of where my own preference lies....more
I liked the premise of this novel, about a young aspiring writer who travels to Paris to attempt to follow in the footsteps of her idols, Langston HugI liked the premise of this novel, about a young aspiring writer who travels to Paris to attempt to follow in the footsteps of her idols, Langston Hughes and James Baldwin. Some aspects of the book were quite vivid. But the language was too flowery for my taste--I found it alienating rather than intimate....more
In some ways, the characters in these two short novels are utterly free. Just about everything is permitted in the Parisian society to which they beloIn some ways, the characters in these two short novels are utterly free. Just about everything is permitted in the Parisian society to which they belong: Become a courtesan. Take a much younger lover. Have a child out of wedlock. Become addicted to opium. Don’t ever bother to get married, but if you do, sleep around with other people. Spend your whole life in total leisure. Go ahead! No one cares. But this culture, like every culture, does have its own codes of conduct, and thus its own set of restrictions. Specifically, you must never allow yourself to feel the more heartfelt emotions, like love, and if you do unfortunately fall victim to such emotions, please keep it to yourself. Be as wild as you want, but take no actual risks. For all their decadence and ostensible freedom, the characters in this book are just as repressed as Edith Wharton’s proper New Yorkers.
Novels such as this usually seem to focus on female characters’ struggles with the repressive cultures they find themselves in, so Chéri and The Last of Chéri are unique: They focus on a young man, nicknamed Chéri (real name: Fred)—gorgeous, spoiled, privileged, and utterly trapped. Chéri is without a doubt the architect of his own despair, but his realization of the meaninglessness of his life and his subsequent efforts to change it broke my heart. These novels were published almost 100 years ago, but as with most classics, their themes continue to resonate in the present day.
So why am I not giving this book the deluxe five-star treatment? For one thing, everyone was so repressed that there was very little of the sensuality I was expecting from Colette (although its sparseness made it very effective when it did appear). For another, while the writing sometimes positively shone, at other times it was a bit humdrum, or even clumsy, so I suspect some of its real power got lost in translation. In fact, given that this translation was first published in 1951, I might say we’re due for an entirely new one. But since the only person who seems to be doing new translations from French these days is Lydia Davis, maybe we should just let it be. This was an interesting and worthwhile read nonetheless....more
The well-known Buddhist saying "Wherever you go, there you are" may never be more true than when applied to expatriates. Off they go to Paris to find The well-known Buddhist saying "Wherever you go, there you are" may never be more true than when applied to expatriates. Off they go to Paris to find themselves, only to become more lost than ever.
There is little I can say about Giovanni's Room that hasn't already been said. This brief novel is vivid and painful, its protagonist, David, so repressed and fearful that there can be no catharsis for him--although fortunately, and relievedly, the reader gets one via another character. Make no mistake: The discrimination David fears and feels is real, but Giovanni's Room is also a visceral depiction of the ways we build our own prisons for our own souls....more
This reads like the author took a bunch of her Facebook status updates from her time in Paris and expanded them slightly. Because that's what actuallyThis reads like the author took a bunch of her Facebook status updates from her time in Paris and expanded them slightly. Because that's what actually happened....more
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