On the Booker shortlist

Fortunately or unfortunately, nothing validates a piece of work or undertaking more than winning a sort of prize. Just think about it, there are now all sorts of prizes for practically everything. From prizes for movies (Oscars, Palme D’Or etc.), Music (Billboard top 100, Grammys etc),Television (the Emmys ) to more serious activities that get awarded the Pulitzer and the Nobel prizes. The literary world is by no means exempt. One of the more prestigious awards is the Man Booker Prize. It purports to award the best fiction of the year written by a citizen of the Commonwealth or the Republic of Ireland. Of course this is not to say that the judges choices are always unanimously received by the reading public. But like it or not, the prize has the power to change a writer’s life. In this year’s list for example, there are several new authors that we would never have heard of if not for the Booker (see Booker Short List). I don’t think I will have time to finish reading all the books on the shortlist (as of now, I’ve read two out of 6) before the announcement of the winner on the 14th of October. But what I’ve read so far has been really good. It’s a good thing it’s not my job to decide who the winner will be.

After White Tiger (see review under Book reviews category), I plunged into Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh. It tells the story of a group of disparate strangers, brought together by fate in the guise of the workings of the British empire in the Far East to one place, the Ibis. The Ibis is an old slave ship, newly out fitted for its new purpose of trading opium from India to China. But before it commences its opium journey, it must first transport a group of slaves destined for the islands of Mauritius.
With this premise, Ghosh carefully lays in place the stories of the principal characters. There is Deeti, with the clear gray eyes of a witch who loses her husband to opium addiction and is forced to flee her abusive brother in law. Paulette Lambert, an orphan who seeks a way of returning to Mauritius, her mother’s birthplace after she learns that she is to be engaged against her will. Then there is the disgraced Raja Neel Halder, who unwittingly loses all his property to his British partner Benjamin Burnham. And finally there is Zachary Reid, a free mulatto man seeking to make his fortune in the Far East. Despite their different stories they are all forced to flee their circumstances and somehow end up in the Ibis. In the hands of a less skilled writer, the weaving together of these different tales might well seem implausible, even contrived, but such is Ghosh’ skill that he is able to do so in a perfectly convincing way. It is to our benefit that he takes his time to piece together each tale so that they blend together seamlessly. There is also a strong narrative structure that propels the story forward. Length ceases to matter as the story takes you irresistibly along. Don’t be put-off by the shipping jargon and free use of the Bhojpuri language. This is an epic and addictive tale and you will be swept along.
More than the engaging story however and the irresistible narrative, what really elevates Ghosh’ work is the way he perfectly captures the sense of displacement that is engendered by colonialism. Set in the 1830’s when opium was the primary trading good of the British, these were the days when Indian farmers were forced to grow poppy, and only poppy. As Deeti puts it “in the old days, the fields would be heavy with wheat in the winter, and after the spring harvest, the straw would be used to repair the damage of the year before. ..But now, the factory’s appetite for opium never seemed to be sated. Come the cold weather, the English sahibs would allow little else to be planted; their agents would go from home to home, forcing cash advances on the farmers making them sign asami contracts. It was impossible to say no to them.”
Little wonder then that hundreds would be forced to take desperate measures to save their lives and their families, even such measures that would take them far away from all that they know and love. One of the most beautiful passages in the book comes almost to the end, when the characters have crossed the line into the Black Water (the great Ocean), the great unknown…"How had it happened that when choosing men and women who were to be torn from this subjugated plain, the hand of destiny had strayed so far inland, away from the busy coastlines, to alight on the people who were, of all the most stubbornly rooted in the silt of the Ganga, in a soil that had to be sown with suffering to yield its crop of story and song? It was as if fate had thrust its fist through the living flesh of the land in order to tear away a piece of its stricken heart.”

When we speak of vintage clothing, what exactly do we mean? It is generally agreed by dealers that clothing made prior to 1920 is considered antique and therefore have their proper place within the hallowed halls of a museum. From 1920 to 1970 on the other hand can be considered vintage. The 80s are a little bit more problematic and for most, don’t fall within the age to be considered vintage. These days it’s all about vintage. Never has old things been so new than in our days of high technology and high definition. I myself am hard put to say what it is that is so appealing about things that are, if you think about it used and have often seen their best days go by. I would say though that a large part of its appeal would be its “uniqueness” factor. It is undoubtedly much more cool to show up in an outfit that wasn’t put together thanks to Zara, Mango, or even Chanel. The fact that most vintage pieces were not mass produced contributes to its distinctiveness. For other people, vintage is simply another way of recycling; finding new owners for old things that are still beautiful. For whatever reason, vintage is now all the rage, mainstream even as the true purists lament. Nowhere was this more evident than at the recently concluded Salon du Vintage at the Espace Pierre Cardin.
This is the second Salon du Vintage of the year with over 60 stands participating. While a number of the stands carried clothing and accessories, there were a number of stands carrying furniture to satisfy design fans. The theme for this Salon was the Orange Years with a special focus on the 60s. For aficionados it was sheer heaven. Like I said there were a number of stands carrying vintage clothing including Didier Ludot and Isabel Klein who carry wonderful pieces. I love their stuff, though to call them that seems almost to demote their value. These two are simply in a class all their own. Between them their pieces range from early turn of the century (notably Klein) to full on 70s glory. It was so much fun perusing their racks and seeing not just the familiar names (Hermes, Chanel and company but other less known names) what they had preserved. Isabel Klein likewise carried a wonderful selection of accessories, notably beautifully preserved croco skin bags whose patina reflects the loving care their previous owners had given them. When you’ve got time to spare, check out Ludot’s store at the Palais Royal which has these great store windows that look more like a museum window rather than a store. Other notables at the Salon included a stand carrying nothing but retro sunglasses in all shapes and forms and in a range of prices too. I suppose I’ve also got to mention the participation of Killiwatch, though vintage purists might well protest their inclusion, since Killiwatch is probably the most “accessible” vintage store of Paris. Oftentimes they look more like a second hand store rather than an actual vintage store. Their racks were full to bursting with peasant dresses, fur jackets that smelled rather strongly and all manner and kind of boots.
And as if I needed further proof of how mainstream vintage has come, who should I see at the Salon, perusing the same racks as yours truly, but Marc Lavoine and Gerard Darmon. There they were trying on the aviator leather jackets, looking for all the world like regular folks out to spend a few hours in the Salon du Vintage.

Ennuyeux comme la pluie?

Un Jaoui/Bacri, ça s'attend, et ça se déguste comme les bonbons de notre enfance, qui étaient si acides mais si bons.

Mais parfois les loupés arrivent même au meilleur, et on n'arrive même pas à leur en vouloir.

Un film avec à la fois Jaoui, Bacri et Jamel, cela aurait dû être drôle, enlevé, acide. C'est passablement drôle, mais surtout passablement ennuyeux. Est-ce dû au non-renouvellement des acteurs/auteurs? Bacri joue superbement bien, mais il joue encore le même rôle. De même que Jaoui, on ne change pas une équipe qui gagne... jusqu'au moment où elle lasse.

C'est là qu'intervient l'élément extérieur: Jamel, que plus je découvre, plus j'aime. Malheureusement son rôle est réduit au cliché de l'"Arabe", dont la mère est bonne à tout faire pour des Blancs, que le mari bat, et on en passe... Je sais que le discours du film est de mettre en valeur ces préjugés, mais franchement, il y a des moyens plus subtils (et efficaces) que ceux-là.

Bref, on passera notre tour, et on attend le suivant... en espérant qu'il soit meilleur...

This week was literary week as we had two readings and a lecture on our schedules.
On Monday, we made our way to Theatre Montansier in Versailles for a “lecture” of Olga, a play written by Jean Claude de Brisville. Having never been to a French “lecture”, I took it to mean a sort of reading, no different to the readings I am accustomed to. I was in for a surprise as a French lecture is indeed a reading, not of a small part to whet the appetite but of the entire play! In our case we had Michaël Lonsdale, Edith Scob and Jean-Daniel Laval reading Olga on a bare stage. After the initial surprise, I settled down and what is challenging is paying attention to the play as it unfolds without barely any movement on stage except for inevitable shift by the actors as they make themselves comfortable. Olga is the story of Anton Chekhov and Olga, a young actress who would become his wife and their fateful summer in Yalta. In essence it is a dialogue between the two on art and literature and its role in their respective lives. Not much comes to pass in terms of action but the real pleasure to be derived in the play is its ruminative take on art and the way it intertwines with life. To my mind, Lonsdale was perfectly cast as the aging, increasingly tired Chekhov who wants nothing more than to be left alone to create his work. On the other hand, it was a bit disconcerting to watch Edit Scob, (who is undoubtedly a good actress) play a much younger woman given that she is certainly already of a certain age. An interesting night altogether and well worth the trip to Versailles.

This week, I also had the opportunity to meet two authors at their readings at my favorite Anglophone bookstore. Maybe it’s the groupie in me but I was so excited to meet Cara Black and Amy Bloom. I love Amy Bloom’s writing and it was a pleasure to hear her read from Away, her latest novel. It’s always interesting to hear authors read their own work as it gives an added dimension to the characters and readings always give you an opportunity to discuss with them. What is even more interesting is to have a behind the scenes kind of glimpse of their work especially since both undertake an enormous amount of research for their books. In writing Away for example, Amy took a trip to Alaska 4 times and was privy to all manner of journals and memorabilia of early 20th century. According to her, those journals are even more incredible than fiction since they were true stories. Cara on the other hand, sets her stories in Paris and her research leads her to all sorts of nooks and crannies of our city. Who knew for example that the 10th arrondissement used to have over 60 stores dealing solely in crystal? Or that it was the Turkish district? Up until I read her book, I certainly didn’t.


Here's Amy with her rapt audience



And Cara reading from her book...

To kill a mockingbird faisait partie de ma liste de classiques à lire, mais j'en ai tellement qu'il n'était pas particulièrement en tête. Amazon et ses soldes l'ont propulsé en tête (comment ça, je suis totalement influençable?)... pour mon plus grand plaisir, je dois avouer.

Prenant place dans les années 1930, ce roman met magnifiquement en scène l'Amérique de l'après crash de 1929. Une période qui semble en 2008 complètement arriérée et que j'aurais de moi-même placée trente ans avant. Le racisme ne s'y fait pas seulement sentir, il est assumé et est au coeur de ce roman.

Mais la peinture de la société va bien plus loin que ça, et Harper Lee a magnifiquement réalisé une description de cette rencontre des différentes classes sociales: paysans, noirs, urbains. Si le contexte peut clairement être daté, le fond du problème est malheureusement fort actuel, et on oublierai (presque) que cette histoire se déroule dans les années 30.

A travers le regard d'une fillette, le passage à l'âge adulte à la dure réalité de la vie est également merveilleusement bien retranscrite.

Alors, oui, j'ai mauvaise conscience d'avoir commandé par Amazon, et de participer ainsi à la mort des librairies (coincidence ou conséquence: ma librairie de quartier ferme ses portes!), mais je bénis ses e-mails promotionnels qui dirigent mes lectures...

Abba all the way!

Admit it, deep down inside there is a closet Abba fan inside you, just waiting to burst into Dancing Queen. Okay, maybe not but there are enough people that the long running musical Mamma Mia is now a full length movie. Directed by Phyllida Lloyd and adapted for the screen by Catherine Jones, the movie features a star studded cast.
Set in one of the beautiful Greek isles, Mamma Mia is the story of Sophie, who decides impetuously to find out who her father is, in order to have him walk her down the aisle during her wedding. Unfortunately her task is made complicated by the fact that Donna, her mother has never told her who he is and there are three possible candidates for the role. She takes things in hands by sending invitations to the three potential fathers without her mother’s knowledge. Chaos ensues when the three men descend on the island and Donna is confronted with the past.
This is a simple enough story that is told through a number of Abba songs. There is no shortage of exuberance in the movie as the characters burst into song and dance their way to the island. Meryl Streep is incandescent as Donna and she really goes all the way with her singing. I’ve just found another reason to adore Ms. Streep who seems to be excellent whatever role she is playing. Her gal pals played by Christine Baranski and Julie Walters were as well in top form. Of course this being a movie on love, we can’t neglect the trio of fathers played respectively by Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth and Stellan Skarsgard. Watching the three, one gets the sense that they had enormous fun filming the movie though I have to say that I didn’t think that Colin Firth was particularly convincing in his role. T
All in all this is a fun feel good movie that will have you humming Abba all the way home.

In 1770, the Viennese court was held in thrall by the exploits of the Mechanical Turk, a chess playing automaton. His creator was Baron Wolfgang von Kempelen. The Mechanical Turk was a royal sensation and even embarked on a tour to better display his prowess. From such historical basis, Robert Lohr has crafted a historical novel about the Turk and his creator, von Kempelen. It is now a well accepted fact that the automaton was a clever hoax but not much is known of the person behind the Turk. Where it deviates from history fact is a murder for which the Turk comes under suspicion. If that were not bad enough the hapless victim is the Baroness Ibolya Jesenak , von Kempelen’s former lover.
Lohr distinguishes his novel by the rich imagery and vivid details with which he infuses his prose. Viennese court life and life of the nobility in Pressburg (now known as Bratislava) are skillfully depicted. He captured my attention immediately with the wealth of details with which he presents his story. Even more than the period details however, what really captured me was the theme of struggle between science and religion which was of foremost concern during those times. Von Kempelen (the Pressburg Promethus, as Lohr cleverly calls him), the creator of the machine was indisputably at the forefront of a movement which threatened the religious institution. A great deal of the frenzied prosecution directed against him stemmed from the fear on the part of the religious institution that he represented a great, if not mortal, danger to the institution. For the clergy, “the chess playing Turk represented a presumption in the face of God’s creation.” A gauntlet thrown with such audacity must be addressed in no uncertain terms. There is a particularly wonderful passage in the book which perfectly captures this mighty struggle. It is the scene where von Kempelen is summoned by the Primate of Hungary and Archbishop of Gran (or the Pressburg Zeus to von Kempelen’s Promethus). They enter into a duel of words where Promethus is forced to defend his thinking automaton before Zeus. If only for this part alone, the book is elevated above the usual run of the mill historical fiction.

Avec Thirteen et Across the universe, Evan Rachel Wood m'avait ébloui, et je n'allais donc pas passer un thriller avec elle. L'actrice joue donc (encore) une adolescence plutôt wild (mais bon pas si wild si l'on compare aux standards d'aujourd'hui), tandis qu'Uma Thurman joue son double adulte.

La vie devant ses yeux utilise (à bon escient) les procédés de flashbacks à la manière d'Elephant, auquel on pense beaucoup en voyant le film. Le thème bien évidemment est un facteur commun : Elephant retraçait la tragédie de Columbine High School, La vie devant ses yeux s'interroge sur la vie que peuvent mener les survivants d'une telle tragédie.

La vie devant ses yeux, pour appartenir à la catégorie de thriller, joue sur un secret que le personnage principal détient, et le film est assez bien fait pour que l'on soit surpris quand la fin le dévoile enfin. Ce n'est probablement pas un film qui va passer à la postérité, ni même un film qui va faire des vagues en terme d'entrées (10 personnes un jeudi soir dans un UGC pour la première semaine de sortie, ce n'est guère prometteur), et c'est dommage car le film vaut par sa réflexion sur le tour que prend prendre la vie de tout un chacun. Et plus largement d'ailleurs sur le tour que la société est en train de prendre quand chaque jour un étudiant peut arriver en cours et flinguer la moitié de sa classe.

Ménage à trois

Les gens qui me connaissent savent également mon peu d'ouverture d'esprit en ce qui concerne les aventures extra-conjugales (on est psycho-rigide ou on ne l'est pas).

Quand les deux partenaires officiels sont au courant, pourquoi pas, même si c'est un concept qui m'est quelque peu étrange... Le rôle de l'amant et de la maîtresse a de tout temps fait beaucoup coulé d'encre, et Harold Pinter n'échappe pas à ce thème, d'autant plus que lui l'a mis en pratique.

Le théâtre du Lucernaire m'ayant bouleversé avec sa représentation d'Inconnu à cette adresse, j'ai décidé d'aller découvrir l'auteur, dont j'ai beaucoup entendu parler, mais dont je n'avais jusque là jamais vu de pièce. Et si le thème de l'amant n'est pas le thème le plus enthousiasmant qui soit (pour moi), c'en est un des plus complexes, puisque appartenant à celui des relations humaines.

J'aurais peut-être dû (pour une fois) m'en remettre à mes préjugés... Peut-être est-ce la mise en scène (est-ce censé être érotique? dans ce cas, soit je suis frigide, soit j'étais très fatiguée..), peut-être est-ce la scène (jouer à un mètre de son public ne réunit peut-être pas les meilleures conditions), peut-être est-ce le jeu de l'actrice (un tantinet too much pour moi), mais franchement la pièce est loin de m'avoir convaincue.

L'acteur était bon dans son rôle, et le texte, comme beaucoup de textes contemporains, quelconque. Ce qui veut dire que si la pièce est bien mise en scène et bien jouée, c'est extrêment percutant, puisque le texte reflète la réalité quotidienne. S'il y a un couac, c'est passablement ennuyeux....

Ou finalement peut-être n'ai-je rien compris au texte, mais il n'empêche que je vais dorénavant réfléchir à deux fois avant d'aller voir des histoires de ménage à trois...

One fine evening, we lucked out and managed to snag a reservation at Le Chateaubriand, at the moment one of the most “happening” dining spots of the city. Once there we found to our surprise that there was only one menu for the evening and we were obliged to trust in the culinary maneuverings of chef Inaki Aizpitarte. Despite his relatively young age, he has been gathering much praise for his innovative and truly high concept style of dining. The menu was designed to be degustation style albeit in slightly smaller portions. What was appreciable was their willingness to slightly modify their menu according to their clients’ dietary limitations.
We started with the amuse bouche of several mushrooms in a slightly salty broth. This was followed by a proper starter of what they called “minute” salmon accompanied by herbs. Minute apparently means that the fish is barely cooked before it is served. Truly an adventure night for me as I usually take pains to avoid raw (or barely cooked) food. That said, the fish was quite good, with the herbs serving to counter what could have easily been an overwhelming fish taste. After our starters we had the first of our main dishes which was another fish dish. This time it was cabillaud served in a smoky broth with tender shoots. It was delicious and both the taste and presentation reminded me of Japanese cuisine in terms of delicacy of flavor and presentation. To finish off our main meal, we were served with meat that was barely grilled, given my proclivities against raw food, I asked for medium cooked meal and was more or less satisfied.
To my mind, the nicest part of Le Chateaubriand was the willingness to experiment with different flavors and tastes. Innovative and experimental, it’s a notch above the usual bistro or brasserie fare.

L'année Dracula

Comme avec Siri Hustvedt (cf article), l'année 2008 aura été constitué de quelques rencontres avec Dracula. D'abord la découverte des dernières saisons de Buffy contre les vampires (merci B.!), puis le voyage en Roumanie, et la tentative de la visite du château de Dracula (qui n'est pas le sien, mais un simple attrape gogo, les Roumains ne sont pas accueillants mais ils sont loin d'être bêtes), et donc fatalement la lecture de Dracula, le père du mythe des vampires.

Si Bram Stocker n'a pas inventé le concept des vampires, c'est véritablement lui qui l'a institutionnalisé, et son oeuvre marqua l'époque, 1) pour les frayeurs qu'il provoquait chez ses lecteurs, et 2) les quelques passages érotiques, assez peu répandus à l'époque.

Plus d'un siècle ayant passé, le lecteur du 21ième siècle ne sera sensible ni à l'érotisme, ni à la tension présents dans le livre. En reste une histoire somme toute assez basique de surnaturel et de solidarité humaine luttant contre le monde maléfique. Politiquement très correct donc. Ce qui ne veut pas dire ennuyeux car c'est bien amené et bien écrit, mais cela ne vous laissera pas halentant et éveillé toute la nuit.

Et pour le curieux qui cherche à savoir la fiche caractéristique du vampire, ce n'est guère plus explicite. Tantôt le corps une fois anéanti redevient humain, et donc plein de beauté (pour les gentils), tantôt il s'évapore en poussières (pour les méchants). A moins que cela soit dû au soleil, mais quoi qu'il en soit, pour une pragmatique comme moi, c'est très perturbant.

En conclusion, je pense qu'il va revoir reprendre les bons basiques, et en conséquence, revoir cette fois les premières saisons de Buffy... la version plus fun du "vampire pour les nuls".

That mysterious land

I loved my Greek experience so much that I wanted to prolong the Greek flavor I had lingering in my head. So what better way than reading what has to be one of the most well written books on travelling in Greece. Roumeli written by Patrick Leigh Fermor in 1966 is all about his travels over a number of years over a landscape that in his words “is not to be found on maps…Its extent has varied and its position has wandered almost imperceptibly.” How can I resist a book about such a place?
It has covered the area north of Greece from the Bosphorus to the Adriatic Sea and from Macedonia to the Gulf of Corinth. But it has since shrank to cover only the southern part of this previously great area. And this line stretched from the Ambracian Gulf to the Gulf of Volo. All exotic names and I had to look at the map to be sure to orient myself properly. The author in his years of wandering was able to know to a great extent the proud, fierce and often solitary people of this region. This book is no less an account of his travels than a homage to this lost country.
It is an immensely fascinating read. It reads almost like one of those old fashioned adventure travel tales back in the day when men had the possibility to be larger than life. This is not however to detract from the quality of the writing. The prose is sumptuous and beautiful. It has the power to conjure up images that are so far from our normal experience. More importantly, they are tales and images of a way of life that was fast disappearing when he wrote about them over forty years ago.
His book lets us discover the Sarakatsán, the wild nomads of Roumeli who travelled the hidden ways with their flock of sheep and their caravan of horses loaded with their possessions. They were wild and secretive men with proud customs and Leigh Fermor was one of the lucky few who was able to penetrate, if but fleetingly their closed world. Then we have the villagers of Kravara who were legendary tricksters and masters of the art of begging. Yes, that’s right, the art of begging. And the I was held captive, just as he was with their tales. One of the more memorable of the tales is that of Panos who had mastered the art of appearing dead. He, along with his brother Charis would chose an unsuspecting town whereupon Panos would take on the manner of one who is dying and Charis would moan and lament bitterly. The villagers would inevitably gather upon them and ask what was wrong. And Charis would cry that his poor brother was dying and they were far from home. The villagers whose hearts would have melted by the end of the telling, would take pity on them and take them home. During the night, Panos would die (for he had learned the art of appearing completely dead) and the villagers, following the customs would give the grieving brother enough coins to bury him and then leave him alone to mourn. As soon as the villagers were all gone, Panos would be miraculously revived and off they went to the next victim!
This is a wonderful book that should be savored for the tales it contain and the telling of these tales.

Richard Avedon, Photographies 1946-2004

Richard Avedon est beaucoup synonme de jet-set, mode, et paillettes. Mais comme généralement la surface ne représente pas ce qu'il y a en profondeur, l'exposition du jeu de Paume était une bonne occasion pour en connaître un peu plus sur ce photographe et son oeuvre que les quelques photographies de mode et de célébrités que j'avais en tête.

Première tentative un dimanche d'août, où je fais aussitôt demi-tour vu la queue devant lemusée. Conclusion: 1) l'exposition fait du bruit, et 2) vu l'économie, les Français sont en effet peu partis en vacances!

Deuxième tentative, le premier samedi de septembre, aucune queue, je vais arriver à en bénir la rentrée scolaire!

Vu le bouche à oreilles de l'exposition, je m'attendais à quelque chose de plus grandiose, même si les expositions du Jeu de Paume se ressemblent dans leur scénographie, et j'aurais donc du savoir à quoi m'attendre.

L'exposition regroupe donc environ 250 photographies des différentes époques de Richard Avedon. La scénographie ne m'a pas marquée, ce qui veut tout dire. La base est la chronologie temporelle puis par thème. Mon ceveau est probablement trop petit, mais finalement, on passe de photographie en photographie sans véritable film conducteur, ce qui nuit quelques peu aux oeuvres.

Certains modèles sont centrales comme le mannequin Douma, ce qui laisse penser que pour les photographies de mode, Richard Avedon n'avait accès qu'à peu de choix. Ce qui n'est evidemment pas le cas, mais on auait aimé un peu plus de diversité.

Les portraits sont probabement à mon avis la partie la plus intéressante de l'exposition. Certes le portrait tient une part centrale dans l'oeuvre de Richard Avedon, et on le retrouve au fil des années. Néanmoins, d'un part don travail "In the American West" met en exergue des inconnus issus des classes sociales défavorisées. Le résultat est une série de portraits poignants, émotionnellement forts, et esthétiquement très beaux. En parallèle, les portraits de célébrités leur font face. Moins touchants peut-être humainement mais une telle personnalité ressort de ces portraits qu'on comprend pourquoi ces célébrités sont sur le devant de la scène.

Enfin pour finir, les deux films proposés valent véritablement le coup de s'y attarder si on veut mieux comprendre le photographe et ses eouvres. Un peu comme un audioguide a posteriori... On l'aurait préféré en même temps, mais tout le monde sait que la vie n'est jamais parfaite.

Pour les informations pratiques, c'est ici:

http://www.jeudepaume.org/?page=article&idArt=539&lieu=1&PHPSESSID=e8c1fa52b187cb79a8b910e617df9703

La fin ou les moyens?

Encore en retard de mes lectures universitaires (non, je ne procrastine pas, simplement ma liste de livres à lire est tellement longue que cela prend du temps -que je n'ai guère-), je me suis penchée sur Voyage en grande bourgeoisie, un titre plus qu'attirant.

Les auteurs, Michel Pinçon et Monique Pinçon-Charlot, un couple de sociologues travaillant ensemble, fait assez atypique pour le signaler a, par le biais de l'urbanisation tout d'abord, décidé d'étudier cette frange de la population finalement assez peu connu du public.

L'ayant approché mais pas côtoyé, l'étude n'en était que plus intéressante. La question n'est pas de savoir si on aime les bourgeois ou pas, parce que traiter quelqu'un de bourgeois est aussi stupide de traiter quelqu'un de beauf. C'est considéré comme péjoratif, et c'est fort dommage, parce qu'il n'est humainement pas plus valorisable d'être beauf que bourgeois.

Le seul hic, c'est que socialement, tout le monde s'accord sur le fait que la grande bourgeoisie constitue le must. Cette étude met donc en lumière les caractéristique de cette classe sociale enviée (et probablement à juste titre, au moins pour sa sécurité financière).

Cependant, l'ouvrage met davantage en exergue les méthodes que les résultats de la recherche, ce qui n'en rend pas l'ouvrage moins passionnant mais plus ardu. Mais la rentrée n'est-elle pas faite pour ça?

Squelettes dans le placard

Colombe Schneck ne saurait-elle parler que d'elle ou en l'occurence sa famille?

A l'origine, je voulais lire Sa Petite Chérie du même auteur, mais emportée par la foule (en l'occurence les soldes), je me suis retrouvée avec L'increvable Monsieur Schneck.

Je ne sais pas ce que j'y ai gagné (ou perdu); en tout cas j'ai compris que si chaque famille comporte ses squelettes dans le placard, ceux de la famille Schneck sont bien encombrants.

L'auteur découvre en effet un après-midi d'ennui (dans Paris-Match) que son grand-père s'est fait coupé en morceaux et mettre dans une malle par son amant. Déjà l'homosexualité (en plus d'un divorce), en 1949, ne devait pas être une sinécure, mais entretenir un jeune amant de 20 ans plus jeune devait faire jaser d'autant plus (surtout en province). Si ça ce n'est pas "Le poids des mots, le choc des photos"....

Hypothèse, interprétation, vérité, on ne saurait probablement jamais le fin mot de l'histoire, et finalement ce n'est pas le plus important. En filigrane de l'enquête ressort les relations de l'auteur avec sa grand-mère, qui ont pour moi constitutées la part la plus intéressante du récit.

En conclusion comme dirait Philippe sur le nouveau roman de l'auteur (http://loisirslesbonsplans.blogspirit.com/) : Un joli moment de détente, sans plus.

Visiting the French Atlantic coast

The western side of the French coast is an area that I’ve never had the occasion to explore. So I welcomed the chance to make my way down that side of the coast and explore, in a day or two what I could of St. Palais-sur- Mer. This little town is situated within the greater area of Charentais Maritime, which is itself located in the region of Poitou Charentes. Originally, the town was a called Bureau-les-Bains, or Bureau-St. Palais after the old customs office, but soon came to be called St. Palais when the town expanded. It is now a lively town with a cheerful square filled with little cafes and shops to explore.

It is a lovely place with 5 beaches to choose from. It is nicely situated as the waters of the Atlantic in this area are much calmer. And it has the added benefit of being at the juncture of the Atlantic Ocean and the estuary of Gironde, so the main beach lies within a sheltered cove. During the day there were a number of people playing the fisherman and as the tide came and you could explore the little pools laid bare by the receding tide. The main beach is not very large but there is enough room so that one can lay a towel down and rest without being unduly disturbed by the other people who have come to share the beach. That said there were still a good number of people on the beach! What struck me about St. Palais was the good number of families with children on the beach. This is definitely not a singles beach. The children even had their very own Club Mickey where they could safely play while their parents sunned themselves contentedly.

Here's the beach before the crowds descend...

Of course, I could not resist a visit to the local market which I learned was open all year round. It was a huge sprawling affair with stands of meat and fish, fruits and vegetables and of course, no market would be complete without the stand of cheese with their all too fragrant wheels of camembert, chevre and others to numerous to recount. Wandering around I even came across a number of stands carrying, locally made dishes, clothes, mostly of a nautical vein and even shoes! It was nice to stroll about soaking the ambiance that is so particular to a French market. People congregate to share the latest news, buy the freshest product and if they find a sweater or espadrille to wear home, then so much the better.

Its a lovely place and worth keeping in mind for other future visits.

A proud display of local wares....