When I started reading A Moveable Feast, by Ernest Hemingway, I had no idea I would be opening a floodgate. It was February, and deciding I wanted to expand my reading horizons, I downloaded the title on Audible. We were staying in Brisbane and I had hours alone to walk and listen. I enjoyed it far more than I had anticipated. At the time we were vaguely planning a trip to Canada in June. One of the kids was on a gap year, and we had family to visit.
When the gap year started looking more short term than originally conceived we began toying with the idea of going somewhere new. My gorgeous friend Rachel was here for our beautiful friend John’s wedding. She lived for many years in New York, but has moved to Spain. She lives in a 300 year old farmhouse outside of Barcelona. She suggested we visit.
Thinking of visiting Spain, I recalled my cousin Bryce mentioning they would be holidaying in Italy and France in the summer. Bryce lives in Geneva now. I messaged and asked if that was still the plan. He invited us to stay with them in the Loire Valley, in France, in July.
We started plotting and decided to throw a week in Paris in-between Barcelona and the Loire Valley. Neither Stu or I have been, and we decided to take our two babies. Both keen travellers, and very enamoured with the idea of France.
From a “Year of Writing” perspective, both these stays will be advantageous to my book writing process. Rachel was Michael’s best friend and I am hoping she can assist me in recalling funny stories and crazy antics to add some levity to my sombre story. Bryce came to Michael’s memorial. He was, at that time, living in Brazil. He arranged for the kids and I to travel to Brazil for 6 weeks for Christmas. Our first Christmas without Michael. I am hoping he and Dri, his wife, can help me make sense of some of the grief damaged memories.
I love travelling. A lot. When I travel I really like to understand things. The history, the culture, the language. I had a slight head start with France. Not so much with Spain. I am reading about Gaudi and Spanish history. I am very excited to be in Barcelona, but I am quite happy to understand things on a superficial level. There is zero chance of learning Catalan is 10 weeks and I have to accept my Spanish (learned for 1 year) is miserable.
French, on the other hand, I learned in high school for two years. It is the language of ballet (14 years practiced) and cooking. I studied the French Revolution at school and much of my study of Art History was Francocentric. The Palace of Versailles has been high on my to-visit-list since learning about Louis XIV, the Sun King. The Treaty of Versailles was a particular interest of mine while studying WWI. My Duolingo is going along very nicely, and I am confident I will be able to order for us in a restaurant and ask directions, if need be.
In order to understand the culture I have been reading a myriad of French authors and books about France. (We are also watching lots of French history movies and series, and French cinema). I wrote about the lovely book I read The Paris Bookseller, by Kerri Maher. I also read The Sweet Life in Paris, by David Lebovitz about an American pastry chef living in Paris. This was hilarious and a great “what not to do” guide. Next was The Only Street in Paris, by Elaine Sciolino, a love letter to the Rue de Martyrs. I have just started Paris or Die, by Australian writer Jayne Tuttle. I am also midway through A Brief History of Paris, by Cecil Jenkins. I must say, I am devouring this. It’s been a while since I read a history book, and I am remembering why I enjoy them so much.
The French authors I have been enjoying are Annie Ernaux. Her book, Happening, about illegal abortion in Paris in the 60s was shattering. I also have an audiobook to listen to written by her. A Girl’s Story. A memoir about the authors childhood in low economic circumstances in France. Delphine de Vigan’s book D’après une histoire vraie, or Based on a True Story was one of the most intriguing books I have read. I sat for ages after finishing, trying to process and make sense of what I had just read. Think “The Usual Suspects” from a female friendship perspective. It was unexpected and completely different to anything.
Still on my list before we go are Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter, by Simone de Beauvoir and Madame Bovary, by Gustave Flaubert. I may well listen to Madame Bovary while travelling and bring the memoir to read on the plane. I also have The Shadow of the Wind to listen to, by Carlos Ruiz Zafrón, about Barcelona. Apparently this book is genius, so I look forward to it. I have 17 days to finish all this reading. I will be busy and brain-full.
Reading authors translated from another language is always interesting. I have read many Japanese authors and am always surprised by the stories. I am finding a similar experience with French authors. Are the tropes of books ethnocentric? Does the language you are writing in influence what you write? Does it influence how you write? How much nuance is lost in translation? Does the writing reflect the cultural background of the author. I’m really looking forward to finding out.
What is your experience of reading foreign authors?
Read about The Paris Bookseller here.
NB. Notice the giant books about The Louvre in the picture? Why are art books so big. Having studied art all through school, and at university, before the advent of online books and personal computers…it is no wonder I have a bad back and a stiff neck 😂
Kylie Eklund-Denman 