About book Almost French: Love And A New Life In Paris (2004)
I'll grant you that the title of this one is a bit cheesy. Luckily the book itself was a different story. Sarah Turnbull is a twenty-something Australian journalist who, upon taking a one year hiatus from her job to tour Europe, meets the Frenchman Frédéric, who unbeknownst to her, she would one day marry. Taking a bold risk, which she later claims was the result of following her heart and not her mind, she travels to Paris to stay with him for a week. She never looks back. In the early years she spends living with Frédéric in Levallois, a dull suburb located just outside of Paris, Sarah struggles to assimilate into French society. Burdened with homesickness, she grapples with the many perils of French living. Whether it's being chastised for wearing jogging pants to the bakery or feeling entirely ignored at dinner parties, Sarah feels like an outsider, unwelcome and unwanted. One of the most interesting aspects of this book was its emphasis on French women. Anyone who has spent time in France will tell you there is something distinctly different about the French. Its people are unlike any other country in Europe, let alone the world. Here in America, we have a tendency to label them as snobs. French women are particularly hard to navigate. "As soon as a Frenchwoman meets another woman, she'll look her up and down, check out her clothes, her makeup, her shoes. She'll be very critical of the other one...She'll be thinking: well, she might have nice blue eyes but she's got a really big bum. The competition is not limited to looks though...The fear is also that the other woman might appear more intelligent, more interesting to their husbands or boyfriends. Foreign females represent an even great threat, apparently, because of their alluring accents and 'exotic' appeal." Look, I'm from America, the country that gave them McDonald's and Bush. I should think my "exotic" appeal is nonexistent. In any case, I'm not sure that Sarah's description is entirely true. I have several French friends, and my experiences with them have been varied. Some have been readily accepting of me, other have acted ambivalent and standoffish until they came to know me better. Like Sarah, I feel like an outsider among them. They are all so chic, carrying themselves with a subdued confidence that imbues non-French women, such as myself, with a feeling of inferiority. They seem the perfect representatives of the female sex. I'm far from being an extrovert, but I've often wondered whether I'm too upfront. And what of my clothes, are they too sloppy? "It takes time in France", said Frédéric on building friendships, and he's right. The key, as Sarah points out, is to be yourself. Frenchwomen will eventually warm up to you, and when they do, they make great friends. The problem never lied with me (or so I keep telling myself), but rather a cultural characteristic that dictates friendships be developed over sustained periods of time. During her third year in France, things begin to change for Sarah. Not only has she begun to make friends, but she moves into Les halles, un quartier located near the center of the city. The move fills the void of a certain something that she felt before was missing. Situated near the Palais Royal, Les Halles, although once a medieval market place, is now a colorfully diverse neighborhood that is best identified for its many textile shops, all of which work for foreign companies. I indulged in Sarah's descriptions of her walk to the café each morning, passing by the many local boulangeries and fromageries while chatting with the local clochards, or homeless people. Certainly Les Halles is not the Paris tourists think of, but its character is what gives the city its heart. Then too there are her descriptions of the breathtaking beauty of Paris. "It doesn't matter how many times we do this walk: without fail I'm struck by the heart-stopping beauty of Paris...Perhaps because it is still relatively new to me or perhaps because it somehow seems preposterous that such beauty could be created by people. The city is a testament to civilization...Breathtaking beauty of an kind is moving. It makes tourists of us all. It anchors your heart to a place...The wonderful sights of Paris inspire emotion and yes, even love." In fact, the story is not set entirely in Paris. Because the French still consider the country side la France profonde, or the true character of their country, on weekends the city clears out as Parisians travel to Brittany or Normandy to visit their family homes. Frédéric's father lives in Normandy, and as a result they visit him frequently. Whereas Frédéric is enumerated with the small town in which he grew up, Sarah finds it dull. To Sarah, her childhood home in Sydney has much more to offer. The scenario presents another obstacle for foreigners: no matter how well you adapt to French society, you will never BE French. You can never share in another's memories of, say, a rural idyllic childhood because you yourself did not experience it. Growing up in the country is, as Sarah describes, an important part of the French cultural identity, and it's one that she lacks. Six years after she first arrived in France, she describes it as nothing short of an adventure. Looking back, she can hardly remember the girl who first step foot off the airplane, jet lagged and nervous at the thought of spending a week in Paris with a man she hardly knew. Through her many struggles, Sarah has developed a keen appreciation for the French. Whether it's their unique style, their abhorrence for les mauvais goûts, or bad tastes, their subtle humanity as seen through their treatment of the local homeless people, or even their innate Frenchness, which one moment will have you reeling with anger and the next thanking them for their gratitude, Paris is filled with passionate people who will surprise and inspire you. Simply put, there are some experiences that one can only have in Paris. I really enjoyed this book. I learned a lot (never wear shorts in Paris if you wish not to be identified as a tourist), and laughed a lot too ( e.g. "Tu veux une pipe?"). Most importantly, this book made me aware of what it means to be a foreigner living in another country. Moving to France is something I dream of one day doing, but this book, with its recurring emphasis on homesickness, made me question what it would mean to leave behind my parents, my friends, my country and even my sense of identity. "It's a bittersweet thing, knowing two cultures."I can only imagine.
Australian journalist Sarah Turnbull took a big chance diving into French society the way she did--and it panned out! She had left her job as a television reporter in Sydney to travel around Europe for a year, and while in Bucharest, Romania, she met a charming Frenchman named Frederic. Though she didn't know Frederic very well yet, she accepted his invitation to come visit him in Paris, and right away, they began living together, and Turnbull began adapting to her new life of being "Almost French." This first-person account of her first year in Paris is a totally delightful foray into the beauties, frustrations, and idiosyncracies of French culture and of the daily shocks we English-speaking folks run into as we try to adapt (and not look too foolish). One always feels glamorous in a French cafe, but inevitably. "the staff treat you as if you're incredibly lucky to be there" (18), Turnbull notes. Her description of drinking a hot chocolate in the famous Cafe Deux Magots (the past hangout of Ernest Hemingway, Jean-Paul Sartre, etc.,) is totally sensuous (40). For awhile, Sarah has a hard time mastering the famous French restraint when it comes to chocolate and wine. When she demolishes too many of Frederic's Cote d'Or bars (Belgian chocolate; you can hardly blame her), he begans hiding them, so she starts in on the Nutella "plowing through sticky spoonfuls, sick and satisfied" (59). Can I ever relate to that! One hilarious social gaffe follows another as Sarah tries gamely to fit into the culture and stop embarassing her long-suffering mate. For example, at a cocktail party, she shocks the guests by pouring champagne for everyone, not knowing that in France, "serving alcohol is very much a male domain," (63). Frederic informs Sarah that her enthusiasm made her look like a "paysanne" (peasant). In short, integrating is a much longer and complex process than she had thought. Turnbull also makes some honest comments on the pride and snootiness for which the French are so often criticized. "France seems to trigger fiery emotions. The we-don't-give-a-damn-what-the-world-thinks attitude of French politicans only exacerbated matters cementing the counry's reputation for contrariness and prickly pride . . [France:] has a rather inflated notion of her own importance and an unshakeable belief in being different from everybody else. . . She is utterly unapologetic about behing difficult, considering it merely a sign of a strong character" (85). When Sarah persuades Frederic to move from their apartment in the Parisian suburbs to the city center within walking distance of the Louvre, the fun really starts. She wears warmup pants to a local bakery and learns that "to look scruffy is selfish. Not only do you look like a slob, but you let down the whole city. In Paris, failure to dress up leads to instant ostracism (129) . . . Sloppiness in appearance is considered a fatal disease" (130). A description of French women's natural sense of style and glamour follows. She also notes how hard it is to bond with Frenchwomen since notions of sisterhood, girlfriends and even feminism just aren't part of the culture (169-75). When Sarah decides to become a dog owner, she joins another realm of cultural peculiarities which includes "reams of unwanted advice delivered by total strangers" (212), but then, this is a country where one's dog comes along to the restaurant and the hairdresser. Of course, I especially loved the chapter about Sarah and Frederic's sucessful dinner party that she gave five years after moving to France and after she had committed about 500 culinary faux pas prior to that evening. "Usually I buy a tart for dessert but the red berry fruits are beautiful at the moment so we'll serve them with fromage blanc and creme de marrons--a sweetened puree of Archeche chestnuts that you buy at supermarkets" (261). It sounds to me as if she has finally integrated pretty well.
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I thought this was a wonderful book! However, before expanding more, I feel the need for a little bit of historical and geographical background.I am Scottish. Therefore, unlike my English friends, I like the French people, I like France and France likes Scotland! This dates back to the 13th Century when Scotland and France formed the Auld Alliance to curtail the English expansion, and ever since the two countries have been friends and partners. Even now, when I travel to France and am met by the usual question "Etes-vous anglais?" (spoken, you have to understand, with a slight sneer and look of distaste); a smile, a roll of the eyes and a emphatic "Non!" followed by "Je suis écossaise" is usually followed by returned smiles and friendly chatter. The manner totally changes as soon as it is established you are a friend and not a foe.Non-Europeans also have to realise that France, and more particularly Paris, is a unique linguistic island among the European capital cities. If one travels to Amsterdam, everyone speaks English. My poor 3-word Dutch vocabulary is next to useless! Even when you travel to Brussels, Berlin or Madrid, and speak bad French, German or Spanish, they will answer you in English. However in Paris, the overwhelming tendency is for the Parisians to avoid speaking English as long as possible. You can stutter over your tu and vous for hours, pronouncing the language in the most horrible way (a Scottish accent is not naturally used to forming French consonants!) and still the most able English-speaking Parisian will refuse to utter a word to help you out. It's not that they can't, they just think "well why should I?". This French attitude can seem arrogant, but to my mind it is a wonderful characteristic of the country (and certainly gives you a sense of achievement when your stumbling French finally gets understood and you get a result). That said, I have never quite forgiven the country for (literally) pointing and laughing at me when I was 14 years old, and my well practiced "demi kilo du jambon s'il vous plaît turned, accidentally - due to my Scottish accent and the local regional accent - into "deux mille kilo du jambon s'il vous plaît. For those of you who don't speak French, I'll let you find out what I said for yourself!The final thing you have to realise about cultural differences is just how far removed Australia is from the attitudes seen in France. In Australia a spade is a spade and no-one is afraid to tell you that. Parties and barbecues are thrown with minimum excuse needed, and everyone is friendly and open and expected to join in. From my experiences in this wonderful country, no-one stands on ceremony. You are expected to join in, and if the food, people and music are there and you don't have a good time, then whose fault is it but your own? Australia is the epitome of a laid back, relaxed country where everyone chips in."Almost French" details the life of Australian journalist Sarah Turnbull after she decides, on a whim, to go and visit a Frenchman she met briefly while back-packing through Eastern Europe. This is a well-written and funny account of her experiences in France as an outsider. Starting from the beginning of her relationship with Frédèric (I hope I have the grave and acute the right way round!) she details their initial misunderstandings in each other's language - which often result in amusing anecdotes. This is followed by non-stop confusion surrounding etiquette of living in Paris, her experiences at Parisian dinner parties and with Frédèric's friends and family, and the isolation she feels as an "Anglo Saxon" in Paris. It reads as an honest account of her frustration and joy in Paris, and very quickly the reader gets sucked into her new life. The book contains just the right amount of detail so the reader doesn't get bogged down in the minutiae of life, while still being able to follow what is happening. My only criticism of the book would be that, towards the end, she tries to look back on her experiences and wrap up the story in a manner which doesn't altogether sit well with the writing style of the rest of the book. However I thought this was a wonderful read and one I thoroughly enjoyed.I will be really interested to see what other people have to say about this book - particularly those in France and Australia.
—Babs
Much, much better than the last book I read on Paris. The differences were that, in the last one, most of the major issues facing the author were because of her own stupidity. This one, she goes more into the major cultural differences that she found in the way the French live. Even though she was Australian, you could definitely relate to the Anglo-Saxon mindset she went to France with, which seems the same whether you are American, English, Canadian, or Australian. The same differences were there, the same misunderstandings, the same surprise at certain aspects of French behavior. You could definitely relate. It made the cultural differences seem so vast! My only complaint was not one of the book, but that the author lived there in the 90’s. I imagine that with the increasing globalization, internet connection, and younger generations, the cultural differences are probably much less pronounced than they were when she arrived. I definitely won’t be as surprised at something I find bizarre when I go there though! From the etiquette at dinner parties, to conversation faux pas, everything was really fascinating. It further helped that she did her best (with the aid of her French husband no doubt) to explain why the differences were there: a shared cultural past, social hierarchies left over from times past, how women and men perceive one another because of the way they grow up. All of it. Very fascinating. And on a extra note of cultural understanding, I thought it was very interesting how similar all Anglo Saxon cultures are.
—Nikki
Sarah Turnbull is a journalist from Australia who meets an enchanting French gentleman at a party. Shortly thereafter, he invites her to visit him in Paris...and eight years later, she's still there. Almost French is Turnbull's foray into French society, and her exploration of how much one can and should give up in the name of love. As Turnbull learns a new language and tries to fit in with her boyfriend Fred's seemingly snooty friends, she also struggles to find herself in a foreign land where she no longer understands how to dress, how to make small talk, or how to endure the painful struggle of trying to find a job. While I did not find anything particularly insightful or incredible about this book, I did find myself rooting for Turnbull in her magnifient efforts to assimilate. I would have liked to learn more about Fred - and better understand why he was worth all the trouble. He did seem implicitly supportive, but at the same time appeared to make no effort to put himself in Turnbull's shoes - to appreciate how much she had given up in terms of career, family, and day-to-day comfort in order to make their lives work together. Yet, at the same time, Turnbull never seemed to direct any of her frustrations at him - suggesting indeed that there is something quite amazing about their partnership. I really appreciated Turnbull's observations and assessments of French culture - her recognition of her own failures when she tried to impose her Australian sensibilities onto others, and the moments when her understanding of things finally clicked. I don't think I could ever survive in a foreign country without developing countless ulcers and generally feeling constantly on edge - worried about offending someone, and never feeling like I understood all the rules. Turnbull manages to come across as heroic, without presenting herself as a martyr or as smugly self-superior. She made me appreciate the ease of being at home, but at the same time long for travel and that feeling of moving a little beyond your comfort zone.
—Anne
