Based on Stephen Clarke's own experiences and with names changed to "avoid embarrassment, possible legal action, and to prevent the author's legs being broken by someone in a Yves Saint Laurent suit," A Year in the Merde provides perfect entertainment for Francophiles and Francophobes alike.
Librarian Note: There is more than one author by this name in the Goodreads database.
Stephen Clarke is the bestselling author of seven books of fiction and nonfiction that satirize the peculiarities of French culture. In 2004, he self-published A Year in the Merde, a comic novel skewering contemporary French society. The novel was an instant success and has led to numerous follow-ups, including Dial M for Merde (2008), 1,000 Years of Annoying the French (2010), and Paris Revealed (2011). After working as a journalist for a French press group for ten years, Paris-based Clarke now has a regular spot on French cable TV, poking fun at French culture.
This started off so promisingly with snarky but charming British banter about France's little annoying idiosyncrasies that anyone who has spent any time in France can appreciate. The main character, a British twenty-something, chronicles his year living in France while working for a corrupt corporate sleaze bag who wants help marketing tea rooms in Paris. It turns out that the main character is also a sleaze bag AND a "whinge cow" as he so aptly dubs whiners. By the month of February I was so sick of his "God invented women so men have something besides horses to mount and, oh by the way, I only associate with stupid trashy people so that I can reinforce my asinine philosophy and then insult everyone around me" syndrome that I almost stopped reading. I was ready for the whinge cow to go mount himself. However, there were some truly funny moments, most of which involved brilliant phonetic transcriptions of the accent of a Frenchman who had spent time studying in Georgia. Those were precious, and so is my favorite new "whinge cow" expression, but I'm not sure they're worth putting up with the rest of the merde.
You know what? I'm a French woman and apparently I lack a sense of humour.
See, I can admit that we French are far from perfect (that's an understatement, really), and everything isn't false in this. But silly me, I didn't expect this to be such a big fuckery. Because there's only so many misogynists's craps I can take, and if I read another sentence implying that French women are sluts (and teases, I almost forgot) and/or a description of cleavage I'm gonna lose it.
That's why even if I don't usually rate books that I dnf, I just can't help myself here.
PS : Now, tell me, I'm really really curious to see what would happen if I tried to speak French in a shop in UK or US. Maybe that's just me, duh, but I'm pretty sure people woudn't answer me in a fluent French and you know what? I don't expect it. Why some people think that everyone is supposed to speak English is beyond me.
In the front of this book it says, "A Year in the Merde is an almost-true account of things that may or may not have happened to him [Stephen] in the ten years he has lived in France, depending on who is asking the question." So, it's not truly nonfiction, and is classified as fiction. Stephen has written a few books about the main character, Paul West, and his 'almost-true' adventures.
I wasn't impressed. I tend to agree with the other reviewers comments: *Anna wrote: It did not surprise me when I read that Clarke had self-published the book, since some of the sentences are painfully unedited and juvenile. Clarke has the mind of a twelve-year-old homophobe/misogynist, and half of the book is dedicated to "oogling boobies" and making "shit" jokes. One of his sentences (pg 64) when describing a string of prostitutes is "if I hadn't been so terrified of AIDS I could have let myself be swept into a tide of sex." *Sue wrote: This was embarrassingly bad, as well as being xenophobic and sexist. *Alienor wrote: Because there's only so many misogynists's craps I can take, and if I read another sentence implying that French women are sluts (and teases, I almost forgot) and/or a description of cleavage I'm gonna lose it. *Terri wrote: He was just a snarky, I'm-better-than-you type Brit... He didn't truly bother to learn the language before he went or understand THEIR culture ... he preferred to make fun of it versus understand it... Oh, and as much as he makes fun of everything French...he certainly doesn't mind ogling or trying to bed the French women.
...and so forth, and so on.
1 Star = Yuck. I wish I hadn't wasted my time reading it.
This book inspired me to create a new bookshelf entitled: "not worth finishing". I RARELY start a book and don't finish it...and it was probably just my mind set of having several other books I preferred to read over this one...and the fact that this was a library book that I needed to return. Maybe if I were to give it another chance at some point I would feel differently.
Typically if I have a library book that is approaching the deadline, I will just sit down and bust through it. But, I just didn't care enough about this one to try.
I've been to France. I understand having a love/hate relationship with the country/people. Mostly I have loved my time there. So, when by happenstance, I saw this book and laughed at the title I figured I was in for some great laughs and "inside humor".
In all fairness, I only read about three chapters and so maybe things change as you go further along. But, the big problem for me is that I couldn't stand the main character. He was just a snarky, I'm-better-than-you type Brit...who went to work with a French company to open British tea rooms in France. He didn't truly bother to learn the language before he went or understand THEIR culture ... he preferred to make fun of it versus understand it...which only made him seem mean-spirited.
Oh, and as much as he makes fun of everything French...he certainly doesn't mind ogling or trying to bed the French women.
I don't know...maybe I just needed a different mind set. There were a couple of moments I found amusing...like the Frenchman who learned to speak English in Georgia...so, his accent was French with a southern drawl. But, mostly I thought the main character lacked character and in the end that's really why I chose not to hang in there.
(Ironically I probably spent more time writing a review of why I didn't like this book versus finishing it...so, maybe that says something about my character.:))
I picked this up in the train station at Charles de Gaulle airport a few minutes before my flight was cancelled and I was forced to spend another day in Paris, almost a year ago. Tough life, right?
I never read it, though.
Don't know why, but last week I felt an urge to pick it up. Read it in about 26 hours, couldn't put it down.
If you have no knowledge of the French, France, or French it might not be terribly interesting. If, however, you've spent a significant portion of your life dealing with, studying or learning them respectively, you might be as entertained by it as I was.
Within 2 hours of finishing it, I'd purchased the sequel.
Never been to France? Never plan to go? If you want a truly insulting, xenophobic experience of "French Culture" then read this book. Otherwise, you could run into the middle of the Champs Elysées and scream in your most loud, incomprehensible, slang English, "I THINK THIS COUNTRY SUCKS BUT I'D PREFER TO BE HERE INSULTING THE MOST STEREOTYPICAL CLICHES AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS RATHER THAN BACK AT HOME WHERE EVERYTHING IS ORDINARY AND BORING." If you like it better at home, then go home.
This book is one of the best friends I have met recently. One of those friends you need because only they really understand you. It is really funny and an very accurate portrait of French goofiness. I don't know how funny it would be to most people, but being an expat living in Paris, it is tear inducing funny. Just when you think you are alone floating in the french sea, something like this comes along and makes you realize you aren't alone. I can't wait to read his other books.
UPDATE: This book was one of the worse ones I've read recently. Not much humor and the attempts at it are pathetic. To be fair, I did quit halfway through, but the misogyny just got to be too much. I did get some good tips on ordering at a French cafe, however.
I picked up the French translation of this book at the airport in Paris two days ago (titled "God Save La France," for some reason). It's the story of a 20-something Brit, who doesn't speak much French, working in Paris for a year. I'm reading the French version, which, as my sister would say, is kind of meta - I sometimes don't understand the translations of the British slang (in English in the original version), but I do understand all of the actual French that is in dialogues. So far, much of it is funny, some of it is stupid or annoying. We'll see if the humor holds up past page 40.
Lai arī nebiju absolūtā sajūsmā par Parīzi, tā man tomēr patika. Parasti man patīk britu humors, bet šoreiz sajūtu vairāk snobisma kā sausā humora. Jo uzreiz ir ir skaidrs par dažām lietām, kāpēc tā ar viņu notiek. Nu vizīte imigrācijas ofisā, piemēram. Ja tu neesi necik papūlējies uzzināt iepriekš par procedūru, kāda jāveic, tad nebrīnies, ka vajag krietni vairāk kā vienu vizīti. Bet par konkrēto gan ierunājās mani putni, jo esmu sēdējusi tai lodziņa otrā pusē. Kopumā lasās ātri, izklaidējoši ir, bet ne reizi neiesmējos, tikai pasmaidīju.
A YEAR IN THE MERDE is the almost-true account of the author’s adventures as an expat in Paris. Based loosely on his own experiences and with names changed to “avoid embarrassment, possible legal action and to prevent the author’s legs being broken by someone in a Yves Saint Laurent suit (or quite possibly, a Christian Dior skirt), ” A YEAR IN THE MERDE is the story of a Paul West, a 27-year-old Brit who is brought to Paris by a French company to open a chain of British “tea rooms.” He soon becomes immersed in the contradictions of French culture: the French are not all cheese-eating surrender monkeys, though they do eat a lot of smelly cheese; they are still in shock at being stupid enough to sell Louisiana, thus losing the chance to make French the global language, while going on strike is the second national participation sport after pétanque. He also illuminates how to get the best out of the grumpiest Parisian waiter, how to survive a French business meeting, and how not to buy a house in the French countryside.
This book is highly readable, the kind of thing that one could read from start to finish if one just had a few hours with nothing to do. However, this is the most positive thing I can say about this book. It's supposed be one of those screwball accounts of someone living in a foreign culture and the wacky mishaps he experiences, but mostly it's about a relatively uninteresting Englishman who tries much too hard at being funny, and who simply didn't bother to find out anything at all about how France works before he decided to move there, then complained at every turn about the ways that France doesn't work like England does. Although he does have to deal with some pretty terrible French people, by the end I wasn't sure who came off looking worse, them or him.
Again highly readable and would probably make a train- or planeride much more tolerable, but if you have the choice, why choose to read about the (mis)adventures of a group of highly unlikable people?
This was painful and horrible on so many levels that I don't even know where to start. While in general I enjoy "culture-shock" books, particularly those involving France or other francophone countries, I just couldn't bring myself to finish this one. Reading it past the first few pages soon became almost physically painful and I finally gave up somewhere half-way through. But I tried, because so many people claimed it would be funny. Well, it wasn't. Maybe if the main character wasn't a stuck-up, unlikeable and, at moments, repulsive, the anecdotes could be seen as funny. As it is, I can only say: if you're going to another country and insist on acting as if everyone should adapt to your ways, then you more than deserve all the embarrassing and bad things that may happen to you.
As a brit having spent three years living in Paris, I was really excited to read this - it's probably been on my list for a decade. Finally picked it up this summer. The first page starts with this description of the French: "Great lifestyle, great food, and totally unpolitically correct women with great underwear." The author, on arriving in Paris, then muses "I've got to check out those underwear."
"Okay" I thought, "That's kinda funny."
But soon I realized that this would serve as the entire premise for the book. And it's so tremendously cringe.
The main character, Paul (allegedly an avatar of the author), measures his life progression by how many times he gets off. The way women are described is incredibly shallow and sexist - there is almost never any mention of personality, and the way their exteriors are described makes it seem as though Clarke/Paul is unaware that women comprise of anything other than legs, asses, and breasts. In his 8 months in Paris Paul describes (with painfully cringy metaphors and analogies) his sex lives with 5 different women. None of these women are fleshed out (at least not in the figurative sense) nor given a personality; however their lovemaking sessions receive ample attention. Paul views them as exploits.
In one section Paul claims to have gotten drunk and woken up with an unknown woman. We are expected to take this as "haha, that's so hilarious!". But ultimately it comes across as rather sad. In another section Paul decides not to pursue a woman (he has shagged multiple times) because she is "too political". Later he announces that political woman turn him off altogether - he much prefers the type with their brains substituted by libido. In a third section one woman (who Paul fantasizes about shagging) introduces Paul to another woman (who he immediately starts fantasizing about shagging). When two two women share a glance, Paul narrates their internal monologues as "have you had sex with him yet?". Oh yes! That's definitely what women think when they are introduced to one another by a man...
Throughout the book the characters Paul meets are sorted into two categories: "potential shags" and "jerks who are out to get him". It's painfully obvious to every reader, but somehow not to Paul that "hey, maybe it's not everyone else who is the jerk - maybe it's you?".
Ultimately, during 8 months in France Paul's impressions of French culture are wildly misguided. On going to a pub with a group of obnoxious, oblivious, hot-blooded British football hooligans (also only in Paris for the sex) Paul laments at how his countrymen don't understand the finesse of French women. It's enough to make you want to pull the author's hair out for writing a book that enforces the exact stereotypes that fuel disastrous British stag parties into Paris: that Parisian women are all nymphomaniacs simply begging to be mounted by tactless Englishmen with beer-breath who have convinced themselves that their "superior british wit and charm" makes them irresistible.
This is the kind of book I would imagine Harvey Weinstein keeps on his bedside table.
That being said, I very sheepishly allowed a second star on account of the nice descriptions of Paris and non-sexual bits of humour (tucked between all the above-mentioned merde) bringing me a few smiles and laughs.
The sad thing is that there is so much material in a Brit living in Paris, and it could very easily have involved sex as well (just perhaps not as the main theme). It would only have taken an author able to write female characters with a micro-gram of nuance, and a male one who wasn't a huge self-obsessed prick (equally obsessed with using his...).
I couldn't help myself; this book absolutely cracked me up. That may be because the author's descriptions of countless strikes by trash collectors, public transportation workers, police officers, and journalists brought back fond memories of my own stay in France--during which I also stepped in a fair amount of merde. The audiobook was particularly good, with the dramatist's illustraions of the countless miscommunications between francophones and anglophones. The story line is about Paul West, an English man who goes to work in France for a year to help construct English tea rooms, which are named "My Tea is Rich," apparently a rauciously hilarious phrase for francophones. At times the story could have used a bit more development, and it suffered from an overuse of sarcasm, but all in all it was an enjoyable listen.
Zanimljiva digresija za početak – u jednoj čitateljskoj grupi na Facebooku pitanje: S obzirom na knjigu koju čitate, gdje se trenutno nalazite? Došlo mi da kao iz topa izvalim „u govnima“, ali, pristojna kakva jesam, odgovorih „U Parizu.“
Stephen Clarke nas u ovu knjigu uvodi (nazivajući to „ozbiljnom komedijom“) mnogim usporedbama tipa „Hermesova kravata je tako nabijena energijom da bi mogla pokretati cijeli pariški metro kad bi ga priključili na nju“ ili „Arondismani oblikuju puževu kućicu, a samog su puža vjerojatno već davno pojeli“.
Ovaj stil pisanja je, prema komentarima, dobrano naljutio neke čitatelje, pretpostavljam prvenstveno Francuze. Ali, kako ne pripadam nijednoj od ovih dviju nacija, mene je to zabavilo.
„Ne smijem se truditi da se ljudima svidim. To je previše engleski. Moraš im pokazati da te boli dupe za njihovo mišljenje. Tek tada će ti dati što hoćeš.“
Naš junak Paul West, Englez, ni u braku, ni u vezi, dobiva poslovnu priliku da u Parizu pokrene lanac engleskih lokala s ponudom biranih čajeva. Prisiljen je surađivati s francuskim kolegama koji navodno znaju engleski, ali u samom razgovoru pitaš se, znaju li oni uopće svoj vlastiti jezik. Ubrzo će shvatiti kako Francuzi samo kimaju glavom a zapravo uvijek sve naprave po svom.
„Tražio sam café au lait a poslužena mi je kombinacija godišnjeg uroda kolumbijskih plantaža kave i ukupne proizvodnje svih krava muzara Normandije. Pogledao sam račun a cijena je uključivala i prijevoz krava u vagonima prve klase.“
Poseban pak problem predstavlja pseći izmet na ulicama Pariza, gdje je, vidi vraga, najčešće upravo Paul taj koji ima sreću u njega ugaziti. I to nije sve: s vremenom će otkriti da njegov šef ilegalno uvozi zabranjenu britansku govedinu i istovremeno mu pokušava prodati vikendicu, u predjelu gdje je predviđena izgradnja nuklearke. Sve merde do merdea!
S obzirom da se za njegov projekt ne nazire tako skoro rješenje, od jednog poznanika (naravno, Engleza) dobit će savjet da počne podučavati engleski jezik. Pogađate, ni to neće proteći bez problema ali, ponovo, mene je nasmijalo.
„Što si sinoć imala za večeru, Sylvie? Napravila sam krepalinke. Misliš crêpes, palačinke? Da, pala pičke. OK, Philippe, što bi rekao konobaru ako nemaš jedaći pribor? E, oprasite, ja oću jebački pribor.“ Nisam čitala u originalu tako da moram istaknuti i pohvaliti prevoditeljicu Vlatku Jurić!
Čitajući, nisam mogla a da se ne prisjetim one priče o vrapcu, koja ima dvije poante, vezane uz ovu našu temu: „Nije ti svatko tko te izvuče iz govana prijatelj, niti ti je svatko tko te posere neprijatelj“. Ipak, bez obzira na to, preporučujem vam čitanje ovog satiričnog djela o srazu mentaliteta dviju nacija, pogotovo ako vam je potrebna razbibriga.
„Merde je na sve strane, vidite, a može vam čak donijeti sreću. Ako netko drugi ugazi u njega.“
Konačno, vjerujem da bi i sam Paul West izmijenio i poznatu parolu francuske revolucije u „Liberté, égalité, merde.“
Hilarious but also really intelligently put together. If you're looking for an idealized, dream version of an expats year in France, this ain't it. But if you have even a slight knowledge of Parisian life and culture, this book is wonderful. Some reviewers said they found it too mean and insulting, but I dont think the author hates the French. In fact, in the end his character remains in Paris. this is really a book about learning to navigate a very complex, highly developed, very subtle and very foreign culture. In the end, the author succeeds — and, to use his metaphor— learns to walk down the streets of Paris without stepping in dog poop (la merde) every time out.
Okay, I rarely rate books I couldn't finish, but once I was a little over half way through this one, I knew I couldn't finish. The main character is such a misogynic prick. He moves to Paris from London for work, and immediately it just seems like all he cares about is getting into someone's pants. The only parts of this book that I enjoyed were when it would describe walking around Paris. That's it - and that's bc Paris is gorgeous.
With the British sense of humour, Paul - the main character - tells his story during a year working (or "working") in France, through which a laughable, indifferent and "merdeuse" (for "life" is feminine) French life is depicted. Sarcasm is on every single page. It makes me laugh internally out loud. I'll definitely have to buy the sequel "In The Merde For Love." And yes, one of the best books I've read this year.
I need to start being more picky with what I read. I grabbed this book from a free little library in my neighborhood. It looked interesting to me because I love France and the concept of moving there seemed intriguing enough. It seemed like an older version of Emily in Paris from a man’s POV-how bad could it be?
Well I have just never disliked an author’s voice as much as I have while reading this book. There were many times when he wrote in such a vulgar way that did not move the novel as much as make me hope I never met him in real life.
The only reason I kept reading this book is because it was free and I was okay with leaving it anywhere once I finished it-a perfect traveling book in my opinion. I’m happy to be done with this book and am purely writing this review so my friends do NOT waste their time reading it.
This book was a riot to read. Some of it is literally "laugh out loud" and other parts are more of the smirk and giggle. The hero or anti-hero of the story is Paul West (or Paul Vest as some of the French say). He is a 27 year old Brit who was hired by a French food company to create a string of English tea rooms.
It seems the French really do like all things British, including the English language, even though outwardly they complain about it all. Paul was hired by the CEO of the French company and immediately comes up against the French attitude (or at least the Parisian attitude) with everyone. He is the dirt under their feet and speed is never of the essence.
Paul comes across all the stereotypes of Parisians not really caring about anything, taking 2 hour lunches, striking for silly reasons, doing the shoulder shrug and undermining whatever they can if it interferes with leisure time. Paul is used to getting things done in work and in his personal life and this attitude takes a bit of getting used to. He eventually adapts to the French way of life.
As an example of the insanity, he meets his bosses family at dinner one evening. The bosses eldest daughter, a business school student, says that Paul can stay in her apartment, since he needs to find one and they are very expensive. Paul is a bit hesitant, but goes to the place. The daughter immediately beds him and seals the deal, so to speak. The father (boss) is fine with this. The daughter also has many other lovers and so Paul gets himself a girlfriend. That is on and off for awhile and he gets another one. Meanwhile he has a falling out with the bosses daughter and finds out the boss actually owns the apartment, except these apartments are supposed to be subsidized for students. If you are still following me, then pat yourself on the back.
Paul's project to create the English tea rooms is moving very slowly because his French team are a bunch of useless slackers who the boss won't fire. French law would make it more expensive to fire them then to reshuffle them to other projects. Alors!
The Irag war ensues and the tea room project is on hold. Paul's boss, Jean-Marie, suggests he take a long holiday. Then he decides to fire him, but Paul has an ace up his sleeve that he can use for blackmail. That apparently is the French way. It seems that Paul-Marie is doing some illegal and sleazy business and Paul has the evidence. Jean-Marie is also running for political office, so he makes a deal with Paul.
All's well that ends well for Paul as his merde life improves dramatically. He has a new and better girlfriend. One of his own lovers helps him with financing and the 3 of them go into business to, yes, you guessed it, create a string of English tea rooms. Ah Paris.
The protagonist is an insufferable asshole and the French are paperthin sterotypes... streets are covered in dog poip, women invariably want to bed the protagonist even though most of them had boyfriends but they were not at all bothered by this because they were so libertine they watched porn/grew weed on their walk in cabinet, etc. (=the stereotype of French women) (What did they find attractive in this narcistic idiot I do not know... I wouldnt evwn sleep w him if he looked like T. Hiddleston... okay maybe then but only if he promised not to speak and got out before I woke up in the morning.) Casual homophobia/transphobia/very low opinion of women are a plenty and lets not forget that French people are incompetent men are effeminate ( oulalala sacre bleu!) And corrupt. Oh and nobody spheaks gud Inglissssh. Argh. Deposited it in a public book box maybe it will make somebody else hapoy.
A whimsical book on a Brit living in Paris. There are three themes in this story. The satire of an Englishman adjusting to Parisian life with a country house thrown in, his amorous adventures with libidinous young women, and an intrigue of sordid business and political deals.
The first one – the satire worked well and kept me reading. There are equally amusing observations on French and British life. The other two areas – the amorous encounters and the intrigue were less successful and seemed there merely to decorate the Parisian observations with soft-core flirtations and a business espionage that didn’t make much sense to me.
I love Paris and France so that part of the travelogue worked. To emphasize - this book is a travel brochure with titillation and intrigue tossed into the salad but not enhancing the taste.
Oh goodness, this book was super hilarious. I hope the others in the series are just as funny. I travel a lot too, and it's always a blast putting yourself in new cultures.
Once upon a time I got into debate with a friend about The Corrections. I liked it. She didn't. I thought it was well-written. She thought it was pretentious. My chief impression was of one finely wrought English sentence after another. Hers was of countless insufferable, manipulative jerks.
What our conversation/argument boiled down to was the relevance of likeable protagonists. Her stance was that a good story requires at least one Good Guy, a likeable character that the reader can relate to, and that any book without this moral anchor was bad. She implied that by defending The Corrections I was myself perhaps morally suspect. Maybe only an asshole would enjoy a book filled with assholes?
First, I don't think the characters in The Corrections are assholes. I think they are lifelike and three-dimensional and their motives are a mix of pure and impure. While they are certainly capable of cruelty and deceit, they are equally capable of compassion and forgiveness. Second, even if they were assholes, I would disagree with my friend that this fact necessarily proves The Corrections is a bad book. I don't think the likeability of characters has much correlation to the artistic merits of a story.
For instance, I love The Little Prince and The Perks of Being A Wallflower and The Lord of the Rings (movies) and Stephen Colbert, and My Antonia. And yet I also love Goodfellas. Is there a single character in Goodfellas that you would want to emulate? How about A Clockwork Orange? On the flipside, Hallmark movies are filled with loveable characters, but are they good?
Anyway, all this is prelude to conceding what other reviewers of this book have already noted, which is that the main character is unlikeable. He's lame and a bit of a bro, or the English equivalent thereof, but not as much a Brit bro as the knuckleheads in the pub that pound back ale and fart, and I wouldn't say he's sexist to the extent that he views women as inferior or incapable, but I would say he's chauvinist to the extent that he's primarily interested in women as sexual conquests. But the likeability of the protagonist, as I've stated, is tangential.
This book made me feel like I was living in Paris. It made me laugh at the French. It was breezy and mostly funny and easy to read. It improved my understanding of the French/British dichotomy— how the two countries relate to one another culturally, in a mutually judgemental yet simultaneously envious manner. It had a narrative arc, in the evolving relationship between the Paul and his boss/nemesis Jean-Marie.
It's a good airplane book. It reads quickly, it's mildly amusing, and you will learn a little bit about France. I enjoyed it. I don't feel inspired to read any of the five sequels, however.
The only reason I finished the book was because I started a game to count how many times Stephen Clarke could objectify women in 380 pages.
The final count is 88 times, each one taking up about a page (even though there are 380 pages, I read it in under a day, probably because I wanted to get it over with. It's a quick yet excruciating read).
That means roughly 25% of this book is spent with Stephen Clarke writing about breasts, cellulite, his penis, and complaining about not getting laid by women who have no character development except mentioning the color of their skin and hair.
A few gems (flip to any page):
" 'Pardonne-moi, mon Englishman,' she said fondly, and left me standing there in the ladies, with yet another useless erection. Lucky hard-ons are biodegradable, I thought, because I was throwing a lot of them away."
" Jean-Marie praising her professional skills, Nicole wanting to rip her bodice open and have him praise her boobs. Or was I being stereotypical?" (Answer: yes)
" The girls shaping their buttocks and massaging their breasts really didn't need to worry, but I wasn't going to tell them to stop."
And my favorite one:
" 'Tell you what, Florence. This weekend, let's go get an AIDS test.' She lifted herself up off the pillow and leaned over to kiss me. After all, these days it's about the most romantic thing a guy can say to a girl."
In comparison, he mentions the Eiffel Tower 5 times and champagne 7 times. Other dominant themes include dog shit and homophobia.
I live in France and am married to a French man, so this book had a lot of potential. Being an expat here should provide a writer with a bounty of material - the administration, the general attitudes, work and family life, food, history - all topics that Clarke touched for about a page or two. Most of this story is poorly-written sexually-repressed drivel showing a lack of imagination, talent, and maturity.
The year begins in September as a young Brit begins work for a Parisian firm starting up a chain of English tea rooms. Paul West, a lightly disguised stand in for the author, grates at first: a typical boorish lout leching about on the continent. By the end of the year (in May of course) he's somewhat redeemed, still boorish but with a hard won start on understanding the ways of the small circle of Parisians he encounters. If you can stand Paul then this is a light and cartoonish way to get up to speed on modern France. I'll admit I grew to admire the guy. Perhaps not for the right reasons though!