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Since I finished my exams, I have been reading a lot; mostlylight books to start the summer easily. I’ve come across Peter Mayle’s book, A Year in Provence, and I really enjoyed it. It is not a major book, but a very entertaining one.
As the title states, the book is about the author’s first year in Provence. It is nicely written and one is easily absorbed by it. At first, I was afraid the book would be all about food, describing meals in details. However, this is not the case, it does mention food, but it is nicely balanced with other aspects of rural life in Provence. What I mostly liked about it was how Peter Mayle managed to create an atmosphere, I could even feel the sun shine! It is full of local colour: the markets, the food, the wine, and people from the region. If you fancy a delightful light read, that’s the book for you!
“You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel, If on a winter’s night a traveller. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, “No, I don’t want to watch TV!” Raise your voice – they won’t hear you otherwise – “I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!” Maybe they haven’t heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: “I’m beginning to read Italo Calvino’s new novel!” Or if you prefer, don’t say anything; just hope they’ll leave you alone.”
That’s how Calvino’s novel starts, addressing you, the reader. The first chapter describes the preparation before starting the book and describes the reader’s anticipation at reading it. It’s not until the end of the first chapter that you, and ‘you’, actually start reading If on a winter’s night a traveller. However, after a few pages, your reading of the novel is interrupted because of defective printing. You are then back to the original narrative to see ‘you’ going to the bookshop to get a replacement copy. There, ‘you’ meets Ludmilla, another reader to whom the same problem has happened. The whole novel keeps alternating between the original narrative and books-within-the-book, which are interrupted for one reason or another. There are a multitude of plots, but the central one is a love story between the two readers, and between them and books. It is a self-reflexive narrative that considers the process of reading, writing, and translating. It is confusing, but certainly most enjoyable. I loved it and would definitely recommend it!
I’m far too excited to keep this to myself! I’ve just been told that the Gate theatre are doing a tour through Ireland staging their production of ‘Waiting For Godot’. That means that Barry McGovern will be playing in it! It should be good!
First thing tomorrow, I’m ringing to book my ticket! Can’t wait! I will have to though, since it’s not until September…
Last night, a friend took me out for dinner to celebrate the end of my degree. I hadn’t been to a restaurant for ages (work excluded!), and I had been looking forward to do my first mini-review on this blog. Unfortunately, I forgot to take my camera with me! Anyway, I decided to go ahead, but there won’t be any photos for you, sorry!
As it wasn’t planned, we decided to go somewhere close, there are only three restaurants, which include a Chinese, in Cloyne. We picked up Harty’s for its choice of fish: gratin of cod, poached monkfish, pan-fried plaice, pan-fried black sole, and raywing. Cloyne being only a few kilometers from the fishing village of Ballycotton, the chances are the fish is fresh!
The restaurant itself is quite big. It is a long and wide room with a few windows on the side. A couch is sitting at the entrance across from the desk and there’s a fire (fake) at the end of the room. The room is quite rural, unfortunately it looks empty. The walls, painted white and dark red, are bare except for a couple of paintings and some mirrors - too many; the room is big enough as it is! There are a few nice pieces of furniture, but there are empty, why not put some books on the shelves for instance? As a result, the room lacks atmosphere and intimacy, it could be much more cosy with only a few changes. And why, oh why, those white table cloths? I hate them, and they seem to be everywhere around here! It seems to be saying: ‘Look! we have table cloths, we are a high standard restaurant’!
Foodwise, it was good, nothing too fancy, and the prices were reasonable-ish. For starter, I had Shanagarry smoked salmon served with a salad (green leaves, tomatoes, and the usual pickle cucumbers, they seem quite popular around here also!) and a chive crème fraiche. I must say, as smoked salmon goes, it was very tasty. For main course, my friend ordered the poached monkfish with a red pepper sauce, and I ordered the pan-fried black sole with a herb butter sauce. We were both a bit disappointed. His sauce was actually the same as mine with a couple of red pepper dice, and my sole was breaded and a tiny bit over-cooked. However, it was still tasty. Both were served with a selection of veg: carrots, broccoli, and mash. I skipped on the dessert, but my friend had a warm apple sponge cake, which was quite nice.
The wine list was extensive enough for a village restaurant, and there was a bit of variety. I only had a glass of the house wine, French, and it was quite decent for a house wine, fresh and crispy.
The restaurant was quiet enough, and there was only one waitress, but she gave us an excellent service. The only major irritation was that we were under the speakers that churned out the same album three times in a row, and it wasn’t the best choice of music for us, it was like a wedding gig rather than restaurant music…
Overall, it was good but not impressive. I would go back because I live close, but wouldn’t go out of my way for it. It wasn’t that cheap that you could say ‘let’s go for some good value grub at Harty’s!’.
I reread ‘The Little Prince’ last night. Actually no, it was the first time I was reading the translation. My grandmother used to read this story to me when I was a kid and I reread it a few times when growing up. I happened to come across a copy of it in English a few weeks ago, and thought ‘why not, it’s been a long time I haven’t read it’. Although I try to avoid translations as much as possible, I still enjoyed the read.
It hasn’t lost any of its freshness and childish innocence. However, behind the light tale are serious concerns. ‘Le Petit Prince’ points to the absurdity of human life. It shows how by growing up as adults, we have lost sight of what’s really important in life. We have become too serious, individualistic, and are unable to reach true happiness. ‘Le Petit Prince’ warns us about the dangers of forgetting how to love with the heart rather than with the eyes, and reminds us how to give a sense to our lives. As the fox says:
“On ne voit bien qu’avec le coeur. L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux” (“It is only with one’s heart that one can see clearly. What is essential is invisible to the eyes”)
I think this book should be on every bookshelf, it is definitely a beautiful tale of love.
The 1st of May has come, and as every year, I will miss the ‘muguet’ or Lily of the valley.
The first of May is ‘la Fête du travail’ in France, the equivalent of ‘labour day’. It is a bank holiday that has its origin in workers’ revendications for the eight-hour working day. In France, it has become a day where nobody works, except for ‘muguet’ sellers! In my opinion, it’s a very depressing day, there isn’t a shop or café opened (maybe it has changed now), there is no public transport, but the worse is that all the streets are deserted. They are deserted, except by the independent sellers of ‘muguet’. Indeed, anyone is allowed to sell ‘muguet’ without any authorisation or without having to pay taxes on that day, so they are the only ones seen working.
If I don’t like the 1st of May, I do love Lily of the Valley. It is a symbol of the beginning of spring, but also of friendship and luck. And I must admit, I do miss that French tradition of offering it on the 1st of May. Strangely enough, I’ve never seen any in Ireland…
As we are talking about muguet, it would be difficult to avoid sharing with you that song that many French pupils had to learn in school, ‘Le Temps du Muguet’.
