Okay, so I’m reviewing a travel guide, and one that was published in 1951, no less.
But wait! Hear me out here!
This isn’t your average, everyday Moon Handbook or Frommer’s or even Lonely Planet. No prices betray its vintage, not even a single hotel recommendation is offered. (Well, it does mention the Ritz, but what book about Paris doesn’t? Heck, Noel Coward wrote a whole play set in the damn place.)
The subtitle of the book is, How to Feel at Home in the City and What to Expect from the French, which might give you an idea of the volume’s tone and spirit. MacLean writes it in a breezy but proper manner, as if she were channeling Letitia Baldridge or Emily Post. What she doesn’t do, thankfully, is use this opportunity to reprimand marshmallow-footed Americans of their crass New World manners, as so many other guidebooks do with such glee. No, Ms. MacLean is too polite and dignified for that. Rather, as she points out in the closing paragraph of the book:
Americans have a great deal to learn from the French, as — at this stage of our respective developments — the French have from us.
Written shortly after the close of the Second World War, Ms. MacLean depicts a Paris many GI’s and postwar intellectuals still recall with a great deal of fondness and nostalgia. This is a Paris under the Marshall Plan, still grateful for the liberation, the dollar a mighty force to reckon with against the ailing franc. Of course, Paris will always be Paris, and the reader is gently reminded that while the French desperately need and want the dollars that tourists pour into the struggling economy, there’s no need to be extravagant about it. French pride hums through the pages, and Ms. MacLean takes no small effort in ensuring that the American tourist enjoys as much of the city’s pleasures and sights as possible without carelessly trampling on the delicate ego of its inhabitants.
That’s possibly what will appeal to the Francophile reader the most, these careful, detailed prescriptions of proper behavior the author advises the American tourist to adopt while in the City of Light. She doesn’t assume — unlike many contemporary guidebook and travelbook authors — that the American traveler abroad is necessarily always an Ugly one, rather that there are different ways of conducting oneself in each country and culture, and that it would behoove the reader to be familiar with the mores of France in order to really enjoy his or her experience. She takes it upon herself to act as one’s guide in every sense of the word, mentioning not just the parks and monuments to see but also providing comprehensive advice on more mundane topics such as tipping, ordering coffee (which apparently was universally abominable throughout Parisian cafes in the 1950s), reading a menu, even conducting a discreet “international flirtation.”
As mentioned before, you won’t find any tables or graphs here. Ms. MacLean writes this almost like a very long, very chatty letter to a friend planning a visit to her favorite city in the world. It makes for wonderful armchair traveling, perhaps with a cup of tea in elegant china and a wee scone with jam. And while you’re at it, check out the illustrations. As with many books from this period, the most enchanting part of the book are the drawings that pepper the pages. Famed illustrator Susanne Suba, among whose many works include many a New Yorker cover, contributed the gorgeous line drawings in the book, many of which depict simple Parisian street scenes: residents pedaling along on their velo, a beret-clad, Gaulois-smoking government worker sweeping a city street, well-dressed children launching little sailboats in the pond at the Jardin du Luxembourg. Not that I would turn my back on today’s glossy, professionally shot travel photos with their often heartstopping vistas and compositions, but there’s something very appealing about understated yet very drawings that capture the essence and innocence of a time that no longer exists but which the reader may indulge in for the leisurely hours he or she will want to devote to reading this book.
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{ 13 comments }
there are different ways of conducting oneself in each country and culture, and that it would behoove the reader to be familiar with the mores of France in order to really enjoy his or her experience.
That about sums it up, no? We’ve been so conditioned by the French-bashing in the US – truly one of our national pastimes, Republican administration or not – that we’re always viewed as the ugly American.
My friend in Fréjus always tells me that when she encounters an American or sees one encountered – which she does a lot, given her job – if they’re friendly, the French are friendly. You know, normal human behavior. And attempting to speak the native language is always a plus, even if it’s a simple phrase and you obviously aren’t fluent. We expect visitors here to know a bit of English to get around, why shouldn’t it be the same for us abroad?
As for the book itself, sounds like an interesting read and of course, yet another book we don’t carry.
I really like this post. The book surfaces a memory I can’t quite put my finger on as of yet.
I’m a sucker for old books and a bit of history. In case you want a more academic read, try The Seven Ages of Paris by Alistar Horne. It’s great.
Randal,
Oui, I agree. I read the Ugly American many years ago (never saw the film, although I’m a Brando fan) and have always regretted that the behavior of a few tarnish the otherwise good manners of the many.
A quote from the book: “Discussions in which you find out what the French think of you can have a very wholesome effect, even though they make you mad. The mirror that’s held up to you, distorted though it often is, will give you a new picture of yourself and the attitudes you share with what is, after all, only a small portion of the human race. You may have your favorite preconceptions about the French — some of which will be abandoned, some strengthened as a result of your experiences. Keep in mind they’ve got plenty of ideas about you, and it will take all your patience and linguistic resources to get them to re-examine some of their faulty notions.”
I know I should perhaps stick to books that are at least still in print, but I can’t help myself.
I love reading all kinds of books, and this one appealed to me because it makes me think of songs like The Last Time I Saw Paris and movies like Funny Face. You know — Paris before the Internet, the Jerry Lewis, the Freedom Fries scandal. A better, rosier view of the world in general. (And one I realized never existed.)
Salut,
Marjorie
Bonjour, Colleen! Coincidentally, that particular book is on my pile to read at this very moment. Right now I’m reading Paris, Paris, by David Downie, which will be next week’s book review. So far, so good!
Merci for the recommendation!
Salut,
Marjorie
I second Collen’s recommendation of that book, and though certainly academic, Horne is one of the historians gifted with the ability to tell a tale, not simply rattle off an assembly line of facts.
That’s an excellent quotation. We sometimes need that third party examination in order to get a better view of ourselves. Which ties into your last line. We romanticize the past, a place, and I know us Francophiles have certainly done that about Paris and France itself from time to time. And we also romanticize ourselves, overlook our flaws, our unfounded biases, etc etc. Hence, the need for that mirror.
Randal,
Ah, would that that were true. I think I can speak for many women when I say that the mirror I hold up to myself is all too frequently distorted to reflect a person too flawed, IMHO.
But I understand. I found that when I was overseas, I saw American culture through a different and very illuminating lens.
Of course, I also found myself being much more pro-American than I ever am here on home soil. Funny how much more patriotic we are when abroad. Heck, I even found myself defending Bush a time or two.
Salut,
Marjorie
Randal,
Speaking of “romanticiz(ing)ourselves, overlook(ing) our flaws, our unfounded biases, etc etc”….
Here was a woman, though from the victorian era, who put together an entertaining read. The Clumsiest People in Europe: Or, Mrs. Mortimer’s Bad-Tempered Guide to the Victorian World Opinionated as this woman was she doesn’t put a rose-coloured lense in front of the reader.
This book sits next to my Bunny Suisides book collection.
Good times.
What a cool book…that would make a great vintage Christmas present!
Colleen, if it’s spiritually akin to Bunny Suisides, then it’s certainly worth checking out!
Bonjour, Marjorie!
What a great find. I love the cover alone and even if the content wasn’t great I would want it just based on aeshetic reasons.
And yet, as you so beautifully report, there is so much more to the book than a pretty face. Thanks for finding this little treasure. It always so great to find a new/old book on France!
The illustrations sound charming. You sold me!
Merci,
LBR
Colleen, you sold me on the title alone.
I apologize for not responding to all of these comments sooner! As I think others have noticed, Google has not been very timely when it comes to notifying bloggers of comments to their posts!
Salut,
Marjorie
Run around Paris, merci for stopping by! I just checked out your blog and totally love it! I’m a sucker for blogs with lots of great photos.
Salut,
Marjorie
Bonjour, LBR! I actually did not have the good fortune to pick up a copy of this with the cover. The photo I posted is one I swiped off an eBay listing. But I believe that actually was Susanne Suba’s illustration on the cover as well. It really would make an excellent vintage Christmas present for someone!
Salut,
Marjorie
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