Each Wednesday, I review a French-related book. The subject varies, from culture to film to memoir to biography to whatever the heck I feel like reading that week and whatever strikes my fancy at the library or bookshop.
Ordinarily, I would avoid most self-published books. It’s not that I think that they’re inherently inferior to those churned out by the big name, established publishing companies — some of the finest works in English literature began life as self-published books. Rudyard Kipling, D.H. Lawrence, Mark Twain, and George Bernard Shaw are names that immediately come to mind.
However, I’ve come to find that really good, worthy self-published books are exceedingly rare. Even those that make it to the New York Times bestseller list aren’t necessarily what I would consider classics. (Ever read The Celestine Prophecy? Ugh.) And while I admire Anne Barone for her commitment to educating women (and her books are primarily aimed at female readers) about the joys of living life a la francaise, I have to admit, her books leave a lot to be desired when it comes to the quality of which she is such a big fan.
The New Connoisseur is her latest (as of last week) attempt to further her mission to get us all to act more like the French. Her previous Chic ‘n’ Slim books all pretty much repeated the same theme (sometimes even the same anecdotes): pay attention to details in dress, cuisine, music, beauty products, even fragrance; eat small portions; cultivate a serene attitude; learn how to flirt/seduce without vulgarity; use only quality products and associate only with quality people.
I’ll happily admit that Ms. Barone’s books (and her infrequent postings on her Web site/blog) served as useful inspiration in my quest to channel My Inner French Girl. And why not? She evokes a very romantic ideal of the Frenchwoman in her writings, the one who would never darken the door of a McDonald’s, wouldn’t dream of stepping out of the house without at least carefully applying some lipstick and mascara, would treat every man as an object of flirtation, and would rather step out of her pressed linen pants at a party and enjoy the festivities bottomless rather than wrinkle her attire. (Seriously, Barone recounts just this anecdote in one of her books.)
The Frenchwoman Ms. Barone champions in her work represents the Frenchwoman many Francophiles aspire to be, regardless of the latter’s own unique circumstances. She’s the quintessential well-to-do Parisian who can afford to spend the money and time to indulge in regular facials at the Clarins Institute, cook several-course meals at every sitting, and spend countless hours at sidewalk cafes musing about life and love. Yes, she’s the one of whom I wrote about several weeks ago when I attempted to calculate the actual monetary cost of being the stereotypical French Girl.
It’s an ideal that I still cling to on occasion, especially during stressful weeks like this one. I have an appointment for a so-called “French facial” at the local spa on Friday and am soooo looking forward to it. After weeks of relentless work and meeting deadlines and finding a new place to live, it’ll be such a glorious respite.
On the other hand, I’m also well aware that Ms. Barone’s Frenchwoman represents an impossible dream for most women, French or otherwise. The author herself is self-employed with one grown son who no longer lives nearby. She does have her family obligations, but a closer scrutiny of her blog postings indicate a flexibility in time that would allow her to have her four o’clock tea and pastry and her summers off. Would that we were all so fortunate.
In addition — and others have mentioned the same — Ms. Barone’s Frenchwoman appears to be that of one frozen in the 1960′s, which is likely when she was last in France. Contemporary Paris — regardless of the 35-hour-workweek — no longer has the leisure to enjoy long lunches, afternoon naps and marathon cafe breakfasts. In today’s globalized economy, even the French — their six-week vacations notwithstanding — can no longer afford to live like one giant leisure class.
Still, in honor of my own start as a Francophile, I bought her new eBook on Lulu.com ($5.50, 98 pages), mostly out of curiosity than of eager anticipation of new ideas. After careful reading (not that it took me very long), it’s apparent that while it does actually have some “new” ideas (relative to her previous books), most aren’t really even her own.
The New Connoisseur refers to Ms. Barone’s belief that, in order to continue to live the beautiful life that Frenchwomen consider their birthright in these very difficult times, one must consider the quality of one’s possessions, friendships/relationships, even experiences above all else. The subtitle of the book, after all, is “Using Quality to be Chic, Slim, Safe, Rich.” Ms. Barone then outlines what one must do in order to ensure that that elusive quality is not compromised by such things as cheap imports, counterfeit goods, life-sapping relationships, or poor spending habits.
Ms. Barone has obviously done her research. She quotes Alice Waters, Moises Naim, even Bernard Berenson, as well as numerous articles in the New York Times and BusinessWeek. She packs the first half of the book with statistics and news stories about contaminated products from China and other countries with questionable safety programs, counterfeit merchandise sold by drug- and terrorist-related organizations, and faulty toys produced by American manufacturers that provide little oversight on the design and production processes of their own products.
Despite all the information she throws at the reader, I consider this first two-thirds to be the weakest, most infuriating part of the book. Most of this information can be found in other more notable, better researched, and certainly better written books. Reading the first 2/3 of the book reminded me of the scene in the classic Bill Murray film Scrooged, where the television executives are forced to watch the doomsday “promo” of the Scrooge film that they were to release on Christmas Eve. Intellectual property theft, organized crime, child labor, “fuzzy green mold,” fashion and beauty companies held hostage by the “business management” practices that have usurped Old World traditions of craftsmanship and quality, Americans growing “fatter and Fatter and FATTER!,” contaminated foods from China, “scallops and sardines coated with putrefying bacteria and mushrooms laced with illegal pesticides,” pet deaths from poisoned pet food, bird flu pandemics, MRSA pandemics…I’m sorry, what book am I reading again?
After slogging through these very depressing chapters, one may be tempted to just chuck it all and move to a remote, self-sustaining farm in Vermont. Ms. Barone may simply be trying to raise awareness of the potential dangers in some of the more insidious aspects of globalization and lax security procedures, but I’m not sure her relentless repetition of sky-is-falling scenarios belongs in a book entitled, The New Connoisseur: Using Quality to be Chic, Slim, Safe, and Rich. None of these things would surprise anyone with even a passing interest in current affairs or who reads the news on a regular basis. Indeed, it does seem as if her research consisted primarily of reading a couple of newspapers and books. Not that her sources are questionable, but repeating statistics and news reports do not a book make.
The latter third of the book will be more familiar to Ms. Barone’s many fans. Here, she returns to her inspiring — and occasionally condescending — self, exhorting her readers to pursue quality in every aspect of one’s life. She writes of the three pillars of personal connoisseurship: People, Experiences and Places. Her advice is familiar but classic: expect and demand only the best, and never sacrifice long-term happiness for short-term pleasure. In terms of people, associate only with “life-enhancing” individuals, and avoid or learn to deal with those who suck all the marrow out of life, so to speak. (I have to admit, this one hits close to home for me, as a few individuals in my own life are the kind who make me feel bad about myself and the world mere minutes after coming into contact with them. Must avoid.) Invest in experiences, not material things. Spend your time and money in places that allow you to achieve fulfillment without breaking the bank.
No one who has read even one of Ms. Barone’s previous books will be surprised by any of these latter chapters. They represent a mere rewording of her theme of Quality, Quality, Quality. In addition, while the first few pages left me hopeful that perhaps she finally found an editor worthy of the title, those hopes were immediately dashed soon after. Considering the long delay in the book’s publication — ostensibly so that she can edit it properly — I would expect a better-written book than her previous ones. Sorry, no dice. Her classic style of archaic, stilted syntax, dangling modifiers, run-on sentences, and incomplete sentences, is in full flower here. And if you miss her occasional forays into pointless anecdotes, your patience will be well rewarded.
And seriously, what’s up with using the Audrey Hepburn-Peter O’Toole film classic How to Steal a Million to serve as the metaphorical scaffolding for the book’s theme? I happen to love the movie and think it’s one of Audrey’s best (and Gawd, was Peter hot or what in those early days, before the alcoholism ravaged his pretty face?). Unfortunately, Ms. Barone stretches the metaphor way beyond the point of logic. She would have been far better off removing the reference entirely, as it only serves to clutter up the text and confuse the reader.
Should you spend the $5.50 to have your very own copy of her latest book? If you must own her entire collection, this wouldn’t be a bad addition, although I think this is definitely her weakest endeavor. At the moment, it’s only available as a PDF eBook (I printed mine out at my local Kinko’s), although that at least allows you the chance to read it right away. According to Ms. Barone’s site, a print version will be available soon.
On the other hand, if you were looking for more original ideas — or even more concrete ways to inject a little French in your daily life — you’d be better off reading Helena Frith Powell. Or even better, Harriet Welty Rochefort. Not only would you get better writing and editing, you’d have a more realistic, contemporary view of Frenchwomen and their lives. Save your $5.50 and buy some really good, quality chocolates. Just make sure they’re not made in China.
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{ 7 comments }
You have the best book reviews. Even though I have no desire to live like a chic femme française, this was still interesting to read. I’m not sure I’d want to get on your literary bad side, though.
I found it quite a paranoid screed myself. I get the point of it; I too am very concerned about the massive trade deficit with China and the crappy quality of nearly everything it exports to the U.S. But reading the first couple of chapters made me want to fill my crawl space with nonperishables, water, tarps, and duct tape while clutching my Remington 870 shotgun, and never again venture outside of my cocoon. I didn’t get past page 50 or so, and thought, like you, that the “How to Steal a Million” metaphor was a bit tortured. And honestly, it’s not even a good movie, much less Audrey’s “best.”
Anne B’s first book changed my life. When I bought it in 1998, I thought it was the freshest, cleverest, greatest, and most revolutionary set of ideas I’d ever seen encapsulated in a tiny little book, and it spoke (in sexy Franglish) directly to my heart. This latest effort makes me feel really glum, and I think you hit the nail on its proverbial head with every single point you’ve made!
Amities,
Marsi
Dear Randal, thank you! I consider that an incredible compliment coming from you, one of the best writers on the Web. Seriously.
Uhm, was I really that mean?
I guess I look at it this way: if I’m going to spend some of my hard-earned money on an author’s work, they’d better make it worth my while by producing a good product. If I don’t like the story, that’s one thing; however, at least make the effort to a) edit it properly, and b) come up with something original. I feel as if I wasted a little more than two hours of my life on this book, and I don’t want anyone else to go through the same.
As a writer, I desperately want to support other writers as well, but not those who can’t be bothered to correct even their interviewees’ glaring mistakes (which make the latter sound like morons). It gives self-publishing a very bad name, not to mention create ill will among her fans who wonder if she has anything else left to say.
I, on the other hand, am looking forward to your book!
Chere Marsi, bonjour and merci for your comment! It’s too bad that Ms. Barone appears to be a one-note musician, as like you I thought her original book was eye-opening and very instructive, grammatical mistakes notwithstanding. I think I read the original Chic and Slim several times, and still do on occasion. I don’t intend to re-read this latest effort, though. The original books pretty much have all the inspiration I need.
Have a lovely Valentine’s Day!
Salut,
Marjorie
Anne Barone’s first Chic & Slim book came out in 1997, the year I moved to Paris for the first time. I felt like I had found a secret decoder ring to help me find my way in this mysterious land. Fast forward 11 years. I’ve lived in Paris for a total of 5 years (2 two-year stints and we’ve been back since last summer). During those 11 years we also returned to the States for 2 years, and we lived in Switzerland for 4 years.
I won’t pretend that I have the French figured out, but my experiences have helped me sort out some of the myths and realities. Having a daughter in public schools in Paris exposed me to a diverse cross-section of French women. While there are some insights to be gleaned from the generalities in Chic & Slim, the realities are much more complex, contradictory and interesting in my view.
As for me, I’m still very much American, but I feel like I’m my “better me” when I’m living here. I recently was in California and saw a friend I had met while living in Switzerland. She told me I looked fantastic and that Paris is obviously good for me. I do feel more at home here than I do anywhere else I’ve lived. No one would mistake me for a French woman, but that’s ok, I’m not trying to pass for one. In fact it’s the international flavor of Paris that attracts me perhaps more than anything else.
I haven’t read Ms. Barone’s new book, although it doesn’t sound like my cuppa. Any mention of “mondialisation” can get quite a conversation going here. My daughter, who is in the equivalent of 10th grade in a French lycee, had to write an essay about the evils of globalization. But the only birthday parties she went to “chez McDo” when she was little were for her French friends — and some of their parents had the nerve to blame me for bringing McDonalds to their shores! I haven’t gauged the concern about Chinese exports here, but you’ll find plenty of French people shopping at Tang Freres (a large Chinese grocery store) on the weekends.
As usual, things are rather complex and contradictory here . . .
Oh no, you weren’t that mean at all, but your criticisms were very clear, which helps the reader decide whether he or she wants to buy the damn thing.
Trust me, you don’t want to see my book, novella, whatever it’s called. It’s bad.
I agree–you have the best books reviews, well-written, clear, and frank. Like many other women, I have a warm place in my heart for Anne who introduced me to the exciting world of French chic, but I don’t think I’ll buy this latest book. I read the free preview online, which was confused and confusing–is the new connoisseur represented by the forger father or the art investigator or the chic daughter? And I don’t want to indulge in a “paranoid screed” as Marsi called it. Thank you for your honest review. Josephine
Dear chicamericaine, merci for your comment and your keen insights! Yes, Ms. Barone’s book is mostly about globalization’s evils, so it probably won’t appeal to you, particularly as I think you have a better view of it from outside of the United States than from within.
That’s not to say that we can’t have a good conversation about it here, but as in France, there’s so much contradiction in what we believe in and what we actually do. Plus, globalization is so closely connected to politics, labor and economics, subjects that have so much emotional baggage for many people.
I have a feeling that if I lived in Paris, I’d feel quite at home there as well. You’re very lucky that you’ve found your soul’s true abode!
Dear Randal, well, I’d still love to read it, but I may not review it. I have this thing about reviewing the work of friends, even if they wrote like Jodi Picoult. I would, however, gladly promote it from the rooftops! Besides, just based on what I’ve read on your blog alone, I’m certain it’ll make for excellent reading.
Dear Josephine, merci for your compliments! I’m so pleased that my book reviews are well-received, since they’re my favorite part of my blog.
Like you, I always was and will remain a big fan of Anne Barone. But I fear that her well of ideas have run dry. On the other hand, she’ll always be able to profit from her previous books, which remain an inspiration to me.
Salut,
Marjorie
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