The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
I don’t know why I didn’t read this book sooner! First, I saw people like me reading it in airports, and it certainly has a memorable title. The people reading looked totally engrossed. I’m not one to strike up conversations in airports, but on occasion, when I see people reading a book I don’t know about and it is the size of the books that book groups usually read, I will ask, and write it down, and bother the person no further.
I had ordered it on amazon.com when my son’s wife’s father’s wife (and you thought Gulf relationships were complicated!) mentioned to me in an e-mail that she was reading it and that she could barely tear herself away. She and I often pass really good books and/or recommendations back and forth, so that bumped it up a few notches in priority. When it got here, I had just finished Rutherfurd’s London (oops, I thought I had reviewed it, and I haven’t, so I will,) and I thought it was a southern book, like The Ya-Ya Sisterhood or Sweet Potato Queens, no, you are right, I hadn’t read anything about it, just trusted from all the people I saw reading it that it was good, but because of the name, I thought it would be light.
Wrong!
It isn’t depressingly heavy, like The Little Prisoner was heavy, and it had some totally wonderful laugh-out-loud moments, but the subject matter was the German occupation of the island of Guernsey, in the English Channel, and an author in search of a book topic in post-war London, and a little girl born outside of marriage and cared for by a village of caring people. It is spiced up by a dashing romance, and the process of relationship building that happens in the novel, unlikely relationships, aren’t those the very best kind for spice? 😉
The entire story is told in letters. The primary voice, that of Juliet, a thirty-something author, ties all the letters together, but not all letters are to her or from her. It is a great technique for allowing many different voices and many different perspectives. From the first page, you are captivated. Right now, Guernsey is more real to me than the boxes I need to unpack, and there is a part of me that yearns to flee to Guernsey and find a house near a cliff where I can watch the sun set in the west and the clouds turn colors . . .
Here is one sample of the kind of letters you will find when you read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Don’t wait! This is an unforgettable book!
1st May 1946
Dear Mark,
I didn’t refuse, you know. I said I wanted to think about it. You were so busy ranting about Sidney and Guernsey that perhaps you didn’t notice – I only said I wanted time. I’ve known you two months. It’s not long enough for me to be certain that we should spend the rest of our lives together, even if you are. I once made a terrible mistake and almost married a man I hardly knew (perhaps you read about it in the papers) – and at least in that case, the war was an extenuating circumstance. I won’t be such a fool again.
Think of it: I’ve never seen you home – I don’t even know where it is, really. New York, but which street? What does it look like? What color are your walls? Your sofa? Do you arrange books alphabetically? (I hope not.) Are your drawers tidy or messy? Do you ever hum, and if so, what? Do you prefer cats or dogs? Or fish? What on earth do you eat for breakfast – or do you have a cook?
You see? I don’t know you well enough to marry you.
I have one other piece of news that may interest you: Sidney is not your rival. I am not now nor have I ever been in love with Sidney, nor he with me. Nor will I ever marry him. Is that decisive enough for you?
Are you absolutely certain you wouldn’t rather be married to someone more tractable than I?
Juliet
Written by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows, the book will challenge your ideas, will inform you of an obscure episode in World War II, will make your heart sorrow at the inhumanity of which we human beings are capable towards one another, and make your heart sing at the goodness in the human soul. That’s pretty amazing for one book.
Strasbourg Magic
It is perfect May weather in Strasbourg right now – warm and sunny, even hot, one minute, crashing thunder, lightning and pouring rain the next. One minute you are catching the last rays of the sun on the Strasbourg Cathedral, and the next, you are ducking into the nearest restaurant to get out of the rain, have a little wine and flammekeuchen, give the weather a chance to change once again and you are on your way.
Besides the fact that we always have a lot of fun in Strasbourg – it is a great town for walking – remember that shoe store that was closed for the holiday on Friday? I have French feet; German shoes are too wide, American shoes are too serious . . .but French shoes are always just right. We go again, first thing Saturday morning, and they have all the newest shoes in the yummiest colors and they have them all in my size!
Just look at these colors! Grape! Orange sherbet! Fuscia/raspberryt! I am not really so much a shoe person, but oh! When the right shoe comes along! I know it! AdventureMan waits patiently, smiling indulgently, as I try on almost everything in my size.
Looking at me seriously, he says “Buy what you want! Who knows when you will be back in Strasbourg? I insist, you must buy at least four pair!” (Now THAT is true love.)
Truly a magical day in Strasbourg. 🙂
A Quiet Friday in Strasbourg
“I have no agenda,” I said to AdventureMan as we walked the streets of Strasbourg, yesterday, walking and walking, through throngs of Strasbourgois, “but tomorrow I really need to go by the shoe store.”
He knows I love one particular shoe store.
We were up for breakfast by eight this morning – still nine, body time, Kuwait time, so it really felt like sleeping in. We are staying in a very exclusive hotel in Strasbourg with wonderful parking, we come, we park the car, and we just walk and walk and walk. We have a code to get into the hotel if we are out too late and the front door is locked. The rooms are simple, but bright and clean and stocked with shampoo and soap and spacious closets. The loo is separate from the shower room; I really like that. This hotel is so exclusive you probably couldn’t stay here – unless you, like us, are formerly military. The military hotels here have an agreement that people from other country’s forces can stay. There is a special rate for us former-military, a very agreeable rate that includes breakfast with the lightest, flakiest croissants in the world. I think it has to be the butter of the Alsace.
We were lucky to get a room. There was a huge crowd of people, a group, staying here, too.
So we headed out, taking our time, heading for the shoe store and an antiquities store AdventureMan wanted to visit. In the shoe store window are about six different pair of shoes I could happily scarf up, if only the store were open, but there is still a half an hour. We kill time, I tell AdventureMan I will catch up with him, and I stand in front of the shoe store waiting for it to open. Half an hour, I am still waiting, and AdventureMan comes; his store hasn’t opened, either.
It is very quiet in Strasbourg, this Friday morning, and we are marveling at how relaxed the French are about getting up. Hmmm . . . even my favorite pharmacy is very late opening. . . several of the bakeries are not open . . . the historic post card store AdventureMan wanted to visit is closed . . .
Remember I told you I can be slow sometimes? So can AdventureMan. Around 11, we start wondering if it is a holiday. When we go to lunch, we ask, and they say “oh yes! It is the day of the end of the war! It is a holiday!” and the light bulb goes on. We will have to stop by our favorite stores tomorrow, and today, we are having a wonderful, very quiet day in the heart of Strasbourg, it is wonderful having the city mostly to ourselves. Well, we are sharing it with several thousand other tourists arriving from Germany, from Italy, and from other parts of France.
It smells so good here. There are lilacs blooming everywhere, and other wonderful smelling flowers:
We love it that the French signs for picnics show a baguette and a bottle of wine in the picnic basket:
Walking in Strasbourg is so lovely; no matter where you look, there is something marvelous:
We had lunch at Le Pasha, a Tunisian restaurant. It was absolutely delicious! Sorry, we were so hungry I didn’t remember to take any photos. We had brik, a lamb stew/ lamb chops, and Tunisian pastries. It was a sweet restaurant:
And now, AdventureMan is snoozing, music to my ears. 🙂 We need a little down time as much as we need the walking, the lilacs, the vistas and the sips of wine.
Breaking all the rules
I’m breaking all the rules I made for myself. I didn’t know how to tell you I was leaving, but I thought I would tell you after I left.
Actually, I am not gone yet. My husband and I just grabbed an opportunity for a quick Mother’s Day getaway (Americans celebrate Mother’s Day this coming Sunday) and I am in France, drowning my sorrows 🙂 and walking and eating really delicious salads and pretending I am not up to my ears in boxes.
There are lilacs blooming everywhere, and wisteria. There are still some tulips. There are hydrangea. It is a riot of new life, color and growth. I am enjoying myself immensely. Very soon, it will be over and I will be back in Kuwait, packing boxes.
I will tell you more later, and even share some photos with you.
You are all so dear to me. I can’t tell you how much it hurts to move on. Usually, I cope by not thinking about it, just doing it. Somehow, in this situation, I don’t think that’s going to work very well.
Thank you for all your sweet thoughts. I haven’t decided if I will keep blogging; circumstances change . . . I will have to see if I even have anything to blog about!
The REAL French Aioli Sauce
My beautiful French friend looked at me sadly, considering how to deliver the bad news in the most gracious way possible.
“Yes, Intlxpatr, it is a very delicious garlic mayonnaise, but . . . it is NOT aioli,” she said, regretfully honoring France and all of French tradition. “The real aioli uses potato, and has a totally different texture from this mayonnaise.”
Back a long time ago, I published instructions for making your own mayonnaise, aioli and rouille and it has been one of my all time high statistics grabbers. How embarrasing to be so wrong!
But I am not alone. This morning as I went looking for “real” French aioli, it wasn’t until page 3 I found this recipe, which sounds very close to what I remember eating down in Les Leques, as we stayed in a family hotel on the beach and ate breakfast and dinner with all the French families. Aioli is both the name of a dish – a white fish, usually cod, served with vegetables and a huge bowl of garlic sauce – and also the name of the sauce itself. We adore both.
Here is the recipe I found for REAL French aioli found in a recipe site called Big Oven:
INGREDIENTS
6 Cloves garlic; peeled
1/2 c Pine nuts
3 Potatoes-boiled; peeled
1 Juice of a lemon
1/4 c Olive oil
1 Egg; lightly beaten
INSTRUCTIONS
Combine the garlic and the nuts in a blender or food processor and puree.
Add the potatoes, and puree.
Pour potato mixture into a bowl and, using a wisk, beat in the lemon juice, a bit at a time.
Gradually add the olive oil in a thin stream while continuing to beat so oil combines with potato mixture. When oil has been absorbed, add the egg and beat well.
Giovanni de Bourbon
Most of the other recipes that sound the most authentic start with garlic crushed in a mortar and pestle, ground together with salt, then the oil added drop by drop until a thick mixture is obtained. Those are the basics – where to go from there seems to be evolving away from the original Provencal recipes.
Il est né le Divin Enfant
One of the first Christmas carols I learned to sing in French:
Muslim Prisoners in France
One of the things that keeps me blogging is the input I get from my readers. Behind the scenes this morning, I was sent two fascinating articles. This first one, from blogger Facts and Doubts, is an article from The Washington Post on Muslim Prisoners in France – and Europe.
Here is just a short excerpt from an article you will want to read:
This prison is majority Muslim — as is virtually every house of incarceration in France. About 60 to 70 percent of all inmates in the country’s prison system are Muslim, according to Muslim leaders, sociologists and researchers, though Muslims make up only about 12 percent of the country’s population.
On a continent where immigrants and the children of immigrants are disproportionately represented in almost every prison system, the French figures are the most marked, according to researchers, criminologists and Muslim leaders.
“The high percentage of Muslims in prisons is a direct consequence of the failure of the integration of minorities in France,” said Moussa Khedimellah, a sociologist who has spent several years conducting research on Muslims in the French penal system.
In Britain, 11 percent of prisoners are Muslim in contrast to about 3 percent of all inhabitants, according to the Justice Ministry. Research by the Open Society Institute, an advocacy organization, shows that in the Netherlands 20 percent of adult prisoners and 26 percent of all juvenile offenders are Muslim; the country is about 5.5 percent Muslim. In Belgium, Muslims from Morocco and Turkey make up at least 16 percent of the prison population, compared with 2 percent of the general populace, the research found.
I had no idea. And my eyes were opened to food being a big issue in prison – but of course. (smacks head) Thank you, Facts and Doubts, for passing along this fascinating and enlightening article.
Mary Nell’s Secret
“I’m coming in tonight,” says AdventureMan, “but not on my original flight. My flight from Denver to Chicago was cancelled, so I missed that flight. I’ll be on the flight coming in at around 10.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you called; I would have been waiting at the airport!” I replied.
“There’s an e-mail waiting for you – I had (our son) send you an e-mail to let you know,” AdventureMan continues, “I was lucky to get a flight at all – they had re-booked me for tomorrow night! I used Mary Nell’s technique, and they found me a seat on another flight.”
I laughed in delight.
If we are very very lucky, we learn from our friends. I have several friends who are flowers of the South, but Mary Nell takes the crown as the Queen of the South. Mary Nell and I would be on the road to France in a heartbeat, any excuse would do. We had our favorite stores, we introduced one another to new favorites, new villages, new restaurants. Even better, our husbands liked each other, too, so now and then we would hit a very lovely restaurant, the four of us.
Mary Nell is polite and well-mannered. Always. Polite and well-mannered, and she always gets her way. When someone gives her information she doesn’t like, she pauses, gathers her forces, looks them directly in the eye and says the magic words: “That won’t do.” She shakes her head sadly as she delivers the words.
She follows up firmly, “No, that won’t do at all. We have a problem here. (Names what she wants, like the shoes she likes in a color not available in that shop) What are we going to do?” and she looks deeply into the other person’s eyes.
She uses the same techniques on the bullies she counsels in the guidance office, the out-of-control parents, the crazy teacher. They all back down in the face of Mary Nell’s relentlessly polite confrontation.
AdventureMan and I could only watch in absolute astonishment as Mary Nell worked her magic. After a while, we tried it, too. It took a few tries, but – it really does work!
Again, at the airport, as the ticketing guy explains that with the downsized plane, they have had to put my husband on a later flight. “No! That won’t do!” says Adventure Man. “People are counting on me! We have to fix this problem!”
The ticketing guy thought he had it fixed, but this technique forces him to search out new possibilities. Once again, Mary Nell’s technique prevails.
She never gets aggressive. She never raises her voice. And whoever is working with her knows, with utter conviction, that she is not going to go away until this problem is solved to her satisfaction. Woooo Hoooooo, Mary Nell.
France Rejects Veiled Muslim Wife
From BBC News: Europe
France rejects veiled Muslim wife
A French court has denied citizenship to a Muslim woman from Morocco, ruling that her practice of “radical” Islam is not compatible with French values.
The 32-year-old woman, known as Faiza M, has lived in France since 2000 with her husband – a French national – and their three French-born children.
Social services reports said the burqa-wearing Faiza M lived in “total submission to her male relatives”.
Faiza M said she has never challenged the fundamental values of France.
Her initial application for French citizenship was rejected in 2005 on the grounds of “insufficient assimilation” into France.
She appealed, and late last month the Conseil d’Etat, France’s highest administrative body which also acts as a high court, upheld the decision to deny her citizenship.
Three Movies
Most of the time, I work in silence. I have a lot of things I need to think about, and the silence helps me think. When I am ready for some entertainment, I usually listen to BBC. Occasionally, as in the last three days, I turn on the TV, more for background noise than anything else.
Most of the shows I like the best have sharp women as main characters – I love Veronica Mars! I enjoy The Closer, and Crossing Jordan. I love how they overcome their dysfunctions, and how they use their smarts to solve cases. I love it that they screw up from time to time, and have to suffer the consequences, but that they overcome their screw-ups and prevail.
The last three days, I watched parts of three movies. In the first, Braveheart, we were watching Mel Gibson playing Braveheart, but I was constantly distracted by his preening. Have you seen Braveheart? It’s like he is conscious of the camera on him every minute, we the viewers are merely mirrors, absorbing and reflecting his glorious countenance – how annoying! His vanity distracted from a pretty good movie.
Then I watched segments of Dracula playing Ludwig von Beethoven. I am from a family of movie watchers; my son and husband know all the names and rush to IMDb to check out anachronisms, historical inaccuracies, goofs in continuity, etc. All I know is that every time he went to kiss one of those Viennese women, I wanted to scream “Watch your neck!”
The movie was interesting, and they made good use of all Beethoven’s most loved music, and they used it appropriately. Oldman did a good job of bringing Beethoven to life and making his deafness tragic and believable. He also shows the fickleness and cruelty of the audience for whom he made his music.
Then, yesterday, there was Jack Bauer playing Paul Gauguin! In the early parts of the movie, he lived in a luminously violet painted interior, one I am dying to copy. But that is not the point. Jack Bauer is a stoic. Stoicism is great when it comes to playing a guy who has so many bad things happen to him in the space of 24 hours.
(this is also beside the point, but can you imagine being married to a guy like Jack Bauer? Like he would never tell you what he was really up to, the most exciting times in his life are not with you and his children but off protecting the United States of America, he comes back to you addicted to heroin, or totally burned out and just when you have him all patched up again he gets a call that his services are needed, and you don’t hear from him because he is all caught up in his latest adventure and then after 24 hours he comes home again, a total wreck? What kind of family life is THAT??)
As Paul Gauguin, he leaves his stockbroker existence and becomes a starving painter, then a starving painter who somehow makes it to the South Seas to paint some of the most amazingly colored art every created but his facial expression never changes much. Paul Gauguin was all about passion – and it is just too much a stretch for Jack Bauer. He is not a believable Gauguin. He is not even a believable Frenchman. He barely moves his hands! I would watch the movie again, however, just for a glimpse of those violet colored walls.
It must be a problem for actors, especially TV actors who become too closely associated with one role. I had to look up his real name: Kiefer Sutherland. Fortunately, a new season of 24 starts in just three days. If you ever want to feel sorry for Kiefer Southerland, look at his dad’s resume’ of movies: Donald Sutherland. It wouldn’t be easy to live up to that legend.
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