It is next to impossible to try to summarise what exactly goes on in this book in the way of plot.  All that I can really say is that it follows the relationships of the eponymous Marie, some good and some bad, and watches as they unfold.

The original French title of this book is A la recherche de Marie, an homage to A la recherche du temps perdu, suggesting that it is probably full of very clever allusions to Proust which I completely failed to spot, not having read Proust.  In fact, I’m sure anyone who is more familiar with this type of literature would probably find reading Marie a far richer, more involving experience than I did, but as it was I was happy just to drift along, carried by the lovely prose.

This prose is often astute and insightful, and I’m going to have to quote a large chunk of it to give a proper feel for Bordouxhe’s writing:

A few days ago, a young woman in a linen skirt was sitting on a sunny beach.  Today, a young woman plunges tanned hands into soapy water, goes down to the cellar to fetch the coal, cleans the floor, peels the vegetables.  Marie thinks of other young women she knows and smiles at the astonishment they would feel if they could see her now.  What did these other women think of Marie; why does she feel herself to be so different, and why has she never succeeded in really becoming their friend?  Perhaps life is simpler if your world is like theirs, confined to choosing wallpaper or sofa covers, to a luxurious home, to the importance of having a maid, to immaculate receptions, to tea parties with friends where a few ideas are exchanged on the latest books.  If they have a child, they love it not because it is flesh of their flesh but because it has finally given some point to their existence.  They give the impression of being happy or, if they are not, they speak of happiness as an unusable, clearly defined object that need only be discovered and then hung in the apartment like a sprig of mistletoe.  (pp. 30-31)

The writing (and indeed the translation) of this book is skillful, alternating as it does between the faintly vague and disconnected atmosphere that I tend to associate with writing of this period and style, and moments of intense, vibrant, passionate immediacy.  As Bourdouxhe says:

So it was that whole minutes, hours, years passed by — all full, fine and perfect in their way, but essentially artificial, for if Marie were not in charge of them, these moments would not exist; she alone constructs them, with her heart, her flesh, her personal desires.  This was her only faith, and it shone as brightly as the reins she held in her hands.  (p. 60)

Marie herself also switches between these two extremes, sometimes quiet and distracted, as though she isn’t really present on the page, and at others vivacious, opinionated and irrepressible.  She also seems incredibly modern and forward for a woman of this time, perhaps because the book is quite candid about her sexual encounters.  Marie is a truly believable character and the book portrays the meanderings of her mind in such a way that I felt I knew her as much as it is ever possible to know someone (which, as this story suggests, is never as well as you might think).  The final chapter, the only one narrated directly by Marie, is simply stunning.

I will definitely be seeking out more of Bourdouxhe’s work after reading Marie.  It’s a shame that she seems to be so little known, although perhaps this isn’t true of the French speaking world.  I highly recommend her, and at fewer than 200 pages, what have you got to lose?

Marie by Madeleine Bourdouxhe, translated by Faith Evans.  Published by Bloomsbury, 1998, pp. 185.  Originally published in 1943.

Language is something that I find absolutely fascinating: I love reading about how different languages developed, their particular foibles, the origins of words and the meanings of obscure idioms.  I was therefore ever so pleased to be sent a free copy of False Friends Faux Amis by Ellie Malet Spradbery to review through the LibraryThing Early Reviewers programme.  I’ve studied a reasonable about of French, both modern and medieval, so I thought that my knowledge was probably sufficient to appreciate such a book and French and English share such a lot of vocabulary that an exploration of faux amis sounded like an interesting concept.  The blurb promised ‘A light-hearted exploration of the French language and culture, and, in particular, words and phrases that could trip up the unwary linguist’.  Having read books on the English language which sounded similar, how could I possibly resist.

Unfortunately, this book turned out to be a huge disappointment.  The description ‘exploration’ implied, as far as I was concerned, that there would be some sort of discussion of the French language and those unusual words and phrases which an English speaker might find confusing, perhaps explaining where the differences arise and what their roots are in an accessible fashion.  However, with the exception of an ‘And Finally’ section so brief you could swallow it whole without needing a glass of water, the aforementioned blurb constitutes the only complete sentences in the entire book.  To my surprise, the book consists entirely of vocabulary lists and, while these can be interesting up to a point, a list can only be so engaging.  The definitions felt brief and lacking in context or information and there isn’t even an introduction stating what the author is trying to do in the book, it just launches straight in with the lists.  ‘A light-hearted exploration of the French language’ it most definitely is not.

The lists are divided into six sections.  The first deals with the faux amis of the title, taking words which are either common to both languages or are aurally or visually similar and providing French-English and English-French translations for them.  The second section was the one that I found the most interesting, dealing with translations of French idioms, but was also the chapter where I felt humorous explanatory prose was the most lacking.  I would have really enjoyed the author’s conjectures as to why the English say ‘whipping boy’ while the French say ‘tete de Turc’ and why the French for ‘to faint’ would literally translate as ‘to fall in apples’.  It’s a shame that this opportunity wasn’t taken.  Section three tackles French words which look very similar but have totally different meanings, such as ‘le loup’ (wolf) and ‘la loupe’ (magnifying glass).  Section four contains thematic vocabulary lists, such as tree and animal names, which is all well and good but seems very odd considering the aim of the book, which is supposedly to clear up linguistic misunderstandings, not teach the reader how to say ‘hedgehog’ (that would be ‘herisson’, by the way) and other woodland creatures in French.  The fifth part is helpfully entitled ‘Miscellaneous’ and is the most bizarre collection of words and phrases, ranging from a few articles of clothing to how to ask for the bill, completely unrelated either to one another or to faux amis.  I’m at a loss as to why they were included at all.  The sixth and final chapter is back on track as the author translates common English phrases into French by sense rather than literally.  The problem with this is that I could never use this as a reference book: if I came across a word of which I thought I knew the meaning but it didn’t seem to fit, I would look it up in the dictionary, not go to this book on the off chance that it’s one of the words and phrases listed in its 87 pages.  If I needed to translate an idiomatic phrase, my first resort would, again, be the dictionary, or another source with a more academic tone and fewer exclamation marks.  When she tries to make vocabulary sound fun and accessible, Spradbery stops sounding reliable, which is an unfortunate flaw.

False Friends Faux Amis has a really good concept, but it is sadly let down by execution.  The lack of an effective system of organisation and the informality of style make it largely unhelpful, but the lists unbroken by any prose make it largely uninteresting.  This book suffers because it can’t decide whether to be an entertaining curiosity or a useful reference tool and in trying to combine the two achieves neither aim.

False Friends Faux Amis by Ellie Malet Spradbery.  Published by Matador, 2010, pp. 87.

Reading this book, it’s hard to believe that the events it chronicles happened less than 50 years ago. The story of Malika and her family is shocking, and rightfully so, but is told in a way which is dignified and matter-of-fact rather than the tabloid style, deliberately provocative narrative it could easily have become. I was amazed at how a book which is essentially the account of twenty years of monotony in jail was never tedious or repetitive. The account was a bit slow to get going and the very straightforward writing style which works so well later on seems a bit dull at first when describing family history and Malika’s earlier opulent existence at court. Of course, this could be due to the translator rather than the author, and this section is short enough that it doesn’t detract too much from the rest of the book.

La Prisonniere by Malika Oufkir and Michele Fitoussi.  Published by Corgi, 2001, pp. 397.  Originally published in French in 1980.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.