Tuesday, 12 January 2010

Je ne suis pas la seule Petite Anglaise...

Petite Anglaise by Catherine Sanderson is my new addiction. Carefully selected by my Mum and placed on my bed awaiting me on a return trip home for Christmas; it has proved to be a 'can't-put-down' read that has rendered my 8a.m. train trips to school  (along with an accompanying iPod soundtrack) rather more endurable.

Echoing a start not all that different from mine, this particular petite anglaise fell for France from the second she opened her Tricolore textbook; then set off on her year abroad in her early 20s, ending up in Paris (her dream city) where she chose to settle down.

A combination of gritty irony, hypocrisy and honesty this book is appealing for its rawness. It appeals particularly to me as I can identify with her subtly scathing comments about the neurotic French who have a pharmacy on every street corner, the pushy Parisians who ask to "passer derriere vous" in the metro (too close for comfort for a Brit) and the feeling of the metro-boulot-dodo lifestyle most Parisians come to accept as the norm. As the book suggests, Paris may be the city of love, but she's not perfect.