Mademoiselle Julie

Readers of the Thpanish blog will be familiar with my unconditional love for the amazing adventures of the lovable duo of Strindberg and Helium:

Strindberg and Helium at the Beach

This evening, I tried something far more risky. I attended a work in which only the depressive genius of Strindberg was represented, without the compensating comic relief of Helium to lighten the mix. Specifically, the Théâtre National de la Colline's production of "Miss Julie" (in French, with helpful surtitles in English). It had been recommended on the ACCORD school's website.

Paraphrasing the program notes:

Diving into Strindberg is a descent into Hell. The Hell of class struggle and the battle between the sexes. The Hell of paranoid delirium and complete breakdown... a long day's journey into night, into the heart of darkness ...

Indeed. Old August was one messed-up dude, with a singularly pessimistic view of human nature.

The production was excellent, and I feel that I certainly earned my culture points this evening (bonus points for hardly availing myself of the surtitles - yeah!).

Here is a link to what the Financial Times reviewer had to say about the production:

Clare Shine's review of "Mademoiselle Julie"

I wish I could say I found the evening uplifting. But, frankly, the whole thing left me feeling kind of fragile.

I miss my pussycats.

More French limericks

A young fille de joie down in Brest
Liked to wander ze boulevards half-drest
With a mesmerized air
Ze men used to stare
I think you can fill in the rest!

Book Review : "A Paradise Built in Hell" by Rebecca Solnit

A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communites That Arise in Disaster by Rebecca Solnit

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


Before reading this book I was not a fan of Rebecca Solnit. Upon the insistent recommendation of several friends who rarely steer me wrong, a few years ago I bought a copy of her earlier book about Eadweard Muybridge ("River of Shadows") and found it completely unreadable. I could sense that Solnit was smart, but it was as if she were speaking in tongues - wading through her prose was sheer torment. So I ditched it.



About a month ago I heard her speak about this latest book on a local radio program and she was so incredibly smart and passionate and articulate, and her thesis was so appealing, that I felt compelled to give her another chance. A Paradise Built in Hell was well worth it. It's an extraordinary book -- fascinating, thought-provoking, and ultimately persuasive in supporting Solnit's thesis. And although her style is still somewhat undisciplined, and the material could have been more tightly organized, I found these aspects less annoying than in the previous book, probably because they seemed to be primarily a manifestation of her infectious enthusiasm for the material.



Viewers of "The History Channel" will be familiar with its habit of broadcasting a regularly scheduled "Apocalypse Week", during which they attempt to goose the ratings by scaring the bejasus out of their viewing audience. A typical day's programming during Apocalypse Week takes one possible way in which the world might end (megavolcano explosion, meteor impact, nuclear holocaust, deadly plague, climatic catastrophe, the Rapture, Armageddon as prophesied in the Book of Revelations, insert your own favorite apocalyptic nightmare here ...) and develops it in depth. The cynicism and idiocy with which these scenarios are fleshed out cannot be overstated (e.g. alleged "experts" pontificate on whether emergency services are likely to be overextended, or whether planes will fall out of the skies, in the immediate aftermath of the Rapture; or the apocalypse is linked to the prophecies of Nostradamus, or the Mayan calendar; boundless idiocy runs rampant). Certain themes are common to all apocalyptic scenarios, however- in particular, a complete breakdown of the social order, with people reverting overnight to atavistic stereotypes, resorting to looting and hoarding as they fight tooth and claw for limited resources. This projected behavioral model is also popular with government and law enforcement agencies, e.g. to justify the aggressive intervention by armed law enforcement personnel with broad powers and orders to shoot to kill (think of the official response to Hurricane Katrina). It's based on a depressing and frightening view of human nature.



In A Paradise Built in Hell Solnit mounts a spirited argument that this pessimistic view of how people respond to catastrophe is fundamentally wrong. Instead, she argues, disasters are far more likely to bring out the best in people -- there is a natural desire to help one another, which is actually easier to put into action, given the relaxation of social barriers that often prevails in the

wake of a disaster. You might go for years just nodding at that neighbor across the street, but after the earthquake/fire/blackout the two of you may just end up having a real conversation.



Solnit grounds her argument in five specific case studies:



* the San Francisco earthquake of 1906

* the 1917 explosion of the munitions ship Mont Blanc in Halifax, Nova Scotia

* Mexico City's 1985 earthquake

* the World Trade Center attacks of 2001

* Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath.



There were instances where a bad situation was made worse when those in power, through fear or panic, resorted to extreme and unwarranted measures (General Funston's imposition of de facto martial law following the SF quake, where soldiers were given license to shoot to kill anyone who did not cooperate satisfactorily; FEMA's and law enforcement's response after Katrina, where citizens were treated as likely criminals rather than people who needed to be helped). The fear-mongering narrative of barely contained pandemonium often finds traction with the media, but is rarely accurate. By detailed examination of the five case studies, Solnit makes an extremely convincing argument that the "natural" response to disaster is increased cooperation, a sense of solidarity and future possibility, indeed a degree of exhilaration among most survivors.



All five examples are interesting, but her discussion of the WTC attacks and Hurricane Katrina stand out as exceptionally measured, thoughtful and thought-provoking.



This is an extraordinary, wonderful book, which I recommend to everyone.



View all my reviews

Weekend in the Marais

Here are a few things I like about the Marais.


The "public poet" who sets up shop right by the Centre Pompidou.


The second-hand bookstore, "Archives de la Presse", on Rue des Archives, where one can pick up delightful history magazines from the 1950s, like those shown above, for only one Euro apiece, with the unassailable justification that one is doing so to improve one's French.


Farther down the rue des Archives, the Musee de la Chasse et de la Nature, evidemment!


The weekend market at the Bastille, including that delightful chocolatier's stall. (No, these are not for me; Operation Wise Food Choices is back in full force -- they are for the hardworking staff at the ACCORD School of Languages. If there should happen to be one or two left over, then tant mieux pour moi!)


The charming, though slightly puzzling, graffiti of the artist THTF.


The patisseries!

At the movies

I've watched three (well, two and a fraction) movies in the last four days, which is something of a record for me.

The first was a video I borrowed from school, "Le Diner de Cons" (Dinner of the Idiots, marketed in the U.S. as "The Dinner Game"), a French movie from around 1998, which was infinitely better than I had imagined it would be. Even better, I had no problem understanding it - I estimate I got around 95% of the dialog.

Yesterday night's movie, "Le Gamin au Velo" ("The Boy on the Bicycle"), which I went to see with Karin, a classmate, and some of her friends, was an entirely different matter. It was so treacly (treaclyly?) sentimental that I had to flee after only 30 minutes, for fear of falling into a diabetic coma.




Finally, this afternoon I decided to brave Woody Allen's latest effort, "Midnight in Paris". Despite an over-reliance on the picture-postcard beauty of Paris's most cliched sites, not to mention the groan-inducing "Brigadoon" device, it had its moments of charm. Though Carla Bruni was entirely forgettable in her brief cameo as a tour guide, it was fun to watch Adrien Brody hamming it up as Dali, Kathy Bates having a grand old time as Gertrude Stein, and assorted others vamping it up as part of the lost generation of Paris in the 20s. And at least we were spared the sight of Woody Allen himself slobbering over some attractive female one third his age, though Owen Wilson was severely lacking in the charisma department. All in all, not quite as awful as one might have expected.

Musee de la Chasse et de la Nature

It is an axiom that one takes far greater advantage of available cultural opportunities when one is traveling than when one is at home. This afternoon I visited the "Museum of Nature and the Hunt", which is right in the neighborhood, on the Rue des Archives. I had a spectacular time.

The museum is housed in a gorgeous 17th century mansion, the Hôtel de Guénégaud. In addition to the permanent collection, there was a temporary exhibition of photographs, called "Animonuments", which consisted of a hundred or so extremely witty photos of animals, interacting with people, or with their surroundings, in various eye-catching ways. Here are two of my favorite photos from that exhibition:





Then there was the permanent collection. My favorite part, hands down, was the "Cabinet of Curiosities". Here are just two of the reasons why:





Catholic readers will have no trouble recognizing the first of the two pictures above as a monstrance, even if its use has been perverted to display an ostrich egg, rather than the Body of Christ. But it is the second image which leaves me, frankly, rapturous. It is a (very rare) picture of unicorn fewmets.

Unicorn fewmets. How awesome is that? If I were to die tonight, it would be with a beatific grin on my face.

A Trip to the Gelateria

This afternoon, I went with some classmates to a gelateria in the Marais, reputed to be one of the best in the city (it's on somebody's list).

Pre-gelateria anticipatory giddiness.

Taking the subway to the gelateria.

On the way to the gelateria.

The gelateria!

Difficult choices to be made.

It was a fine time (duh, gelato!). I had a delicious affogato (vanilla ice-cream drowned in espresso). Everyone was very happy.

Except later, when I got home and discovered that I no longer had my nifty little Canon IXUS 115 HS, I was not so happy. How I cursed my own stupidity, as I retraced my steps through the Marais, praying to the patron saint of terminally moronic tourists that I might be spared punishment, just this once.

As you may have guessed from the photos above, my prayers did not go unanswered. When I got back to the gelateria, all flustered and breathless, the lady behind the counter gave me a big smile, reached into a drawer, handed me the camera and said, deadpan as could be: "We've been expecting you!"

Je suis con, moi. Mais j'ai eu de la chance! Here's to happy endings.