Clair, are you paying attention? Useful expressions!

[mint]

Oops, pardon.....I meant to write colère, honest![:$]

Talking about cholera, I really enjoyed Love in the Time of Cholera by Garcia Marquez when it was read as the Book at Bedtime on Radio 4.

Must have a scout round and see if it's been translated into French.  I should imagine so as it's the sort of slow moving and nostalgic story that the French would love.

Thanks for all the posts, guys, full of tips and info.  Keep them coming, won't you?

[mint]

Confidence at an all-time high, I have signed up today for my first "reading aloud" session in a couple of days' time.

Even rang up the lady whose house it will be in to warn her that I am not française and will not be able to read aloud in the same manner as everyone else.

She was charming, said I would be very welcome and that it would be good to have a touch of multi-culturism!

Anyway, the book is called Dans les forets de Sybérie by Sylvain Tesson.  Have read the blurp and the couple of paragraphs available on line and I am not daunted![:D]

But, if someone has read the book and would like to provide me with a bit of a summary, that might give me a springboard of sorts?[;-)]

[ericd]

C’est l’histoire d’un mec, Sylvain Tesson, qui décide de vivre une expérience d’ermite avant ses 40 ans. Se retirer de la civilisation, fuir les contraintes sociales et les gesticulations qui accompagnent la sortie du nouvel Iphone. Il va même par voie de conséquence louper la dernière saison en date de Dr House et la fin de la Ligue des Champions. Il devrait avoir bien les boules… mais non. Parce qu’il est comme ça, Sylvain, la vie moderne le gonfle un peu.

Il choisit une région qu’il a déjà traversée lors de ses pérégrinations d’écrivain-voyageur et se fixe donc sur un coin qui attire peu les yachts de pop-stars ni même le vacancier allemand : le lac Baïkal, au Sud de la Sibérie. Avec neige à haut débit.

Le Lac Baïkal, c’est on ne peut plus rustique. On a même coutume de dire que « c’est beau, mais c’est chiant ». A noter que l’endroit est également (peu) fréquenté par des Russes rustres qui ne sont pas les derniers à boire des coups en regardant au loin, le regard hagard et la pensée fugace. On a envie de dire à Sylvain : excellent choix, tu vas bien te faire ch… et pouvoir faire connaissance avec ton toi intérieur. En même temps, c’est un peu l’objectif…

Car Sylvain Tesson va relater cette expérience de vie via un journal qui fait aujourd’hui l’objet de ce livre à grand succès. Chaque jour, notre ermite va noter ses impressions, ses pensées, ses activités quotidiennes, en enfilant les aphorismes et les verres de vodka glacées (sans avoir besoin du moindre frigo à froid ventilé tant le climat est rude). Accessoirement, Sylvain Tesson poétise abondamment, ému par la beauté simple et austère des paysages et animaux qui lui tiennent lieu de compagnons, et pas peu fier de son expérience.

« Dans le hamac, j’étudie la forme des nuages. La contemplation, c’est le mot que les gens malins donnent à la paresse pour la justifier aux yeux des sourcilleux qui veillent à ce que « chacun trouve sa place dans la société active ». »

Surtout (et parce qu’il n’a quand même rien d’autre à foutre), il va profiter de cette robinsonnade pour faire un point sur sa vie et LA vie en général. Depuis son point de chute, Sylvain semble heureux, sans contraintes autres que celles qui consistent à occuper son corps (balades de 20 km, coupe de bois, patinage artistique..), remplir son estomac, lire des bouquins et regarder le panorama. Sylvain Tesson se place en retrait du monde et jouit du bonheur d’être détaché de tout matérialisme.

« Rien ne me manque de ma vie d’avant. Cette évidence me traverse alors que j’étale du miel sur mes blinis. »

(je me permets de couper cette citation extraite de la page 176 : sur ce coup-là, c’est un peu Philippe Delerm au pays des Soviets dans « La première bouchée de blinis »… Mais cessons de faire le malin et reprenons…)

« Rien. Ni mes biens, ni les miens. Cette idée n’est pas rassurante. Quitte-t-on si facilement les habits ajustés de ses 38 ans de vie ? On dispose de tout ce qu’il faut lorsqu’on organise sa vie autour de l’idée de ne rien posséder. »

Dans les forêts de Sibérie constitue pour Sylvain Tesson la preuve qu’il se donne à lui-même que ses nourritures spirituelles le satisfont plus grandement que tout le jeu social et matériel de cette vie urbaine qui l’oppresse tant. Sa démonstration est assez efficace et l’on ressort de la lecture de ce texte avec la confirmation que le monde moderne n’est qu’un parc d’attractions où les mieux lotis cherchent les animations les plus efficaces pour occuper le temps qui passe.

Et donc ? Est-il vraiment besoin de fuir à ce point la modernité pour prouver la supériorité de l’esprit sur le matériel ? Ne peut-on pas arriver aux mêmes conclusions sans pour autant adopter un tel radicalisme dans son choix de vie, aussi temporaire soit-il ? Et pourquoi pêcher soi-même des ombles dans le trou d’un lac gelé plutôt que de faire confiance à une aimable poissonnière ?

Il traîne chez Sylvain Tesson un fond de misanthropie qui le pousse à la fuite et l’aide à supporter la difficile épreuve du froid et de l’isolement. Le détachement, l’expérience d’ermitage aident assurément à mettre sa propre vie en perspective mais il est difficile pour le lecteur d’envier l’auteur, malgré tous ses efforts pour nous convaincre de la justesse de sa perspective. Si ce n’est dans l’idée – et seulement l’idée – d’un dénuement révélateur.

Le fin mot de cette histoire ? Sylvain Tesson revient de son séjour d’homme des bois et va affronter le monde en lui livrant Dans les forêts de Sibérie. L’acte d’isolement est suivi d’un acte immensément social, la sous-exposition au monde succédant ironiquement à la sur-exposition due au succès de son livre. Etrange besoin de partage, finalement… Qu’aura-t-il vraiment fui, au juste ?

Le récit de Sylvain Tesson fait dans une certaine mesure l’effet que peuvent produire certains urbains lorsqu’ils annoncent fièrement leur départ à la campagne car « non, vraiment, on n’en peut plus de la ville… Et puis pour les enfants, c’est mieux… Le grand air, le calme…». L’idée est séduisante mais, en Sibérie ou ailleurs, pour combien de temps ?

[Loiseau]

Crumbs, ericd!

That IS the book, by the look of it! ;-)

Angela

[mint]

Rushing off now for my own balade de 12 km so just a quick note of thanks to Eric[:D] will have to suffice.

A quick read through of Eric's post makes me smile about the remark re German holiday makers which attitude apparently the French share with the Brits!

Also, I love the nod to Philip Delerm's La première gorgée de la bière[:)]

Well-armed is certainly to be preferred to poorly-prepared, so will be taking along Eric's extract!

[ericd]

And by the way, I have been privileged to visit Irkurtsk on lake Baikal many times over the years. Spring, autumn and winter.

Autumn visits (fueled by large doses of vodka supplied by the customer), boat trip on the lake and skinny deeping (only 2 of us went for it) in a water that was just about to turn into ice.

Winter visit, BBQ on the iced over lake !!!, crazy golf using bright orange balls. I clearly remember drinking imported red wine out of a plastic cup and literally watching the surface of the wine turn into ice crystals (didn't wait any longer and gulped it all down).

Spring, attending an outdoor camp (all houses made of tree trunks, all with one single room inside with a large double bed and an enormous wood stove in the corner). I could just imagine a weekend there in the middle of winter.

Also went to a "Banja (banya)" or sauna hut by a stream surrounded by a huge forest. Wood fired stove for the sauna and deep jump-in pool fed by the stream to cool off after.

Vodka was always available on all occasions.

My friend Yuri (Yura) Vassiliev, had a phobia of flying. He would therefore travel to Moscow by train (a journey of 5 days !!!) instead of flying the 6 hour journey. Happy days.

[mint]

Oh, oh, nearly fell by the first fence and that's BEFORE the start of the literary evening!

The invitation says we will have une soirée d'auberge espagnole afterwards!  So, I was thinking but where is a Spanish auberge to be found and would we get to eat some special tapas?

Luckily, I spoke to my pote this afternoon and she tells me that l'auberge espagnole means that we all take something to share and to eat with the others.

I blame the compostelle, stayed at too many auberges espagnoles.....[:D]

Eric I love your description of your activities at lake Baikal but I really think that I will give all of that a miss.  I already often think that winter in the Dordogne is at least as cold as Siberia!!

[mint]

Have now read your synopsis carefully Eric but the best bit is the critique.

Er.....what is "navel gazing" called in French?  I hope the book has more humourous observations than appears on the summary and that it isn't going to be only about someone coming to the "eternal verities" staying in a cabane by a lake in the middle of nowhere!!

Anyway, in thankfulness for having escaped the monumental faux pas of thinking auberge espagnole means going to a homely Spanish resto, I am taking a big Spanish omelette as my contribution[:)]

[ericd]

Navel gazing = Regarder son nombril (pronounce non-brie).

Tortilla, i like them !

[Cendrillon]

Just as a side note, there was a film called "l'auberge espagnole" and a follow up film "Russian dolls"

[mint]

All my worst prejudices and suspicions proven in one day!

In the past, when I was new to France, I went to some excellent classes (you might have read elsewhere on this thread that I recently had lunch with my French teacher from those days).  She fired my imagination, encouraged my already eager enthusiasm for the language, told me things about French culture that only a native person could explain, pushed me rather like a physical coach an athlete to achieve standards that I thought unreachable.

There were a few people who ducked out of the classes, I suspect finding the grammar and other "technical" aspects too hard to master.  Oh, we want to be able to speak so we are going to conversation classes instead.  My thinking was, OK, but what do you have to talk about if your vocabulary is limited, you knowledge of French life constrained and you do not understand the French side of the conversation in order to make the appropriate responses?

Against all my better judgement, today I was persuaded to go to one of these troisième age sessions where the French people spoke English to us and the Brits spoke or read in French!  Sounds good?  Well, actually no!!!!  For a start, Brits outnumbered French about 4 to 1.  The Brits, some of whom were by no means new to France, had the most execrable accents, proceeded to read a printed article, read without even basic understanding of what they were reading (pausing in the wrong places, etc) and then proceeded to translate contents into English.  The experience was so excrutiating that I extracted myself as soon as I decently could and cursed myself for being stupid enough to go in the first place.

The French who were present did not know enough English to be able to say where the translations were totally wrong. The Brits, with their limited French, were not even aware of their own mistakes. I shuddered through most of the nearly hour I was there and now feel seriously traumatised.

To those people who go to such things and find them of benefit, I can only say I applaud you.  I certainly could never ever again put myself through something so painful.

On to a happier subject altogether, the "lire ensemble" session was most interesting.  I was given the option to read or not and I said of course I'd read.  After several sentences, I asked whether they could understand me and (maybe through politeness) they said they could and I even got a spontaneous applause when I finished!

What I really liked was to hear different people read and to note the pauses and changes of tones the French use to aid meaning and understanding.  However, I don't think I could have managed without the copy of the book I was thoughtfully provided with.  Next time, I am not going to look at the words, to test whether I could understand just from the spoken text.

Another session towards the end of this month and I was even invited to choose a title.  Alas, my limited knowledge of French books did not permit me to make an acceptable suggestion.  So, if anyone has read a suitably good book recently, could you tell me what it is, svp?  

[idun]

But I didn't go to these groups......... you make them sound dire. However, I most certainly understand people wanting conversation and making friends.

How does one do it with little french......... next to no french? Well I did, but not in groups. Listening AND I cannot emphasise enough how important french TV was and not mixing with other english speakers on anything like a regular basis. And bit by bit I did it. 

We have different goals with this. For me, being able to deal with anyone and everything I needed to, and have a good entourage and very good friends sufficed and my execrable accent never hindered me with anyone french, apart from one family and we are most certainly enemies[Www] they are truly despicable people.

[ericd]

I'm not an avid reader (unlike our eldest daughter but she is intellectual).

This is probably the best book I have ever read and I was only 16 years old:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Grand_Meaulnes

[NormanH]

I often recommend La Petite Fille de Monsieur Linh

http://www.livredepoche.com/la-petite-fille-de-monsieur-linh-philippe-claudel-9782253115540

English review here:

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2011/may/01/monsieur-linh-child-philippe-claudel-review

It is short, written in beautifully clear French, cheap to buy if several of you  want to get one and still in print, and it is very topical since it concerns a migrant arriving in Europe although from an earlier period, presumably the 'boat people" time.

I have just picked up from my local bookshop today and would be happy to send it if you IM me.

[Loiseau]

Ha ha! Just seen this headline in Le Figaro online:

"Royaume-Uni: Boris Johnson, un ex-maire de Londres à la langue bien pendue"

It's a wonderful image, I must say...

I suppose we would say "has a good turn of phrase" or "has the gift of the gab" perhaps?

Angela

[NormanH]

Specious lying bartstewart?

http://www.linternaute.com/expression/langue-francaise/316/avoir-la-langue-bien-pendue/

Two rival leaders from their days at School

In covert battle to impose their rule.

Bully-boy Boris, brilliant yet Buffoon;

And Dave the Dullard with a silver spoon

Minted from wealth off-shore. One has his wits

And governs London Town. The City shits

Are puppet masters for the other clown.

Dave fights for survival, Boris for renown--

The scores they settle one can only guess.

Dave is half-hearted; Boris, emptiness.

While Brexit threatens these two would be great

And let ambition rule affairs of State.

[ericd]

[quote user="Loiseau"]Ha ha! Just seen this headline in Le Figaro online:

"Royaume-Uni: Boris Johnson, un ex-maire de Londres à la langue bien pendue"

It's a wonderful image, I must say...

I suppose we would say "has a good turn of phrase" or "has the gift of the gab" perhaps?

Angela[/quote]

It means he talks too much .....

[NormanH]

Shows how you easily you could make a mistake just by guessing...

I can imagine someone thinking it meant he had 'his tongue hanging out'

[woolybanana]

Maybe 'hung by his tung!!'

[Cendrillon]

Book suggestion for Mint:

Le Bal by Irene Nemirovsky

Excellent short story, I think your reading group would enjoy this.

[mint]

No time to reply to earlier posts but will be back ce soir[:D] to comment!

In the meantime and so that you'd all have time to think about it until my return [:D], here is one where I am beginning to doubt my English nevermind my French!

OK, we were discussing the word péjoratif (all French with the notable exeption of moi) and I asked is it the same as dérogatoire?

Mais non, they replied, and they proceeded to explain dérogatoire as when you fail to do something as in dérogation.

I did see where they were coming from, so I said well then is dérogatoire the opposite of obligatoire?  Smiles all round and noddings of the head and exclamations of beh voila!

All well and good, EXCEPT, I thought that in English perjorative means the same as derogatory?  As in "he made some perjorative (derogatory) remarks about the leader of the opposition"?

I tried to discuss it with OH but HIS English is, apparently, no better than mine.  I let him off because English after all is his second language, Welsh being his first.

So now I need people who understand ENGLISH as well as French to clear this up.

Is it that English and French meanings of derogatory and dérogatoire do NOT actually mean the same thing and is a "faux ami"?

Explanations please svp.

[mint]

Sorry, just repeating myself[:-))]

[Loiseau]

Oh yes, there's "dérogation" too, isn't there? I can't remember what it means exactly, but it's encountered in some official documents. Is it cancelling a request for something? There is that Latin verb rogare(?)=to ask! I seem to recall! and then there's Rogation Day, which I think is to do with asking.

A faux ami that caught me out once was when I said in French that a friend and I were having a "contretemps" - and although we say it in English with a bit of a Frenchified accent, it turned out that that word has a TOTALLY different sense in French.

Angela

[idun]

Here is a lovely french description of ......... well........ do you know it??????

du toc

[ericd]

En argot ....... c'est d'la merde !