Cafes in Provence

And this is why this book is so absolutely, delightfully entertaining, and why I am eagerly devouring every single page. I cannot believe I'm almost halfway done. I simply don't want it to end.

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“I have liked almost every café that I have ever been to in France, even the ratty little ones in tiny villages where the flies are more plentiful than customers, but I have a soft spot for the sprawling cafés of the Cours Mirabeau, and the softest spot of all for the Deux Garçons. Successive generations of proprietors have put their profits under the mattress and resisted all thoughts of redecoration, which in France usually ends in a welter of plastic and awkward lighting, and the interior looks much the same as it must have looked fifty years ago.

“The ceiling is high, and toasted to a caramel color by the smoke from a million cigarettes. The bar is burnished copper, the tables and chairs gleam with the patina bestowed by countless bottoms and elbows, and the waiters have aprons and flat feet, as all proper waiters should. It is dim and cool, a place for reflection and a quiet drink. And then there is the terrace, where the show takes place.

“Aix is a university town, and there is clearly something in the curriculum that attracts pretty students. The terrace of the Deux Garçons is always full of them, and it is my theory that they are there for education rather than refreshment. They are taking a degree course in café deportment, with a syllabus divided into four parts.

One: The Arrival

One must always arrive as conspicuously as possible, preferably on the back of a crimson Kawasaki 750 motorcycle driven by a young man in head-to-toe black leather and three-day stubble. It is not done to stand on the pavement and wave him good-bye as he booms off down the Cours to visit his hairdresser. That is for gauche little girls from the Auvergne. The sophisticated student is too busy for sentiment. She is concentrating on the next stage.

Two: The Entrance

Sunglasses must be kept on until an acquaintance is identified at one of the tables, but one must not appear to be looking for company. Instead, the impression should be that one is heading into the café to make a phone call to one’s titled Italian admirer, when—quelle surprise!—one sees a friend. The sunglasses can then be removed and the hair tossed while one is persuaded to sit down.

Three: Ritual Kissing

Everyone at the table must be kissed at least twice, often three times, and in special cases four times. Those being kissed should remain seated, allowing the new arrival to bend and swoop around the table, tossing her hair, getting in the way of the waiters, and generally making her presence felt.

Four: Table Manners

Once seated, sunglasses should be put back on to permit the discreet study of one’s own reflection in the café windows—not for reasons of narcissism, but to check important details of technique: the way one lights a cigarette, or sucks the straw in a Perrier menth, or nibbles daintily on a sugar lump. If these are satisfactory, the glasses can be adjusted downward so that they rest charmingly on the end of the nose, and attention can be given to the other occupants of the table.

“This performance continues from mid-morning until early evening, and never fails to entertain me. I imagine there must be the occasional break for academic work in between these hectic periods of social study, but I have never seen a textbook darken the café tables, nor heard any discussion of higher calculus or political science. The students are totally absorbed in showing form, and the Cours Mirabeau is all the more decorative as a result.”

Looking for the perfect book for light, delicious summer reading? Pick up A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle. I cannot recommend it enough.

Article of the week!

On writing

by Andrée Seu

The biggest help to my writing has been the discipline of having to fit everything into 800 words. That's on the "craft" side. On the "inspiration" side it's the daily reading of Scripture. The World Journalism Institute gave me three hours to tell students in Asheville how I write, but I had only those two points, really. WJI could have saved itself a little money.

I read a whole book on potty training once, which is a bit much, don't you think? A yellow highlighter boiled the essentials down to about an ounce of meat sandwiched between lots of airy bread. What follows is my ounce of meat.

How to write an essay: You're drifting off and a thought pops in; and it sounds like a lead sentence so you jot it on the pad you keep under the bed. You look for sleep, but it tugs at your ear, till you finally give in and brainstorm the idea for all it's worth — the gems and the junk alike. Come daylight, you mentally solve syntactical problems — while folding laundry, molding meatballs, conversing with your neighbor.

Then you sit in front of a white page, terrified. You phone your mother crying, "This is ridiculous! I can't write! Who am I kidding!" — which is all well and good, but eventually you have to face the paper again. You take a deep breath and say, "OK, don't make art, just make sense." (The movie Finding Forrester notes, "You write the first draft with your heart, and the second draft with your head" — which isn't too bad for Hollywood: Just get it all down.)

Good writing is confident and lean. Compare the first sentence of this essay with an alternative: "There are perhaps many helpful tips for writing, but in my opinion, one of the most helpful may be to try to fit everything you have to say into an essay of approximately 800 words." Zzzzzzzzzzz. You've already gone to the kitchen to make "s'mores," right?

Replace generalities with vivid details ("gone to the kitchen to make 's'mores'" is slightly better than "gone to the kitchen for a snack" — which is hands down better than mumbling about the reader's "waning interest"). "Brief fame": forgettable; "15 minutes of fame": a keeper. And if Abe Lincoln had said "Many years ago," instead of "Four score and seven years ago," he'd have been right that the world would "little note nor long remember."

Thou shalt not resort to clichés. Thou shalt not hold out for the "best" of all leads — a good lead will do. Thou shalt not try to produce the definitive piece on St.Patrick — a helpful one will do. Thou SHALT use parallelism from time to time, to spice things up.

Jesus taught by telling stories. Think about it.

Say things in a startling way (there are precedents: "If your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out"). Then be ready to take your lumps in the "letters to the editor."

Conversational writing doesn't mean indifference to grammar; learn the difference between a comma and semicolon. On the other hand, forget what Sister Clair said in 3rd grade about sentences ALWAYS needing a subject and verb. Not so. But know how to break the rules the right way.

What's good for life is good for the writing life: Write "anything that would be helpful" (Acts 20:20). Also, you have heard that it was said, "The writer makes his own luck" — meaning that he should go out and live an exciting life. But the Lord says, "Defend the cause of the weak" (Psalms 82:3) — and you will have material aplenty.

Don't be intimidated by the "other guys" (Time, Newsweek). "Since they have rejected the word of the Lord, what kind of wisdom do they have?" (Jeremiah 8:9). Besides, they throw around phrases like "a house divided cannot stand" without a clue as to where they come from.

Dirty little secrets of the trade: Writers don't know where they're going till they get there; first drafts are always pathetic; there is no such thing as an original thought.

Writing as a Christian is a path strewn with tough choices and trade-offs, and sometimes you blow it. If you save back issues or hit the Internet, dig up the May 26 "Judgment Calls" and cross out "love" and write in "sex." The preacher's anecdote — to illustrate that mortals are ill equipped to compare earthly joys to heaven's — actually went, "Daddy, is sex better than chocolate?" Clearer now, right?

Still, if you think this is for you, here is your first assignment: Write a thousand words, as tight as you can make it, on "Why I want to write for WORLD." Then slash it by 50 percent. Now you've got yourself an essay.

Oh, and "keep yourselves from idols" (1 John 5:21).




Republished with permission from WORLD Magazine (Vol. 16, No. 31). Copyright © 2007 WORLD Magazine. This article was published on Boundless.org on April 29, 2008.