FRENCH LESSONS is divided into four different parts and I think the strongest sections are Parts 3 and 4. The first two parts are confusing, they provide information on the background of the author but I struggled to see how they related to her study of deconstruction, French culture and intellectual fascists. I do not speak French so I think that may be why I didn't appreciate this book as much as other readers who speak French, the author really dissects the language and hones in on little nuances (such as the French "r", I have no idea what that sounds like but thankfully there are videos on YouTube ;) of the language and culture (some French people make jokes about Belgians. I believe you can tell a whole lot about a culture based on who/what the butt of its jokes is). I did find the author's tales of boarding school in Switzerland to be fascinating along with her year abroad in Paris while in college but those chapters seemed rather disjointed from the rest of the book. This year in my English class we had to do a project on literary criticisms. Obviously deconstruction was one of them. I detested this project but I am graeful it was assigned because literary theories/criticisms seem to be popping up more and more in my reading (or my eyes have now been opened-much more likely). Anyway, I was already familiar with the basics of deconstruction but I really liked how this book really dug into deconstruction. Its a very confusing literary theory and one that I would never use as my personal reading lens haha. The author did an excellent job of breaking down deconstruction. Plus it was a good decision to intersperse her thoughts on deconstruction with personal tales, it kept the book from becoming too dry and intellectual-literary. Furthermore I found it fascinating to read about the triumphs and trials of being a language teacher. I admit I was one of those people who thought it was easy being a language teacher, especially for native speakers, I am so glad this book gently chided me about this way of thinking. Language teaching is full of frustrations with students and other faculty but it can also be rewarding. Imagine wanting SO BADLY to impart you love of language to students who simply do not care. Or who do not have long enough language class time to do more than care about simply getting a good grade."It was Linda Orr who helped me understand, when I was most agonized about what to say, that writing isn't a straight line but a process where you have to get in trouble to get anywhere. Because I was disturbed, it was better writing than any I had done before." pg. 194
Delightful memoir. Maybe that's just because I found myself identifying so wholly with Kaplan. Well, besides the herpes in the ear, being the daughter of a Nuremberg trial lawyer, going to boarding school in Geneva, being a Commie in the 70s part. She describes admirably, though, the relationship one can have with language (in this case, the French language), and its salvific quality (French saved her, and, I'd dare say, it has also saved me), as well as the strength of the desire one can have to become a true host or carrier of the language, and the impact that that has in shaping the course of one's life. This is an account of Francophilia as transformational (indeed, baptismal), or, what happens with radical Francophilia, that is, a love rooted in the uncommodifiable or the intangible, or, in other words, the transcendent (French, or language, in its most languagey-ness, although I'm sure there are many who would argue for how language has also become subjected to the god of the free market) instead of the surface manifestations of culture (tradition, architecture, couture). So, in other words, Francophilia as a spiritual movement instead of a stylistic veneer. On somewhat of a tangent, I would say that while it is true that one can point to the increasing commodification of language (as with all other things), language, at its core, remains beyond commodity, remains beyond being valued (or devalued) by human forces because it is, in essence, inevitable, and thus, in some sense, ultimate. One is born into language, one is immersed in it, one cannot avoid it. While there are commodified versions of language out there, that experience of a bought and sold language is preceded by a "pure" or unmediated experience of language, of that spirit. Indeed, in this sense, language I think resembles religion, which, though institutionalized through thousands of years of human practice, and the instrument of various oppressions, remains, at its root, an expression of the true yearning for connectedness and wholeness, of spirit.
What do You think about French Lessons: A Memoir (1994)?
A really nice memoir about adopting a new culture and language as a means of escaping an unsatisfactory past. By detailing how French has expanded her sense of identity and her understanding of the world, Kaplan reminds us why learning another language can be so rewarding. The only qualm I have with this memoir is how little Kaplan acknowledges the ways in which her privileged background informed her study of French. Perhaps this is not a valid complaint, but the lack of analysis about the advantageous opportunities that led her to study French makes her seem passive in the story of her own intellectual development.
—Lane Pybas
As a perennial struggler in French, taking lessons year after year, I appreciated the author's description of the truly obsessive dedication needed to become comfortable in her second language. This obsessiveness was, of course in her case, helped along by the tragedy of her father's death, combined with family wealth which enabled her to spend her junior year of high school in a Swiss boarding school. It's probably just my proletarian feelings, but Kaplan seems rather casual in her description of her growing up years, e.g., large country house on a lakefront in Michigan, Vassar undergraduate education, etc. The book is far more than simply a description of the acquisition of a language, since it goes into her study of the problem of intellectuals who were avowed Fascists (e.g., Celine), as well as the dilemma of seekers of the elusive in-depth understanding of the second language, culture, and literature.
—Carol
This book reminded me of Lost in Translation: A Life in a New Language with an important difference: This is not an immigrant story. Although the author has spent some time in France (and went to school for a while in Switzerland), she is an American who happens to love the French language. This is more of a memoir about how Kaplan learned French and what she has done with her knowledge of the language. But both books reflect on what learning a new language has done to shape not only their respective identities, but also the way they think.
—Ellen Keim
