The Inferiority of French Superiority

I guess that if you are a country that has gotten trounced in every war you've been in during the last three or four hundred years, and if you are the proud inventor of such bizarre "advances" as the MiniTel, and you have managed to be named the "Wrongway Feldman" of the community of nations, you have the right to feel superior.

(Who is Wrongway Feldman, you ask? Look here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wrongway_Feldman).

As both of you who read my blogs know, I am often corrected by French people, not the least of which is a person living here at home, by their saying to me, "We in France..."

The "we", of course, is used in the royal sense, much like that other useless monarch, the queen of England, uses the word "we", as in "WE believe that young boys should take cold baths in winter to temper their spirits."

The subject of this rant comes to mind because every time I hear this "We in France..." thing, it rubs me wrong. It seems to me that there is an implied "We know better than the rest of the world how to...." (fill in the blank with any activity known to man).

Here is the dialog from a recent conversation I had with a French university professor during the meeting of a book club to which I was invited. The subject was Latin American literature and in particular the books of young Mexican authors who disregard the cannons of "good grammar" and "correct punctuation":

The professor: The fact of the matter is that I don't consider that literature.

Me: The fact of the matter is that those young authors don't care what you consider literature.

The professor: Well, that might be, but the Real Academia Española has strict rules concerning...

Me: Well, we Latin Americans don't give a hoot for what that stuffy body of old geezers think is the right usage of language, especially as it is spoken in Latin American countries.

The professor: That might be but having conducted research into Latin American literature for the last 20 years, we in France...

Me: You in France always seem to be 20 years behind everything. And, you have not produced anything new for the last 50 years. You are still dragging out the impressionist for exhibitions, while the rest of the world has gone on to installations, minimalist art, and whatnot (not that I like the stuff, but that's what's happening); you keep reviving rock starts from the 50s and 60s 'cause you haven't had a figure of note since Brel or Piaff. My God, the best you've got is that ridiculous Johnny Halliday who has to be taken on stage in a wheel chair. You still have millions of MiniTel users while the rest of the world has moved on the the World Wide Web! And as far as literature is concerned, you have to import Russians and Englishmen because the best that the Prix Goncourt can do is come up with a high-school biology teacher who considers himself a "Sunday writer". As far as Latin American literature is concerned, you probably think that the "happening thing" are the authors of the Boom, most of which are in the 70s and 80s.

The moderator: Please gentlemen, we won't fight about this...

Me: No fight,no fight...just letting the gentleman know that WE in Latin America don't need anyone to tell us what is literature and what is not.

I made trips to France in the late 70s and early 80s, and I have been here on a more or less permanent basis for eight years now. Yet, I hardly consider myself an expert of French culture, politics, manners, or any other specific manifestation of the Gallic way of life. Yet, it seems that all the locals need is a few vacations abroad spent mostly in luxury hotels and exclusive beaches to become experts in, say, Spain, Morocco, or even Mexico. (Oui, je connais Mexique. J'ai été à Cancun!).

Here is a member of our household (who shall remain nameless) on a point of language (the use of a colloquial phrase) that we were discussing:

Me: No, the phrase should be...

Household member: But, that is the way the Spanish use it.

Me: No, that is not the way they use it; in fact...

Household member: But, I know it is. I have been to Spain on vacation with my parents several times and that is the way they use it.

Me: That last time you were on vacation with your parents in Spain, Franco was still in power and the trains ran on steam. I think you misremember.

Household member: I do not misremember. We in France know Spain very well, and...

Me: We in Mexico have been speaking Spanish for 500 years, and I have been speaking the same for 60, not to mention that I have studied Spanish Literature, frequently read Spanish newspapers, listen to the Spanish news, and on occasion go to Spain, so I guess WE have a bit more knowledge of the language, formal and otherwise, than a French vacationer might have.

Household member: Nevertheless, I will ask my friend, who is a teacher of Spanish and whose parents are Spanish.

The Gallic spirit, fueled by Gallic pride, does not give up easily.

I was having a cup of wine at a local spot in downtown Biarritz when the man standing next to me asked if I was English (something that often happens). I said I was not and told him I was in fact Mexican. He smiled in surprise and said:

"You must find it very different here, especially the people."

"Why do you think that?" I asked.

"Well, the Mexican people are so warm and gregarious; we French are cold and arrogant, not too friendly."

"I don't know about cold and unfriendly. Most people have treated me very decently; but, I would agree on the arrogance. But, I think that is mainly taught, not a part of your character."

"Why do you think it is taught?"

"I think, although I am not an expert, that it has to do with the difficult history this country has had. Wars and revolutions have created a need for self-assertion, that no matter how bad things got, France would survive because of the many things good it has, among them its people. It is no surprise that in school you are told that French is the most beautiful language, and the food is the best, and so on. Although, I have to admit, the countryside is the most beautiful I have every seen."

"Well," he said, "we do think that we have the best of everything: food, country, language...but, when we travel, we find out that there are many other places with good things, too. And that some things here are very good, but not the best."

"You know what they say: travel educates. But, one thing is sure: your wine is still the best."

We clicked our glasses to that and ordered another round.