My Love Affair with France
People ask me occasionally where I’m from. They seem to have a hard time believing me
when I tell them I was born in Lexington, Kentucky, and lived there until I was
eighteen and went off to college (and to see the world). “But your books are all set in France….” It’s not a question, really. More of an observation, but one that subtly
requests an explanation.
So I should start by saying that not all my books are set in
France. Of my current published or
contracted novels, only half of them are set in France. Of course, of the other half, one is set in
Spain, one is set in outer space, one is in the Caribbean, two are set in
Australia, and one is in a complete alternate universe, so my ratio of France
to US in settings isn’t quite as high.
That said, I have eleven current or upcoming books set in
various parts of France. That’s enough to merit the observation and an
explanation. So why France?
I fell in love with the French language when I was twelve
years old. I had an absolutely fabulous French teacher who made learning fun. More than that, speaking French was like
remembering something I’d forgotten. (My
sisters, in a fit of jealousy, decided I must have been Joan of Arc in a past
life because nobody should have been able to learn another language as quickly
and easily as I did French.) I decided right
then whatever else I did in my life, I was going to speak this language so well
no one would even question my nationality when I went to France.
Ten years later, I reached that goal.
I went to France for the first time as a junior in college
and had the good fortune to live with an incredible family who welcomed me in
and still (20 years later) introduces me as their American daughter when I go
back to visit. I also had the good
fortune to meet the man I later married.
(He’s from India, not France, but that’s a different story.) The combination of the generosity of my
adoptive family and the memories of falling in love made that semester the
highlight of my college career.
Two years later, I had the opportunity to go back and teach
in France for a year. I jumped at the
chance, and I swore by the time I left, no one would ever again say to me, “Oh,
you speak French so well for an American.”
Everyone who said it intended it as a compliment. I always knew that. But if they said it, I’d said something
wrong, and that was unacceptable.
I haven’t heard that sentence, except from people who know
me and so know I’m American, since halfway through that year, and to this day,
I only speak French with my children. They don’t always answer me in French,
but they understand me perfectly.
That’s the history, the facts, but I was one of twenty
students who went to France that semester, yet I seem to be the only one who
fell in love. So the question becomes
what is it about France that captivates me so?
I’m not sure there’s an easy answer for that, but the
simplest answer is another little anecdote.
I went back to France in June 2001 for a wedding after a very stressful
school year. Back in Dijon again, I
visited old friends and wandered the city where I fell in love with France and
with my husband. Despite having moved
back to the US six years earlier, I ran into people I knew in stores I had
frequented and even on the street. Talk
about a small world! In the week I was
there, all the stress from the school year disappeared and I went from being
miserable to feeling like I was home.
That sums it up for me in a way little else does. France feels like home. I love the café culture. I love the “bises” they give each other when
they greet their friends. I love the fact that when I was in a grocery store, I
overheard a woman complaining about some fresh produce smelling like it had
been refrigerated. She was used to
getting things fresh from the farm two or three times a week at the local
market. I love the fact that there’s a
different kind of cheese for every day of the year. I love the fact that I never needed a car
when I lived there because the public transportation was extensive enough and
reliable enough that it was a viable option, not just for me but for the French
as well. I love the fact that there’s another piece of history around every
corner. When I called home the first
time after arriving in France, my mother asked me what I thought, and my
reaction was that everything was so old.
Not run down, but ancient. There
are businesses in Dijon that predate Columbus’s discovery of the Americas. Not just buildings. Businesses.
Even more than all of that, though, I love the people. I
know the French have the reputation for being snobby or cold or reserved, but I
have never been treated that way. 20
years later, I still keep in touch with that first family I lived with and
their three daughters. I attended all
three of their weddings. I still
exchange letters with my former colleagues from when I taught there. I have
friends all over the country who open their homes to me any time I come to
visit. In every town and city I visited,
even Paris, people went out of their way to be helpful to me, whether I was by
myself or with my husband and two kids. My son was nine months old the last
time we went to France. Americans told us we were crazy. I told them we’d be
fine, and we were. Someone grabbed the
other end of the stroller every time we encountered steps with no elevator or
escalator.
So why are so many of my stories set in France? The answer
is really quite simple.
I’m American by birth, but my heart belongs to France.