elizabethlevett

As we speak, or rather as this post is posted, I’m on my way to the south of France to spend two weeks wandering around with some close friends who live in Toulouse. The guy, William, has been a pal for many years — since before we formed what would be my first band. He’s a lot like a brother. We’re still cutting up and getting goofy together. His lovely and brilliant wife, Mireille, comes from Libourne, near Bordeaux. They’re some of the smartest and kindest people I know.

I haven’t been to France in over twenty years — I don’t travel outside the States often. Last time I visited, we spent most of our time hiking in the Pyrenees. This year we’ll spend a few days in the Luberon region of Provence and then, after hanging out in Toulouse, the plan is to explore the Dordogne and Lot (Perigord/Quercy) region, land of the Cathars. Like me, my hosts are book nerds. We can’t get enough. So naturally, while planning for this trip, William suggested I read a book. I tend to pay attention to his suggestions. But just one?? Nah. Here are the books I most enjoyed. (There’s no need to bother with that one murder mystery or the Eyewitness field guide to Dordogne and the rest of Perigord/Quercy.) There was also, Windows on Provence, by Georgeanne Brennan, which is glorious to look through for its pretty photos, tantalizing descriptions of food, and tips for the most charming villages. But this book is a little on the shallow side for me. Lots of fun for a book date, but we didn’t really hit it off in the long run. It’s one more story of a privileged American spending a few weeks or months enjoying the beauty of Provence without going too deep. Brennan did spark my interest in finding Rousillon, (where ochre comes from!) and she lists villages that have wonderful markets.

Next, French Dirt, by Richard Goodman. William actually recommended this one specifically and I’m sure I wouldn’t have found it otherwise. It’s a wonderful little book and yes, written by an American, but there’s a humility to this story. Goodman and his wife spent months in the region but not flitting from cafe to cathedral. This is not a lifestyle book by a rich ex-pat. Goodman set out to plant a garden where he could grow his own vegetables. His efforts are pretty amusing since he gets conflicting, firm advice from the various locals in his village who see him as something of a misguided curiosity. It’s a story of humans being human. In a good way.

Finally, In France Profound, by T.D. Allman. I saved this one for last because I adored it. I missed out on a good deal of history in collage because I was one of those AP students — in a rush at 16, clueless for years after graduation. In any case, the south west of France has an incredibly rich history, and one whose events rippled through Europe for centuries after. We’re talkin’ the Crusades, the code of Chivalry (not what we think it is), Eleanor of Aquitaine, Richard the Lionhearted (who wasn’t at all, by the way), and Pope Innocent III (who was anything but innocent). Sometimes it’s a challenge for me to steep myself in painful history, the chronicles of unspeakable cruelty humans have visited on one another. Allman, however, was a skilled journalist for many years and the man could weave details of court intrigue, violence, and viticulture through the weft of time and still keep the thread of humor and grace alive in the text. An incredible writer. A New Yorker most of the time, Allman purchased an 800-year-old home in the town of Lauzerte and made it his practice to truly get to know the people and the history. This one might be worth at least one re-read for me. Gorgeous writing and again, very human.