The Elegance of the Hedgehog
I want to befriend Renee Michel! Why? Because I like the grumpy concierge who believes that ultimate joy lies in seeing a camellia on moss. Because important thoughts are conveyed by a precocious 12-year old girl who convinces me that seeking out people and looking beyond their outward masks is a good reason to hang around. That these two females should eventually gain insight into each other's hidden lives through a deliciously foreign yet graciously human spirit, is the highlight of the novel. While one is born into the soft pillows of luxury, the other comes from the tough treadmill of a Parisian bandelieu. The translator leaves the essence of bandelieu and many other French expressions to the reader, which sometimes can become a bit irritating. While I have retained some knowledge of the French language from my school days, I sense that the ever-changing meaning of terms and the sensitivities of cultural diversity give the translator a delicate picture to paint, a picture which sometimes only reveals faint pencil marks where a particular color might have been needed. Foreign terms advertise their built-in importance, but aren't we supposed to look, with a critical eye, at the extravagances and affectations of the rich and well educated? Aren't we guided toward praise for the lowly concierge's lack of such drapings? There is less significance in the word Soumaintrain than in the term mise on abyme, yet both, the name of a particular cheese and the phenomenon of a repetitive image, are the author's way of showing us how well educated the concierge is. No limburger for this lady of the loge. Are we to deduce that the autodidact is less likely to suffer from arrogance than the designer intellectual? And therefore Mme. Michel is allowed a slice of this traditionally ripened cheese, which, I am informed by the online French Cheese club, dates back to the 17th century and "is a cheese with lactic curds, with a slow curding and delicate hooping." (Even my spell checker raises an eye brow and wants to downgrade this delicate hooping into delicate hoping.) Why does Renee Michel hide her knowledge? Her achievement goes beyond the expectations of her upbringing. Why does it not propel her into competition and further advances? Is it because she does not possess outer beauty? Or because she lacks inner confidence? Is she a failure, because she is a concierge in the world of the rich? Is she a winner among the losers from the fringe? While she does bear the lower classes' burden of labor she secretly enjoys the privileges of education and seems to earn enough money to tease her taste buds with gourmet morsels usually reserved for the rich. She is a voluntary hermit, yet she is never far from the busy lives of bourgeois intellectuals. For most of the novel she is the uninvolved The density of knowledge, covering page after page, sometimes seems contrived, but I joyfully fall into the trap of looking up Mr. Ozu's films as well as googling the word incunabulum and reading the synopses of several books that are mentioned. I wonder if a twelve year old, even a very mature twelve year old, would write a sentence like "his children don't have two pennies to rub together." I outright disagree with the author when she conveys her opinion about the lack of continuity in an open door. She calls it "provincial interference" while I look at the open door with the photographer's eye toward interesting spatial division, shadow and light, architectural
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