A New Low Is Reached

 

. . . in jacket illustrations. I give you . . . the new French BEAUTY.

 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH

 

Wait, wait—I withdraw all the mean things I said about the naked blue girl covered with feathers!  I've changed my mind! I want her back!*   %<**&((#~????*" }}^%$£"!!!!!!! Moments like these I'm really sorry I made the decision to moderate my language on the blog. . . .

Who the hell are they trying to attract with this cover? What's with all the cleavage and the frelling claws?** BEAUTY is going to disappoint the S&M guys—or the kinky porn lot—rather badly. And while young French women are no doubt an alien species to my elderly British-tainted American mind . . . I find it difficult to believe that this is what they are looking for.***

I am also haunted by the thought that these jokers have taken EXACTLY as much trouble over the translation as they did for the cover. EXACTLY AS MUCH.†

They could at least have given her a rose. Couldn't they have given her a ROSE??††

So let's have some roses.

Old Blush. You darling.

This following is the rose that total strangers knock on my door to ask me about.  My fault for planting her out front.  The flowers are quite small, not much bigger than a golf ball, and they really are spherical.  She does eventually open to a cup, but she stays more cupped than most.  She also smells divine.  And has adorable peppermint stripes on her outside petals.

OH GODS HOW I HATE WORDPRESS, WHO JUST ATE MME PIERRE OGER AND MOST OF HER TEXT, BETWEEN THE EDIT WIND AND THE BLOG

 That would be 'window', only if I try and change it, WordPress will just eat the photo again.  Or worse.

Louise Odier. She's bedmate to Mme Pierre (and a lot of pansies and sweet peas) and also smells divine. In a totally different way. Which is pleasing.

Mme Isaac (Periere). You will get Mme Isaac photos every year. Who smells almost eye-wateringly of raspberries. Mmmmm.

I have about half a dozen Souvenirs (de la Malmaison) that survived the rain wreck. You can see a few of the ones that didn't behind this one. Sigh. There are still buds to come . . . but we had the kind of drizzle today that doesn't water anything, but does ruin rain-allergic roses.

The Fru, being loved by a bee. Roses are generally rather quellingly described as not being particularly interesting to bees, but that's not my experience. And it's easier to get a photo when there are fewer petals in the way.

* * *

* Which was the first French BEAUTY. I posted a photo of it on here somewhere.

** I also feel that the small beetle crawling on her chin is a mistake. A what? It is nothing of the kind. It's a beetle. Or possibly a large flea. I doubt whoever is attached to the claws is scrupulous about personal hygiene. Although from what you can see of the babe's hair, she isn't either.

*** And in case the book is spine out, although I'm sure French bookshops will be rupturing themselves to give this scintillating artwork face-out shelf space, there's a tiny medallion of the jacket on the spine. Of the claws and the cleavage.

† What if it . . . matches the cover?

†† To hold over all that CLEAVAGE?