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We'll Always Have Paris: Trying and Failing to Be French
As a bored, moody teenager, Emma Beddington came across a copy of French ELLE in the library of her austere Yorkshire school. As she turned the pages, full of philosophy, sex and lipstick, she realized that her life had one purpose and one purpose only: she needed to be French.
Instead of skulking in her bedroom listening to The Smiths or trudging to Betty's Tea Room to buy fondant fancies, she would be free and solitary, sitting outside the Café de Flore with a Scottie dog at her feet, a Moleskine on the table and a Gauloise trembling on her lower lip.
And so she set about becoming French: she did a French exchange, albeit in Casablanca; she studied French history at university, and spent the holidays in France with her French boyfriend. Eventually, after a family tragedy, she found herself living in Paris, with the same French boyfriend and two half-French children. Her dream had come true, but how would reality match up? Gradually Emma realized that she might have found Paris, but what she really needed to find was home.
Written with enormous wit and warmth, this is a memoir for anyone who has ever worn a Breton T-shirt and wondered, however fleetingly, if they could pass for une vraie Parisienne.
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First published April 21, 2016
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December 19, 2017[dnf]
...and here's why.
This book just wasn't what I signed up for. The title suggests a romantic, dreamy memoir, set amongst the boulevards of chic Paris, and comedy - 'trying and failing to be french' definitely set my expectations high on that front; think... Dawn French goes to Paris hilarity. Even the blurb backs this assumption up, so I was very excited to pick this up and start reading.
It was not that. At all. It was dark, moody, and very British (i.e. not-very-parisien).
For the first maybe 50 pages, I enjoyed it, I liked hearing about her quest as a teenager to become french without much success, it was funny; it was light (ish); it built you up for the moment when she finally moved to Paris and --
Bam. It's like the whole book was written not by someone who wanted to be French but someone who hated the French with a passion. It felt like every page was a complaint about something - in fact the only thing that the author did seem to like about Paris was the patissieries and the chemists... which would have been fine if that was what the book had been advertised as.
The writing was good; but with no background knowledge of the author I felt pretty lost, and very very bummed out.
I hope that the author is in a better place in her life now - and I don't belittle her experiences (negative or otherwise) in any way; this book was just not what I was looking for, and therefore it's a no from me - sorry!!
...and here's why.
This book just wasn't what I signed up for. The title suggests a romantic, dreamy memoir, set amongst the boulevards of chic Paris, and comedy - 'trying and failing to be french' definitely set my expectations high on that front; think... Dawn French goes to Paris hilarity. Even the blurb backs this assumption up, so I was very excited to pick this up and start reading.
It was not that. At all. It was dark, moody, and very British (i.e. not-very-parisien).
For the first maybe 50 pages, I enjoyed it, I liked hearing about her quest as a teenager to become french without much success, it was funny; it was light (ish); it built you up for the moment when she finally moved to Paris and --
Bam. It's like the whole book was written not by someone who wanted to be French but someone who hated the French with a passion. It felt like every page was a complaint about something - in fact the only thing that the author did seem to like about Paris was the patissieries and the chemists... which would have been fine if that was what the book had been advertised as.
The writing was good; but with no background knowledge of the author I felt pretty lost, and very very bummed out.
I hope that the author is in a better place in her life now - and I don't belittle her experiences (negative or otherwise) in any way; this book was just not what I was looking for, and therefore it's a no from me - sorry!!
September 16, 2020
I hate this book. I can’t figure out what is the woman’s problem? She seems to be constantly unhappy and complaining, both in the UK and in France. Plus everything just happens to her as if she had no agency of her own: her boyfriend becomes and (surprisingly to her) stays her boyfriend... and then husband... then the children pop out then the whole family moves to France which seems to be another drama even though it also seemed to be the main heroine biggest dream... Then the writing might have been ok for a blog but to put it in a book, this constant yelling and complaining and caricaturising the French is just well... as if someone just kept vomiting the words on the screen without any break or filter. Maybe some readers find it honest or comforting (as if: someone is more of a drama queen then them) but I honestly could not stand it, was sorry for the French that they had to stand it and was never more annoyed by a book in my life before. Kind of like a female Mr Bean minus the funny bits
May 7, 2024
We’ll Always Have Paris
by: Emma Beddington
3/5 Stars
We’ll Always Have Paris is about a London girl who dreamed about being French, however, she soon finds out being French is not as romantically glamorous as Amélie and La Belle Noiseuse made it out to be. Thus she faces the emotional turmoil crushed dreams evoke in this tragic and desolate memoir of her adolescence and adulthood. Emma Beddington narrates all the trials, trauma and tribulations she faces with wit, humour and honesty. I truly felt for her when Paris, the city she loved and star of her dreams, twisted into a cruel monster of her nightmares. Fair is foul and foul is fair. The city had eaten her up and spat her out without an ounce of remorse. It was incredibly enlightening reading her journey as she navigates her way through motherhood, mental illness, medical issues and Paris. As a warning, this discusses sensitive topics in detail that I didn’t expect. To be honest, I expected a romance novel/chick flick. I now know this isn’t as romantically glamorous as Pinterest made it out to be, but oh well. C’est la vie.
by: Emma Beddington
3/5 Stars
We’ll Always Have Paris is about a London girl who dreamed about being French, however, she soon finds out being French is not as romantically glamorous as Amélie and La Belle Noiseuse made it out to be. Thus she faces the emotional turmoil crushed dreams evoke in this tragic and desolate memoir of her adolescence and adulthood. Emma Beddington narrates all the trials, trauma and tribulations she faces with wit, humour and honesty. I truly felt for her when Paris, the city she loved and star of her dreams, twisted into a cruel monster of her nightmares. Fair is foul and foul is fair. The city had eaten her up and spat her out without an ounce of remorse. It was incredibly enlightening reading her journey as she navigates her way through motherhood, mental illness, medical issues and Paris. As a warning, this discusses sensitive topics in detail that I didn’t expect. To be honest, I expected a romance novel/chick flick. I now know this isn’t as romantically glamorous as Pinterest made it out to be, but oh well. C’est la vie.
April 23, 2016
Emma Beddington's writing is sublime. Like, envy-inducing sublime. I should start by saying that I've been a big fan of her blog, belgianwaffling, for ages and was looking forward to this book for months. Suffice to say, it didn't disappoint. Although if you come to it expecting anecdotes about tortoise penises (penii?), you'll be, err, disappointed (that sounds wrong. You need to read the blog).
This is a stunning memoir, written in Beddington's trademark comedy-to-tragedy-in-a-nanosecond style. And there's comedy aplenty here: she plays her awkward Francophile teenage self for laughs and sketches the judgemental harridans of Parisian playparks in razor-sharp detail (when they get her attention explicitly to critique her post-partum wardrobe? Oh my. I actually winced.) But it's the honesty and the sadness that really makes this book so beautiful, and surprising if you're a reader of her blog: her mum's untimely death in a bizarre accident, her eating disorder, abortion and the dismantling and rebuilding of her relationship.
Beddington is ferociously clever and incredibly self-aware and, at times, this book sees her being very hard on herself. Be warned. Not all of it is comfortable reading. But the honesty is searing, and her conclusion - or at least the conclusion I took from it - that sometimes we need to realise what we have; what's impossible; that we're flawed; that we must stop the self-flagellation; that our time is limited - is perfectly put and is a billion times more articulate and profound than I'm attempting to convey here. Big fat recommend. Loved it.
This is a stunning memoir, written in Beddington's trademark comedy-to-tragedy-in-a-nanosecond style. And there's comedy aplenty here: she plays her awkward Francophile teenage self for laughs and sketches the judgemental harridans of Parisian playparks in razor-sharp detail (when they get her attention explicitly to critique her post-partum wardrobe? Oh my. I actually winced.) But it's the honesty and the sadness that really makes this book so beautiful, and surprising if you're a reader of her blog: her mum's untimely death in a bizarre accident, her eating disorder, abortion and the dismantling and rebuilding of her relationship.
Beddington is ferociously clever and incredibly self-aware and, at times, this book sees her being very hard on herself. Be warned. Not all of it is comfortable reading. But the honesty is searing, and her conclusion - or at least the conclusion I took from it - that sometimes we need to realise what we have; what's impossible; that we're flawed; that we must stop the self-flagellation; that our time is limited - is perfectly put and is a billion times more articulate and profound than I'm attempting to convey here. Big fat recommend. Loved it.
June 27, 2018
I picked this up as it was the designated reading for a book club but I'm sorry to say I didn't really enjoy it. I couldn't related with all the French-craziness so this had me put off to begin with as it wouldn't be a book I would choose for myself normally. The writing was ok in parts of it - I can see how the author wrote a successful blog but I'm afraid that this book might not be her best piece of work. However it got too repetitive and I felt like I was reading the same thing over and over again. I do admire her courage to share all these parts of her life with the world, but then again, I don't know why one would feel the need to do so.
March 8, 2018
I liked the writing but wasnt really clear on the memoir bit - there was a lot of personal info in these pages, and to be honest, her journey was quite complex, and she was lucky to be surrounded by some good people !! The writing was witty, and humorous in parts, balanced out with some awful times... there was a fair bit of depth in these pages
April 23, 2016
Aptly, I finished this book on the Eurostar train from London to Brussels, and loved every page. It is a real-life story of love, loss, and redemption.
Cities, family, friends, and cake share the stage stage in this memoir. Emma Beddington longs to be Parisien, but when she finally arrives, the city does not live up to her expectations. Often, the high point of her day is one of the many French pastries that are beautifully presented in patisserie windows.
This book examines the question of what to do if we arrive at our dream destination, only to find that that it’s nothing like the fantasy. How do we admit that we have failed? How do we define ourselves after collapse? How do we begin to build ourselves up again?
In addition to musings on identity and belonging, the author also offers droll insights into the French. Her boyfriend “spreads sweetened condensed milk from a tube on a supermarket loaf cake at breakfast, then dunks it in a soup bowl of black coffee”. The waiters believe that ham is a vegetable and is suitable for vegetarians. She introduces us to the totally fictitious French affliction that is “jambes lourdes”, heavy legs. She teaches us the difference between a patisserie and a boulangerie (the former does not make bread).
Her book also offers insights into Brussels, the small city that is the forgotten middle child between London and Paris. She writes “Brussels is a city of migrants and exiles. It’s a place you go when you can’t stay at home”. Here, you always get a delicious miniature biscuit with your coffee. She describes its subversive heart, and asks “in a place that refuses so categorically to take itself seriously, how could you not be happy?”
This book is also an ode the cakes and other pastries that are her allies in her darkest moments and brightest celebrations – she writes “I measure out my days in wax-paper parcels”. One charming description is of the street crepes found in Paris:
The main message of this book is that happiness will not magically arrive when we move to an exotic location, or when we become thinner, or more sophisticated, or finally get that big promotion. Happiness is finding love, family, passion, and, of course, cake. In the answer to her questions of “where do I fit?” and “where is home?” she finds the answer that “home is where my head is finally quiet and my heart is full”.
Cities, family, friends, and cake share the stage stage in this memoir. Emma Beddington longs to be Parisien, but when she finally arrives, the city does not live up to her expectations. Often, the high point of her day is one of the many French pastries that are beautifully presented in patisserie windows.
This book examines the question of what to do if we arrive at our dream destination, only to find that that it’s nothing like the fantasy. How do we admit that we have failed? How do we define ourselves after collapse? How do we begin to build ourselves up again?
In addition to musings on identity and belonging, the author also offers droll insights into the French. Her boyfriend “spreads sweetened condensed milk from a tube on a supermarket loaf cake at breakfast, then dunks it in a soup bowl of black coffee”. The waiters believe that ham is a vegetable and is suitable for vegetarians. She introduces us to the totally fictitious French affliction that is “jambes lourdes”, heavy legs. She teaches us the difference between a patisserie and a boulangerie (the former does not make bread).
Her book also offers insights into Brussels, the small city that is the forgotten middle child between London and Paris. She writes “Brussels is a city of migrants and exiles. It’s a place you go when you can’t stay at home”. Here, you always get a delicious miniature biscuit with your coffee. She describes its subversive heart, and asks “in a place that refuses so categorically to take itself seriously, how could you not be happy?”
This book is also an ode the cakes and other pastries that are her allies in her darkest moments and brightest celebrations – she writes “I measure out my days in wax-paper parcels”. One charming description is of the street crepes found in Paris:
“They come scaldingly hot from the park kiosk, handed over by the unsmiling man behind the counter. They are pale and a little floppy, with a crunch of sugar crystals, the outside speckled with darker brown, wrapped in a tight fold of white waxed paper. This momentary sweetness is the high point of many afternoons”
The main message of this book is that happiness will not magically arrive when we move to an exotic location, or when we become thinner, or more sophisticated, or finally get that big promotion. Happiness is finding love, family, passion, and, of course, cake. In the answer to her questions of “where do I fit?” and “where is home?” she finds the answer that “home is where my head is finally quiet and my heart is full”.
April 19, 2017
Thought this would be a cheery, batty, oh-how-silly-and-English-I-am-among-all-these-suave-Frenchies bit of whimsy. Wrong. It's a very sad exercise in therapy by memoir that discloses more personal information than is perhaps wise. The writing is good, but the writer herself doesn't come out of this looking very good.
May 29, 2022
I adored this book and already can’t wait to read it again in a few years time. My love for memoirs continues.
August 5, 2020
Reminds me quite a bit of Five Flights Up: trying to live an ideal and learning that it is not so ideal after all, and having to come to terms with that and figure out what to do with it.
As a teenager, Beddington was something of a francophile; as an adult, partnered with a French man, she set out to live her dream of becoming a Parisienne. But this was in the wake of grief, and anyway the city of one's dreams is never really the city of one's reality. So then more moves, partly out of practicality and partly out of trying to find the right place: London, Brussels.
I appreciated the directness of the voice—that this isn't an 'I moved to ___ and slotted in perfectly and everything was grand' sort of book, that there were a lot of things to figure out and struggle through and so on and so forth. I low-key lost interest when Beddington started to write a blog—not that I have a problem with blogs, and it was a factor in her finding her footing in continental Europe, but I've never been all that interested in memoir parts that are about How I Became a Writer.
But it does beg some interesting questions: what does it mean, and what does it take, for a place to become home? How much can one truly assimilate in a culture that is not inherently one's own? (And for that matter, what does it mean for a culture to be inherently one's own?) And what do you do when your dream becomes reality and it's not all you'd thought it would be? Beddington's answers probably don't translate widely, but they nonetheless make for an interesting take.
As a teenager, Beddington was something of a francophile; as an adult, partnered with a French man, she set out to live her dream of becoming a Parisienne. But this was in the wake of grief, and anyway the city of one's dreams is never really the city of one's reality. So then more moves, partly out of practicality and partly out of trying to find the right place: London, Brussels.
I appreciated the directness of the voice—that this isn't an 'I moved to ___ and slotted in perfectly and everything was grand' sort of book, that there were a lot of things to figure out and struggle through and so on and so forth. I low-key lost interest when Beddington started to write a blog—not that I have a problem with blogs, and it was a factor in her finding her footing in continental Europe, but I've never been all that interested in memoir parts that are about How I Became a Writer.
But it does beg some interesting questions: what does it mean, and what does it take, for a place to become home? How much can one truly assimilate in a culture that is not inherently one's own? (And for that matter, what does it mean for a culture to be inherently one's own?) And what do you do when your dream becomes reality and it's not all you'd thought it would be? Beddington's answers probably don't translate widely, but they nonetheless make for an interesting take.
March 4, 2018
A fun, speedy read, pointing out the challenges that can come by trying to create a life, and a persona, that you think you want, which may not be what you think it will be. Emma Beddington writes in a very engaging way. She's a bit 'glass half empty', but not in a deflating way (I suspect things weren't as horrendously awful as she paints them, nor was she as incompetent as she suggests she was, but that's part of her style).
Something that struck me:
Often what comes up with people who have moved away, for whatever reason, from their cultural base - through immigration, through recasting themselves as someone else, or whatever - is the challenge of 'going home'. 'Your relationship to home is home is irrevocably altered'.
But Beddington takes this a step further - 'What is especially interesting to me, though, is how (the artist she is translating) choses to view this 'in-between' identity: it's a wrench and a loss and perpetual puzzle , but it's also a positive identify of its own and a creative force. You can do more than just try and reconcile the different parts of your identity: you can create something unique from them'.
Something that struck me:
Often what comes up with people who have moved away, for whatever reason, from their cultural base - through immigration, through recasting themselves as someone else, or whatever - is the challenge of 'going home'. 'Your relationship to home is home is irrevocably altered'.
But Beddington takes this a step further - 'What is especially interesting to me, though, is how (the artist she is translating) choses to view this 'in-between' identity: it's a wrench and a loss and perpetual puzzle , but it's also a positive identify of its own and a creative force. You can do more than just try and reconcile the different parts of your identity: you can create something unique from them'.
January 1, 2017
An amazingly open and honest tale of a woman growing into adulthood, and her relationship with a wonderful man. A real insight into expat life, and international families. It made me cry a few times, and laugh a lot.
December 10, 2016
I picked this memoir up at the library and thought it would be a nice, light read. It was a lovely read - but not light. Much better - it is deep, sad and reflective. Truthful. Lightened in places with humour and cake.
January 21, 2022
4-4.5 stars.
I have studied French for many years and was most definitely that 12 year old with posters of black and white Parisian snapshots decorating her walls. They were even laminated which I can assure you is one of the most defining cringe-y eras in my life. Hindsight loves to remind me of that time quite regularly.
Experiences toward the end of high school marred my unconditional love of France and all else francophile. I was left making my preference for my other language, German, known to everyone. Again, hindsight allows me to now recognise just how little most people would care about that.
Suffice to say, German dominates my language brain most of the time, but French is rooted there still. This book was far more melancholy than I expected. It explored the complex relationship language lovers/learners have with their native tongue and their chosen languages. Despite the negative seeming title, I really did believe it would be full of sentiments that posed Paris as the obvious destination. Paris does not entertain hesitancy. It will always be worth it.
That is what I thought.
I didn't particularly agree with Emma in all instances, nor did I always like her. However, I still saw her in me and me in her. That has previously been an automatic contradiction, but this book really did underline the complicated nature of things, situations, emotions and experiences which 'should' be the most un-complicated.
This was not the book I expected to read. It was in many ways, however, a book I needed to read. It made me remember how much I love France and allowed me to still dislike it in some ways. I can also admire it from afar, in addition to the language itself, whilst also loving it.
This is from someone who majors in a language at university yet has never been overseas. I would implore anyone who has a connection with language learning, whether retrospectively/prospectively or currently, to give this a go.
I have studied French for many years and was most definitely that 12 year old with posters of black and white Parisian snapshots decorating her walls. They were even laminated which I can assure you is one of the most defining cringe-y eras in my life. Hindsight loves to remind me of that time quite regularly.
Experiences toward the end of high school marred my unconditional love of France and all else francophile. I was left making my preference for my other language, German, known to everyone. Again, hindsight allows me to now recognise just how little most people would care about that.
Suffice to say, German dominates my language brain most of the time, but French is rooted there still. This book was far more melancholy than I expected. It explored the complex relationship language lovers/learners have with their native tongue and their chosen languages. Despite the negative seeming title, I really did believe it would be full of sentiments that posed Paris as the obvious destination. Paris does not entertain hesitancy. It will always be worth it.
That is what I thought.
I didn't particularly agree with Emma in all instances, nor did I always like her. However, I still saw her in me and me in her. That has previously been an automatic contradiction, but this book really did underline the complicated nature of things, situations, emotions and experiences which 'should' be the most un-complicated.
This was not the book I expected to read. It was in many ways, however, a book I needed to read. It made me remember how much I love France and allowed me to still dislike it in some ways. I can also admire it from afar, in addition to the language itself, whilst also loving it.
This is from someone who majors in a language at university yet has never been overseas. I would implore anyone who has a connection with language learning, whether retrospectively/prospectively or currently, to give this a go.
July 10, 2017
This isn't the book I thought it was going to be and the title is misleading really because apart from visiting it towards the end of the ten-year span that it covers, the author only lived for one of those in Paris. If I'd known it was going to be a confessional-style memoir ranging from adolescence to motherhood, I don't think I would have picked it up. Her publisher has done a good job fooling an unsuspecting readership.
Nevertheless, aside from the middle-class moan fest that it descends into at times, I did enjoy the book. It proceeds at a cracking pace and I got through it over a typical manic weekend of family commitments, which is rare these days. While I couldn't identify with Emma Beddington, I did feel compassion and sadness for her huge loss, but also exasperation that someone so bright and intelligent as she obviously is could make such a mess of those key ten years of her young family's life. She's incredibly fortunate to have such an understanding husband and loving family, yet her inability to get her head out of her ass for so long truly baffled me. I suppose the book wouldn't have been as long if she had. I hope her flipping and flopping regarding what country to live in, language to raise her sons in, leave, then get back together with her long-term partner/husband hasn't already damaged her young sons' psyche. More than once her self-absorbed behaviour reminded me of the entitlement and self-sabotage of her literary namesake Emma Bovary. Ultimately, however, unlike the misfortunate Madame B, she seems to have learned some major life lessons.
Two things redeemed the book for me: the wry, witty writing style, which had me shaking with mirth at times and the goldmine of information on where to get your hands on the best cakes and confectionery in Paris. I can't wait for my annual pilgrimage to the City of Ligh to try the places she mentions, because unlike Emma Beddington, I adore Paris and have done so since I lived and studied there 24 years ago. I can't share her ambivalence about the city and find it a curious irony that I bought this book in WH Smith on rue de Rivoli!
Nevertheless, aside from the middle-class moan fest that it descends into at times, I did enjoy the book. It proceeds at a cracking pace and I got through it over a typical manic weekend of family commitments, which is rare these days. While I couldn't identify with Emma Beddington, I did feel compassion and sadness for her huge loss, but also exasperation that someone so bright and intelligent as she obviously is could make such a mess of those key ten years of her young family's life. She's incredibly fortunate to have such an understanding husband and loving family, yet her inability to get her head out of her ass for so long truly baffled me. I suppose the book wouldn't have been as long if she had. I hope her flipping and flopping regarding what country to live in, language to raise her sons in, leave, then get back together with her long-term partner/husband hasn't already damaged her young sons' psyche. More than once her self-absorbed behaviour reminded me of the entitlement and self-sabotage of her literary namesake Emma Bovary. Ultimately, however, unlike the misfortunate Madame B, she seems to have learned some major life lessons.
Two things redeemed the book for me: the wry, witty writing style, which had me shaking with mirth at times and the goldmine of information on where to get your hands on the best cakes and confectionery in Paris. I can't wait for my annual pilgrimage to the City of Ligh to try the places she mentions, because unlike Emma Beddington, I adore Paris and have done so since I lived and studied there 24 years ago. I can't share her ambivalence about the city and find it a curious irony that I bought this book in WH Smith on rue de Rivoli!
April 5, 2022
So i went into this book without the backstory of the blog writing situation, hoping for a little of bit of Parisian escapism. What i got was, im invested but so annoyed but need to find out how it all pans out. At first the whining nearly stopped me but i thought, how can someones love for all things french be so unreal in real life? It certainly has not mirrored my experience of all things french, and some have been pretty unpleasant. What i took away from it was, a mispent youth, the dreamer whose dream is just that, a dream away from the realness of reality and all the lessons one can learn from living life! Then i realised that, what infact was the driver to her unhappiness was grief. Hardcore and painstaking grief. When i learnt that this was a blog, the penny dropped. Its form is relentless and subtle and profound with its penetration in real life. Olivier sounds like a delight and should be rewarded for his patience. Overall perhaps its was a little to real but real enough to show that life isnt always peachy and that relationships grow and change over time and only few get to realise that there are some that are worth holding on because in the end they are everything.
July 3, 2017
I loved this book in the beginning. Like Emma, I studied French in school and poured over French Elle, watched many great French films of the 1980s (Diva, Blue, Jean de Flourette, etc) and also have studied/lived in both Paris and Belgium.
The second half of the book is where the author started to lose me. While I don't agree with her personal choices (the part describing her aborting her unwanted third child was particularly hard for me to read) I found myself hoping she would see a therapist and get medicated, especially given the effect of her mother's death, the eating disorder, and her desire to cheat on her boyfriend (who is a saint for putting up with her). Then reading about her separation and subsequent fall into "pasta face" I wanted to shake her and say, "Girl get it together!"
I enjoyed this book for the ideas about other books and movies to read, but I found myself getting so frustrated with the author. Never a good thing when it is a memoir.
The second half of the book is where the author started to lose me. While I don't agree with her personal choices (the part describing her aborting her unwanted third child was particularly hard for me to read) I found myself hoping she would see a therapist and get medicated, especially given the effect of her mother's death, the eating disorder, and her desire to cheat on her boyfriend (who is a saint for putting up with her). Then reading about her separation and subsequent fall into "pasta face" I wanted to shake her and say, "Girl get it together!"
I enjoyed this book for the ideas about other books and movies to read, but I found myself getting so frustrated with the author. Never a good thing when it is a memoir.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 25, 2016
I've been reading Emma's blog for a few years now, and have grown to love the combination of self-deprecating wit and expat bemusement at life in Brussels, but that didn't prepare me for the emotional depth and complexity of her (first volume of?) memoirs.
It deals in a clear-eyed and affecting way with various aspects of growing up and finding your place in the world. It's about facing up to a reality which may not match your idealised fantasies (whether that's a much-dreamed-of city, or a marriage), and trying to make the best of it anyway and figure out what it is that you really want. The sense of someone maturing and acquiring wisdom through experience (trauma, even) is palpable and moving.
It's also very funny on cultural differences and expat homesickness, in a way which is very familiar to me.
It deals in a clear-eyed and affecting way with various aspects of growing up and finding your place in the world. It's about facing up to a reality which may not match your idealised fantasies (whether that's a much-dreamed-of city, or a marriage), and trying to make the best of it anyway and figure out what it is that you really want. The sense of someone maturing and acquiring wisdom through experience (trauma, even) is palpable and moving.
It's also very funny on cultural differences and expat homesickness, in a way which is very familiar to me.
September 18, 2021
I wanted to like this book. As a self confessed Francofile I expected Emma to be similar to me, apart from the fact she has achieved her goals of living in Paris and doing French things.
Sadly, all the book did sad whine and complain about French people and French ways of life. Despite the fact she had everything and has achieved so much, she couldn't be content with anything. It got on my nerves.
I couldn't find anything endearing about her because I found her shallow.
Maybe the reason she had decided to like french things when she was a teen was to try and be different? Perhaps if she had come across an American magazine and been captivated, we would be reading a different book?
Sorry, but, it's a no from me.
Sadly, all the book did sad whine and complain about French people and French ways of life. Despite the fact she had everything and has achieved so much, she couldn't be content with anything. It got on my nerves.
I couldn't find anything endearing about her because I found her shallow.
Maybe the reason she had decided to like french things when she was a teen was to try and be different? Perhaps if she had come across an American magazine and been captivated, we would be reading a different book?
Sorry, but, it's a no from me.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 2, 2021
I had the urge to drop the book 30% into it on my kindle and honestly, I should have done this.
It's one of the worst cases of literary oversharing I've encountered.
The writing, the mastery of language is indeed good - but Emma was an easily bored, moody, emotionally shaky teenager and unfortunately retained these qualities well into adulthood.
This is more of a memoir than anything else.
Picking this up, I expected a sort of self-deprecating, witty, "Peter Mayle meets Emily in Paris" sort of a book. Instead, I got the life story of Emma, battling her depression, eating disorders, grief, general disorientation and ineptitude.
It's one of the worst cases of literary oversharing I've encountered.
The writing, the mastery of language is indeed good - but Emma was an easily bored, moody, emotionally shaky teenager and unfortunately retained these qualities well into adulthood.
This is more of a memoir than anything else.
Picking this up, I expected a sort of self-deprecating, witty, "Peter Mayle meets Emily in Paris" sort of a book. Instead, I got the life story of Emma, battling her depression, eating disorders, grief, general disorientation and ineptitude.
April 25, 2016
As a long term follower of Emma's blog, it is an absolute delight to read her book. It's funny, poignant, brave and honest and she, as ever, writes beautifully, even if she won't believe you when you tell her so. This is the story of Emma's quest to shake off the Yorkshire teenager she has grown up to be, and morph into the elegant, French siren she knows deep down she has in her soul. It charts her fraught relationship with Paris, and the mismatch between who she is and who she wants to be, and it features a lot of cake. I love it.
October 2, 2016
I have read and enjoyed Emma's blog 'Belgian waffling' for the last few years so I was very keen to read her book. It's excellent, a story of family, dealing with loss, Paris and Brussels and lots of cake. Loved it.
February 3, 2022
I wish I stopped reading this book after reading the first few chapters. What a waste of time (and money) this book was!
It’s just a book full of stupid complaints, cakes and weird equations. I feel sorry for the French.
It’s just a book full of stupid complaints, cakes and weird equations. I feel sorry for the French.
April 1, 2016
Loved it!
June 20, 2016
I wanted to like this and she's very talented. But no.
January 17, 2019
As a francophile, I adored this book! I related to so many elements of her life in Paris and how she coped adjusting to a new culture and new city.
September 20, 2022
melancholy memoir from moany moody girl
September 8, 2021
For some reason I was half-expecting a kind of popular anthrolopology book along the lines of "Watching the English", which, still, is referenced here (and which I secretly loathe). The fact that is a memoir about loss, love and cake makes it somehow more frivolous and more, well, honest.
Of course I loved it, in no small measure because it represents the kind of Englishness that, as an immigrant, I have been (not so secretly) aspiring to for years (I feel weirdly satisfied that I can say this about a book that is, at least on first glance, is about aspiring to be French). The author ("la personne qui dit je") is at once highly self-aware and self-deprecating and ... so unselfconsciously entitled. I am not saying it as a criticisim, mind you, the book is so seamlessly well-written, entertaining and, in places, heart-breaking. I absolutely loved how the author deals with (her own) priviledge (it is clearly a skill), by both avoiding talking about it and dropping references to it as if as if it was a something self-evident :
boring parents ? = of course they are academics who holidayed in France and read Russian literature in the orginal;
university ? = only a few pages later "Oxford" is mentioned as if it is where everyone goes to;
French boyfrend who lives in a delapidated house in the middle of nowhere and sleeps on an old mattres? = a future financier with a prestigious engineering degree
shopping? = M&S Food (and all those brand names for shoes and dresses...)
And don't get me started on all those party trips to London and Paris when this mother of two was living on a shoestring...
Of course it is entirely legitimate to compare the struggles with identity of a middle class Englishwoman, with an Oxford degree, a qualified international lawyer with a French banker partner, with those of a Belgian rapper born in Congo who does not feel at home in his adoptive country nor in Africa.
Because well, why not? Because, of course, on a certain level, we all go through the same stuff and we just should not be shy to admit it.
--
I was very happy to see an English woman of a similar age to me who grew up on French culture ; which is apparently very unusual ; where I am from, on the other hand, French culture - albeit more often than not in translation - is "the" culture, so I am biased.
--
One final thing. I wish I could understand the husband better. I know, a cleaver writer that Emma Beddington is, that is how she intended this character to be, a little impenetrable, with this final twist where he comes out a saint a little puzzling. Why are we supposed to be so impressed that he "forgave" his wife after she left him, clearly dissastified with his distance, his lack of regard for her and misterious inability to be interested in anything that does not involve making money (not to speak of the rather puzzling assumption that contraception is woman's business)?
Of course I loved it, in no small measure because it represents the kind of Englishness that, as an immigrant, I have been (not so secretly) aspiring to for years (I feel weirdly satisfied that I can say this about a book that is, at least on first glance, is about aspiring to be French). The author ("la personne qui dit je") is at once highly self-aware and self-deprecating and ... so unselfconsciously entitled. I am not saying it as a criticisim, mind you, the book is so seamlessly well-written, entertaining and, in places, heart-breaking. I absolutely loved how the author deals with (her own) priviledge (it is clearly a skill), by both avoiding talking about it and dropping references to it as if as if it was a something self-evident :
boring parents ? = of course they are academics who holidayed in France and read Russian literature in the orginal;
university ? = only a few pages later "Oxford" is mentioned as if it is where everyone goes to;
French boyfrend who lives in a delapidated house in the middle of nowhere and sleeps on an old mattres? = a future financier with a prestigious engineering degree
shopping? = M&S Food (and all those brand names for shoes and dresses...)
And don't get me started on all those party trips to London and Paris when this mother of two was living on a shoestring...
Of course it is entirely legitimate to compare the struggles with identity of a middle class Englishwoman, with an Oxford degree, a qualified international lawyer with a French banker partner, with those of a Belgian rapper born in Congo who does not feel at home in his adoptive country nor in Africa.
Because well, why not? Because, of course, on a certain level, we all go through the same stuff and we just should not be shy to admit it.
--
I was very happy to see an English woman of a similar age to me who grew up on French culture ; which is apparently very unusual ; where I am from, on the other hand, French culture - albeit more often than not in translation - is "the" culture, so I am biased.
--
One final thing. I wish I could understand the husband better. I know, a cleaver writer that Emma Beddington is, that is how she intended this character to be, a little impenetrable, with this final twist where he comes out a saint a little puzzling. Why are we supposed to be so impressed that he "forgave" his wife after she left him, clearly dissastified with his distance, his lack of regard for her and misterious inability to be interested in anything that does not involve making money (not to speak of the rather puzzling assumption that contraception is woman's business)?
May 6, 2022
Emma Beddington (2016) WE'LL ALWAYS HAVE PARIS (AUDIOBOOK)
BorrowBox - Bolinda/Audible Audio
⭐️⭐️⭐️ 3 out of 5 stars
BorrowBox writes, "As a bored, moody teenager, Emma Beddington came across a copy of French ELLE in the library of her austere Yorkshire school. As she turned the pages, full of philosophy, sex and lipstick, she realized that her life had one purpose and one purpose only: she needed to be French. Instead of skulking in her bedroom listening to The Smiths or trudging to Betty's Tea Room to buy fondant fancies, she would be free and solitary, sitting outside the Cafe de Flore with a Scottie dog at her feet, a Moleskine on the table and a Gauloise trembling on her lower lip. And so she set about becoming French: she did a French exchange, albeit in Casablanca; she studied French history at university and spent the holidays in France with her French boyfriend. Eventually, after a family tragedy, she found herself living in Paris with the same French boyfriend and two half-French children. Her dream had come true, but how would reality match up? Gradually Emma realized that she might have found Paris, but what she really needed to find was home. With enormous wit and warmth, this is a memoir for anyone who has ever worn a Breton T-shirt and wondered, however fleetingly, if they could pass for une vraie Parisienne."
=====
Dunno what I was hoping for but whatever it was I didn't quite get. It's a great story nonetheless but whilst I listened it never peaked my interest particularly, no moments when something happened and I'd proclaim, "Ooooo". I'm far from qualified to critique. Feel like it's me and not the book. Feel like what was just OK to me would be excellent to someone else... You can't say a book is shit because the story wasn't your cup of tea. To this end of course I would recommend people read/listen to the (audio)book - see what you think.
=====
#EmmaBeddington #WellAlwaysHaveParis #Book #Books #Read #Reads #Reading #Review #Reviews #BookReview #BookReviews #GoodReads #Audiobook #Audiobooks #BorrowBox
BorrowBox - Bolinda/Audible Audio
⭐️⭐️⭐️ 3 out of 5 stars
BorrowBox writes, "As a bored, moody teenager, Emma Beddington came across a copy of French ELLE in the library of her austere Yorkshire school. As she turned the pages, full of philosophy, sex and lipstick, she realized that her life had one purpose and one purpose only: she needed to be French. Instead of skulking in her bedroom listening to The Smiths or trudging to Betty's Tea Room to buy fondant fancies, she would be free and solitary, sitting outside the Cafe de Flore with a Scottie dog at her feet, a Moleskine on the table and a Gauloise trembling on her lower lip. And so she set about becoming French: she did a French exchange, albeit in Casablanca; she studied French history at university and spent the holidays in France with her French boyfriend. Eventually, after a family tragedy, she found herself living in Paris with the same French boyfriend and two half-French children. Her dream had come true, but how would reality match up? Gradually Emma realized that she might have found Paris, but what she really needed to find was home. With enormous wit and warmth, this is a memoir for anyone who has ever worn a Breton T-shirt and wondered, however fleetingly, if they could pass for une vraie Parisienne."
=====
Dunno what I was hoping for but whatever it was I didn't quite get. It's a great story nonetheless but whilst I listened it never peaked my interest particularly, no moments when something happened and I'd proclaim, "Ooooo". I'm far from qualified to critique. Feel like it's me and not the book. Feel like what was just OK to me would be excellent to someone else... You can't say a book is shit because the story wasn't your cup of tea. To this end of course I would recommend people read/listen to the (audio)book - see what you think.
=====
#EmmaBeddington #WellAlwaysHaveParis #Book #Books #Read #Reads #Reading #Review #Reviews #BookReview #BookReviews #GoodReads #Audiobook #Audiobooks #BorrowBox
January 14, 2022
I picked up this book thinking it would be a fun memoir following a girl who, like me, is enamored by the idea of living in Paris. Honestly, I thought it would be a light read, akin to Emily in Paris (slightly irritating in its cheerfulness, yet overall enjoyable when you’re in the mood.) I was wrong in my assumptions.
This is really just a memoir. One where all of her youthful dreams and ideals are slowly crushed one by one. Life is harder than she expected it to be, and nothing ever happens the way she expects it to. It doesn’t really feel right to critique a memoir based off of its contents, just its pace/writing style etc. (it’s someone’s life, after all.) I wasn’t expecting, based on the excerpt, how bleak a majority of the novel would be. There was a lot of moving around, office jobs, mental health issues, and a surprising amount of criticism on Paris for a book that seemed to be centered around it. It dealt a lot too with the frustrations of being a mother of two small children. At times I felt frustrated at the narrator (but again, I feel uncomfortable critiquing her life choices as though this were a fictional novel). I mostly enjoyed the beginning and the very end. I did find the middle hard to read, simply because it wasn’t what I was expecting. I probably wouldn’t have read this book at this time of my life, when I’m grappling with my own hopes and dreams, fears of the future etc.
I don’t regret reading it, and at times I did enjoy it, but I probably wouldn’t recommend it unless you are a fan of Emma Beddington’s blog or writing and want to know more about her life.
This is really just a memoir. One where all of her youthful dreams and ideals are slowly crushed one by one. Life is harder than she expected it to be, and nothing ever happens the way she expects it to. It doesn’t really feel right to critique a memoir based off of its contents, just its pace/writing style etc. (it’s someone’s life, after all.) I wasn’t expecting, based on the excerpt, how bleak a majority of the novel would be. There was a lot of moving around, office jobs, mental health issues, and a surprising amount of criticism on Paris for a book that seemed to be centered around it. It dealt a lot too with the frustrations of being a mother of two small children. At times I felt frustrated at the narrator (but again, I feel uncomfortable critiquing her life choices as though this were a fictional novel). I mostly enjoyed the beginning and the very end. I did find the middle hard to read, simply because it wasn’t what I was expecting. I probably wouldn’t have read this book at this time of my life, when I’m grappling with my own hopes and dreams, fears of the future etc.
I don’t regret reading it, and at times I did enjoy it, but I probably wouldn’t recommend it unless you are a fan of Emma Beddington’s blog or writing and want to know more about her life.
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