Village to Village

Village to Village
Автор книги: id книги: 1619720     Оценка: 0.0     Голосов: 0     Отзывы, комментарии: 0 384,73 руб.     (3,94$) Читать книгу Купить и скачать книгу Купить бумажную книгу Электронная книга Жанр: Биографии и Мемуары Правообладатель и/или издательство: Ingram Дата добавления в каталог КнигаЛит: ISBN: 9781925706130 Скачать фрагмент в формате   fb2   fb2.zip Возрастное ограничение: 0+ Оглавление Отрывок из книги

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Описание книги

In this witty and entertaining memoir, Alister Kershaw describes the pleasures of his prolonged residence in France – a country of villages – from 1948, when even Paris was a series of villages. In post-war Paris, Kershaw lived a penniless but joyous existence, tramping streets he had long imagined from the poets and novelists he had read. 'Village to Village' captures a Paris long gone but vividly remembered. The author conjures Paris prior to the triumph of the technocrats and town planners, and the major redevelopments that changed the provincial cities for all time. It also traces the author's move into the Berry, two hours south of Paris, where he lives in a hamlet of six houses and finds a rural life amongst a small group of traditional winemakers. What will his neighbours make of this intruder – a writer, a poet, a broadcaster – and an Australian into the bargain?

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Alister Kershaw. Village to Village

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

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For Solange

This sudden incomprehensible love affair might have been a little less mysterious if I had arrived in France with gooseflesh anticipations of romantic garrets and dangerous liaisons in them, the Latin Quarter and champagne at five francs a bottle, and artists’ studios—all the preposterous sentimental paraphernalia from absinthe to midinettes. But I had not included any of these notions in my meagre luggage, I had no preliminary yearnings towards the country. Rather the contrary. In Australia I had spent much of my time with a young woman who had visited France just before the war and had gone down with a bad attack of what someone called ‘French flu’. She babbled so fervently and persistently about France and Paris that she infected me with a perverse loathing for both.

.....

In the event, the only visitor I ever had was Pierre. Pierre was a taxidriver and I met him because he had entered a contest organised by some airline or other. The aim was to select the most typical representatives of various forms of transport—a London bus conductor, a Venetian gondolier, a Paris taxidriver. Pierre entered in the last of these categories.

One by one, candidates were brought before a jury and the same questions put to each. One question in particular was considered fundamental: ‘You are driving around in your cab and you are simultaneously hailed by a ravishing young woman and a poor old lady with two heavy suitcases. Which of the two would you take?’

.....

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