Why Zazie?
Jan. 15th, 2025 06:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zaziedanslemetroZazie Dans Le Métro is one of my favourite childhood books. My parents had a (translated) copy on their bookshelves and intrigued by the cover, I picked it up and was soon enthralled in the adventures of the rambunctious and irrepressible heroine.
She goes to stay with her drag queen uncle in Paris whilst her mother has a romantic interlude. She is obsessed with le bleu jeans and exploring the Métro, intrigued by her uncle’s job and life and encounters a foul mouthed parrot.
Spoiler alert: Due to a strike, Zazie never does get to explore the Métro. How quintessentially French.
Years later, on my first visit to Paris, my friend and I tried to visit the Louvre, but found it closed due to a strike. I felt a twinkle of recognition. We repaired to a nearby café to ponder our next move.
Once there we were befriended by a very debonair older gentleman, a gallery guide on strike. He bought us coffee by way of apology, and, through a cloud of Gauloises, regaled us with tales of not only the artworks we could not view, but with an intricate account of the circumstances of their industrial action, with historical and political antecedents dating back to 1789 and before.
I felt I was truly having an authentic Parisian experience, although my friend did not share my amusement.
She goes to stay with her drag queen uncle in Paris whilst her mother has a romantic interlude. She is obsessed with le bleu jeans and exploring the Métro, intrigued by her uncle’s job and life and encounters a foul mouthed parrot.
Spoiler alert: Due to a strike, Zazie never does get to explore the Métro. How quintessentially French.
Years later, on my first visit to Paris, my friend and I tried to visit the Louvre, but found it closed due to a strike. I felt a twinkle of recognition. We repaired to a nearby café to ponder our next move.
Once there we were befriended by a very debonair older gentleman, a gallery guide on strike. He bought us coffee by way of apology, and, through a cloud of Gauloises, regaled us with tales of not only the artworks we could not view, but with an intricate account of the circumstances of their industrial action, with historical and political antecedents dating back to 1789 and before.
I felt I was truly having an authentic Parisian experience, although my friend did not share my amusement.
