In the Trough

I think my little adventure in Paris has reached its definitive low point. The weather has been locked in periods of cloudiness and rain for days. I love my two English classes, but my two French classes (taught by the same French woman) are threatening to break my back - not because the work load is too large, but because my professor has no idea what she is doing, and never made a definitive plan for the semester. Now we are assigned papers with two days' notice, given vague outlines for looming research projects, and, worst of all, we are subjected to offensive, contradicting generalizations such as: "They don't teach you how to make sufficient essay plans in American schools" or "You Anglo-Saxons always want schedules." I am no patriot, but I am growing sick of anti-Americanism over here. I have not experienced it just in the classroom. I heard from a female friend that a girl was so disgusted by the fact that she was American that she wouldn't even look at her. Not one, but two writers I have seen speak in the past week have criticized the United States for unfair reasons. The very nice woman who owns the panini shop I go to made some gross generalizations about American eating habits during friendly conversation. It's not that these people are criticizing the United States that bothers me - everyone is entitled to his/her opinion, of course - but that many of these views are uninformed, overly general, or just plain ignorant. Feel free to criticize America, because we certainly are not perfect, but at least be educated about it.

As I mentioned above, I have seen two writers read in the past week. Actually, I have seen three. Friday night, I went to the Red Wheelbarrow, a little Anglo-American bookstore in the same neighborhood as the Bastille monument. Reading there was my Creative Writing professor, Anne Marsella, and a French author. I think both did a great job with their readings, which turned out a crowd that filled the cramped store. It was the French author who spoke ill of the United States, though not in an overtly critical way - more in a mocking tone, appropriate for an audience of English and Americans. I saw some of the same faces last night at The Village Voice, center of English-speaking literary life in Paris, when Jorie Graham read from her latest book of poetry. It was she who remarked that American students do not know how to read or appreciate poetry - an ignorant statement that offended me because I am an American student, and I would like to think that I know how to read and appreciate poetry. She was very wordy, expounding on and on about her poetry, its mechanics, its inspiration, society today, et cetera et cetera. She won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1996, and teaches at Harvard, which I guess gave her license to do this. Is there a point when one is entitled to a little arrogance and self indulgence? I don't know, but I think Jorie Grahame believes she has reached it. As for her poetry, I am sorry to say I was unimpressed. It struck me as cold, and it left kind of a metallic taste in my mouth.

The good news about this week is that I went to my very first opera on Monday night. It was an interesting, futuristic take on Mozart's The Enchanted Flute, done in its original German with French subtitles displayed on a screen over the stage. The direction was indescribable, really. The major set pieces were what looked like huge, inflatable mattresses (probably 8X15 feet) that were deflated, inflated, and carted about the stage by people in white labcoats, who also sang the choruses. The main characters wore a variety of odd costumes, the oddest of which being the Three Women with LED lights on their...well, you know. This all took place inside of the very modern looking Opera Bastille, which was simply breathtaking in its size and presentation. It is very sleek and does not at all possess the gilded, ornate decor one expects from an opera house. Photographs give it the appearance of blandness and even ugliness, but this is not the case in person. All in all I enjoyed the experience and I hope I am able to see another opera, someday.

A month from tomorrow I will be coming back to the United States. I have mixed feelings about this. On one hand, I am very ready to have a roommate again, to have access to very un-French things like greasy slices of pizza, good beer, and American coffee, and to see all the people I love and miss. On the other hand, I will miss fresh, delicious baked goods, quality wine at affordable prices, and the heightened presence of intellectual/artistic life in the public eye. And all the beautiful architecture. My tastes have changed considerably, as have my views of many things. Many of my friends over here share with me the fear that we will be seen as snobby back in America. I guess that's to be seen, but regardless, I am looking forward to coming home.