French Like Moi: A Midwesterner in Paris

French Like Moi: A Midwesterner in Paris

by Scott Dominic Carpenter

Narrated by Scott Dominic Carpenter

Unabridged — 4 hours, 58 minutes

French Like Moi: A Midwesterner in Paris

French Like Moi: A Midwesterner in Paris

by Scott Dominic Carpenter

Narrated by Scott Dominic Carpenter

Unabridged — 4 hours, 58 minutes

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Overview

FRENCH OR FAUX?

When Scott Carpenter moves from Minnesota to Paris, little does he suspect the dramas that await: scheming neighbors, police denunciations, surly demonstrators, cooking disasters, medical mishaps-not to mention all those lectures about cheese! It turns out that nothing in the City of Light can be taken for granted, where even trips to the grocery store lead to adventure.

In French Like Moi, Carpenter guides us through the merry labyrinth of the everyday, one hilarious faux pas after another. Through it all, he keeps his eye on the central mystery of what makes the French French (and Midwesterners Midwestern).


Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

05/11/2020

In this funny memoir, Carpenter (Theory of Remainders), who teaches French literature and creative writing at Minnesota’s Carleton College, recounts moving from small-town Northfield, Minn., to Paris during an eye-opening sabbatical with his wife. With dry wit, Carpenter writes of being brought into the local police station within three months of his arrival for not having a proper visa; visiting the Paris catacombs, despite his intense claustrophobia; learning that his neighbors were stealthily annexing bits of the building; visiting French doctors and pharmacies; navigating the language (“For example, un car is pretty obviously a car—until it turns out to be a bus”); and observing tourists (“I have never watched locusts swarm a field of wheat, but I bet it looks a lot like Paris when the tourists arrive”). Carpenter has a knack for turning potential catastrophes into comedy, as with his account of dealing with an incompetent bank loan officer while trying to purchase an apartment (“Turned out things weren’t going, and weren’t ever going to go, precisely because my file had never gone anywhere”). Readers will find plenty to appreciate in Carpenter’s sharp take on expat life. (May)

From the Publisher

Many entertaining anecdotes and worthy observations about French and American culture...Carpenter's droll take keeps the reader chuckling.” —Minneapolis Star Tribune

“In this funny memoir, Carpenter has a knack for turning potential catastrophes into comedy. Readers will find plenty to appreciate in his sharp take on expat life.” —Publishers Weekly

“A delightful read...essays filled with levity and grace. A winning and witty collection offering humor and insight into the French way of life.” —Kirkus Reviews

French Like Moi tours the everyday Paris that’s found away from Eiffel Tower tourism. With an entertaining guide at the helm, bon mots and corny puns find a home alongside solid timing, curious anecdotes, and self-aware mocking. This quirky travel memoir uncovers lesser-known facets with verve.” —Foreword Reviews, Editor's Pick, five-star review

“Carpenter captures the ironies, oddities, and attractions of the French capital in a way few writers have achieved—which is saying a lot, considering how many have tried their hand at conjuring the City of Light…. French Like Moi is a delightful romp through French life and Midwestern sensibilities, all combined in one compelling story.” —Midwest Book Review

“Loaded with lacerating wit and trenchant but tender observations, Scott Carpenter’s French Like Moi is also a true original: a serious memoir that doesn’t take itself too seriously. It is this humility that gives Carpenter’s book its undeniable strength—that, and his vivid, often hilarious storytelling.” —Marcia DeSanctis, New York Times bestselling author of 100 Places in France Every Woman Should Go

“Sit back with a croissant and an espresso—or better yet, du vin et du fromage—and treat yourself to the delights and dilemmas of being a Midwesterner in Paris. Scott Carpenter’s tales of life in the French capital will make you laugh, marvel, and daydream about amping up the adventure in your own life. Merci Monsieur Carpenter!” —Lorna Landvik, author of Chronicles of a Radical Hag

“Deeply French but also deeply Midwestern—and thus rather perfect.” —Alethea Black, author of You’ve Been So Lucky Already

“The most delightful and delicious form of escapism—smart, kind, funny, and (best of all!) French. Perfect for Francophiles and dreamers alike.” —K. S. R. Burns, author of The Paris Effect and Paris Ever After

French Like Moi is not only full of spot-on cultural observations and the laugh-out-loud-yet-self-deprecating humor Minnesotans do so well, it’s also beautifully written with a timeless literary flair.” —Heather Stimmler-Hall, author of Naughty Paris, editor of Secrets of Paris

“I laughed until my sides hurt at Carpenter’s lighthearted and self-deprecating take on living in l'Hexagone. For loyal lovers of Paris and France, and anyone who’s moved abroad or is thinking about it, French Like Moi is a jovial reminder to pack your patience and your dictionary, and gobble up every single, butter-soaked morsel of the journey. —Kimberley Lovato, author of Walnut Wine & Truffle Groves

“Carpenter greets the language, cuisine, culture, and daily details of life with a wit and honesty that makes for a rollicking read. We encounter vivid characters, impossible scenarios, and such hilarious tableaus that soon we all feel French like lui!” —Erin Byrne, author of Wings: Gifts of Art, Life, and Travel in France

“Five stars.” —Readers’ Favorite

“Carpenter shares hilarious faux pas and cultural differences, reading with a deadpan, self-deprecating, understated tone. An affectionate, insider’s look at French culture.” —Booklist, Audiobook

Kirkus Reviews

2020-02-21
A volume of essays recounts the joys and difficulties of a Midwestern college professor’s move to Paris.

On sabbatical from teaching, Carpenter moved with his wife and daughter all the way from Minnesota to Paris. After much bureaucratic hubbub, they bought a tiny apartment and set about acclimating to the Parisian way of life. No stranger to the French but a relative newcomer to their daily routines, the author highlights the captivating contrasts between his Midwestern home and his adopted city in 18 essays and three sections: “Came,” “Saw,” and “Conquered.” Each essay focuses on a different element of Parisian life, from the relative opulence of American return policies to the ubiquity of protests and demonstrations. Carpenter’s insights are humorous and deftly crafted, interweaving perceptive details about the French language with curious incidents and stirring events. While the tone is light, the author occasionally ventures into serious territory, most effectively in his discussion of terrorism and the national climate. While his more solemn moments can verge on flippancy, Carpenter generally returns readers to a place of thoughtful consideration. One of the strongest, most innovative passages comes in a chapter recalling the difficult process of raising funds and securing approvals for apartment building improvements. The author convincingly compares this process to the drama of an opera and goes so far as to provide the beginnings of a libretto. Most of his essays are also accompanied by debut illustrator Golden’s charming sketches, which lend additional intrigue to Carpenter’s fluid scenes. Although perhaps not groundbreaking in its subject matter or style, the book is a delightful read, presenting essays filled with levity and grace.

A winning and witty collection offering humor and insight into the French way of life.

Product Details

BN ID: 2940177869957
Publisher: Travelers' Tales Guides, Incorporated
Publication date: 06/09/2020
Edition description: Unabridged
Sales rank: 1,142,829

Read an Excerpt

From Chapter One: "Murders in the Rue Bobillot"

“To be honest,” Madame C replied in French, “the problem is the neighbors. They refuse to die.”

The comment sent my tea gurgling down the wrong pipe. While I hacked and wheezed, our hostess pinched her brow with concern. Her companion, Patricia, tendered a napkin, in case my insides came out.

Ça va, Monsieur Carpenter?

Ça va,” I croaked, flapping my hand to keep her at bay. Repeating it seemed a good idea. “Ça va, ça va.

Anne, who’d been off inspecting the kitchen, returned to the living room to pound me on the back. Madame C perched primly on the sofa, and Patricia added cubes of sugar to their tea. The mood was far from homicidal.

This kind of thing occurred with distressing frequency in Paris: I’d start a conversation on one topic only to find it veering into another. While I squinted at the butcher’s explanation about cutlets, the road would somehow fork off to plumbing. At the post office I’d be learning about air mail options, only to feel the clerk had hairpinned to the subject of Etruscan pottery. Swerves like this generally meant I’d misunderstood some crucial word, had careened off the conversational cliff, and had been airborne for an undetermined amount of time. So, when Madame C mentioned murder as her reason for selling the apartment, I recognized the floating sensation and braced for impact.

Where, I wondered during the fall, had I gone wrong? After all, the verb mourir had definitely whizzed by, calling to mind the deathiness of mortgages and mortuaries. And I was pretty sure she’d said something about neighbors. Of course, there’d been a slew of other words, too, some of them possibly significant. It’s always hard to tell which parts of a foreign language are the engines and axles, and which are the hood ornaments and air fresheners.

There was still a chance to land it. Sometimes, if you play along, the matter will sort itself out.

“So why do you suppose that is?” I said. “I mean, why is it the neighbors won’t…?” And here I made a rolling gesture with my hand, inviting Madame C to fill in the gap with some clarifying comment.

She shrugged: it was inexplicable. Monsieur and Madame Pottard were old and infirm, but they simply “refused.”

“You mean they refuse to…?” My hand swirled.

They refused to partir, she said—that is, to “leave.”

“Like, to an old folks’ home?”

“No.” Her look went steely. “To the grave.”

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