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Overview
'A glorious time-slip caper... Just wonderful’ Daily Mail
When Hubert Larnaudie invites some fellow residents of his Parisian apartment building to drink an exceptional bottle of 1954 Beaujolais, he has no idea of its special properties.
The following morning, Hubert finds himself waking up in 1950s Paris, as do antique restorer Magalie, mixologist Julien, and Airbnb tenant Bob from Milwaukee, who's on his first trip to Europe. After their initial shock, the city of Edith Piaf and An American in Paris begins to work its charm on them. The four delight in getting to know the French capital during this iconic period, whilst also playing with the possibilities that time travel allows.
But, ultimately, they need to work out how to get back to 2017, and time is of the essence...
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781910477670 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Gallic Books |
| Publication date: | 06/18/2019 |
| Pages: | 208 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 7.70(h) x 0.70(d) |
About the Author
Emily Boyce is a translator and editor. She was shortlisted for the French Book Office New Talent in Translation Award in 2008, the French-American Translation Prize in 2016, and the Scott Moncrieff Prize in 2021. She lives in London.
Jane Aitken is a publisher and translator from the French.
Read an Excerpt
In Antoine Laurain’s novel Vintage 1954 (June 2019, Gallic Books), Hubert Larnaudie, patriarch of a Parisian apartment building, invites neighbours Julien, a barman at the famous Harry’s Bar, antique restorer Magalie and American Airbnb tenant Bob to share a bottle of 1954 Beaujolais he has unearthed in his cellar. The following morning they find themselves waking up to a very different Paris … ‘What I would like to see is General de Gaulle back in power!’ declared the man drinking a Picon-bière. Julien thought this was a perfect example of why alcohol was bad for you. Curiously, no one else seemed to find the customer’s statement in any way peculiar. A workman in overalls enjoying his morning glass of white merely shrugged. Perhaps everyone felt sorry for the poor man. Julien had dropped into this little café on his way to Harry’s Bar. He had spotted a vintage bus and decided to take it to work but it left just as he reached the bus stop. He had looked up at the electronic screen to find out when the next bus would be, but the screen had disappeared, along with the bus shelter. There was an old-fashioned lamp post instead. As it was unexpectedly sunny, Julien decided that a walk would be the best way to start his day. ‘Don’t you agree? Isn’t the leader of Free France the one we all need now?’ the first man went on, looking at Julien. ‘Uh, yes, yes . . .’ replied Julien. ‘Come on, Marcel, stop bothering the customers,’ said the owner, who must have weighed getting on for twenty stone. Marcel shook his head, reaching for his packet of Gauloises and lighting up. They certainly were tolerant here, thought Julien. You heard of some cafés who still let their customers smoke after hours, but never during opening time. Julien considered making a comment, but was a bit wary of upsetting the owner, given his size. In any case, the owner didn’t seem bothered; he was busy dunking his croissant in his bowl of coffee. The smell of cigarette smoke was so unusual these days. At the other end of the bar, someone struck a match against the counter and lit their pipe. The waiter called for one large white and one small black coffee, and the owner put his croissant down to go and make them. There was a charming, antiquated feel to the café reinforced by the old advertising posters decorating the walls. One was for Dubonnet, ‘Dubo, Dubon, Dubonnet’, one for Byrrh and another for Berger Blanc. The old man next to Julien, who had a long beard and rings on his fingers, was reading an antiques magazine. Julien could see black-and-white photos and descriptions of various items offered for sale or exchange by collectors. ‘How much do I owe you?’ Julien asked. The owner had gone back to eating his croissant and as he had his mouth full, he held up three fingers. Julien looked surprised: three euros in this little place? Vintage decor obviously came at a price, or else this was how the owner paid his fines for letting customers smoke. He wanted to remonstrate, but then his eye fell on the notice pinned above the shelf of liqueurs. Written in red ink that allowed no ambiguity, the notice read: ‘HERE what the proprietor says goes. The Management.’ Julien placed three euro pieces on the counter and started to walk out. ‘Not so fast! What am I supposed to do with this funny money?’ the owner called. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘Your coins. I’m not a collector, you know.’ ‘But I am,’ said the old man who had been standing next to Julien. He picked up a euro and took a magnifying glass from his pocket. ‘That’s strange, but it’s well made. It must come from a slot machine in Las Vegas. Have you been to Las Vegas?’ ‘Yes, I have,’ mumbled Julien. ‘Your coffee for these chips, young man – deal?’ proposed the bearded man, scrutinising Julien. ‘Done!’ he cried, as Julien, whom the owner was looking at suspiciously, said nothing. The antiques collector looked again at the coins. ‘It must be a large casino, Euro; the name is marked on the chips, and 2012 is the series number. I know people who’ll be interested in these.’ Outside, Julien marvelled at the bizarre café he had stumbled on, where you could smoke with impunity and people thought euros were slot-machine tokens. But he didn’t have time to pursue this line of thought because a cellar window like the one Monsieur Larnaudie was obsessed by caught his eye and he stopped. The shutters were open and several very large sacks of coal were standing in front of them. A man emerged, his face sweaty and covered in black dust. ‘What’s all the coal for?’ The man looked up at Julien. ‘What’s it for?’ He was out of breath. ‘For fun, sonny. I lug coal down into all the cellars in the street for fun! I’m having fun here, then afterwards I’ll go and have fun opposite, and then next door. And you, what do you do for fun?’ ‘I’m a barman.’ ‘Oh yeah? Well, scram and have fun in your bar, before I kick your arse.’ And the man disappeared back through the cellar opening. ‘What’s going on here?’ asked a passing policeman with a handlebar moustache. ‘What’s going on is that this little bugger is winding me up!’ shouted the man from inside the cellar. The policeman looked angrily at Julien. ‘Making fun of a worker, you little anarchist?’ ‘Not at all,’ stuttered Julien. ‘I’m not making fun of anyone.’ ‘“Officer”, you’re supposed to address me as “Officer”,’ said the policeman, finger raised. ‘Officer,’ repeated Julien. ‘Asking what my coal was for?’ the other man said. ‘How insulting is that?’ And he grabbed a sack that must have weighed a ton. ‘You show him, by God!’ replied the policeman. ‘Come on now, young man, time to move on. I can’t have you making trouble on my patch.’ ‘Officer! Officer!’ called a young woman, out of breath. ‘What’s wrong, Miss?’ ‘A cyclist has fallen over on my street, and he can’t get up again.’ ‘I’m right behind you,’ cried the policeman, setting off in the girl’s wake. Julien watched them go, then reluctantly moved off himself. He was startled by a sharp cry, ‘Viiitrier!’ A glazier walked slowly along, panes of glass in a carrier on his back, and every few steps he gave the street cry of his trade: ‘Viiitrier!’ ‘Vitrier!’ called a young woman from her balcony and the glazier looked up. ‘Second door on the left.’ The glazier threw his cigarette away and pushed open the door to the building. Julien looked at his watch. Time for him to make his way to Harry’s Bar so that he would be ready for service at midday.
Interviews
Describe this book in one sentence. You drink a glass of wine from a 1954 bottle and you wake up … in 1954! Imagine that time travel experience. What inspired you to write Vintage 1954? I often look at old photos of Paris, particularly those by Robert Doisneau – black and white images of a bygone France, a France I’ll never know … I think I wanted to step into one of those photos and have a walk around inside it. There was a kind of charm to those years that has been lost. Which is your favourite moment of the novel? Maybe the chapter in which the four main characters go for dinner at Les Halles. I had to recreate the atmosphere of the original glass halls and of the neighbourhood, which has changed beyond recognition. Please share a special anecdote about the book When I finished the book, I sent it to a wine merchant friend of mine to check. He sent back a few corrections, along with a bottle from his personal cellar, with a note saying, ‘I can’t believe what you’ve written, Antoine! The wine and the flying saucer over the vines – it’s an actual thing!’ The wine in question is American and the label shows … a flying saucer above a French vineyard! If you type ‘le cigare volant wine’ into Google images, you’ll understand how surprised I was to see it – I had no idea this wine existed. What is the message of the novel? Each character has to discover something about him or herself – their role in life, you could say. Going back to the 1950s for the weekend helps them find the answer. It’s also a story about friendship. If you could time travel, where would you choose to go? I’d go back to 1954, but also to the eighteenth century (just before the French Revolution – after 1789 it gets dangerous!) Most of your novels develop around an object (a hat, a notebook, a cassette, etc). Why did you choose wine this time? I was trying to think of a way for the characters to go back in time. While I was cooking at home, I started looking at the old empty bottles I’ve got displayed on a shelf in the kitchen, with the dates on their labels : 1971, 1988 … It struck me that this could be the ‘magic potion’ : a bottle of wine and the date on it! Paris is a city with a fascinating history. Why did you decide to take your characters back to 1954 in particular? Because there was a wave of UFO sightings in France that year, and that’s one of the keys to the story. What’s next for Antoine Laurain? I’m writing a new novel. It’s different from Vintage 1954, but in a good way. What are you currently reading? The latest Michel Houllebecq, Serotonine.