I've linked to this book so many times (frequently filed under "Things I Am Still Reading") that I refuse to do so again.
Which is really quite uncooperative of me because anything I can do to get you to read this book will surely lead me to those Heaven Points I so sorely need after once again ordering a "caramel apple empanada" from Taco Bell. (AKA "a McDonald's hot apple pie but shaped differently and with more cinnamon"). Peter Mayle, author of A Year in Provence (oops, auto-linking fingers!), would never order anything from the Big Bell Value Menu. Never.
I'm a rapt audience for any travelogue (hence the low standards when writing my own), but AYiP is something special, which must be why it won all of those awards and garnered more eloquent blurbs than "very nice," which is pretty much all I have to contribute.
This was my "waiting room book" for many months now (well, it was also my gym book for awhile, but I'd rather no one tallied up how seldom I take advantage of my increasingly unaffordable health club membership), so I'd like to take a moment to bless the local Ford dealer for being late with the car yesterday. (I'd also like to thank them for coming in $22 under quote on the new tires, oil change, inspection, and 30k-mile service -- that means more books!)
A book for foodies. A book for smirkers. A book for anyone who wants to visit 1980s-era Provence. (Has it changed much? Should I read the sequel?) And a book for people who appreciate it when the author isn't afraid to, say, use a French word to capture the appropriate mood then continue on without doubling-back and holding your hand as you look up the word together in the dictionary.
So, three cheers (or five, if you're from Pylea) for the Mayles and their use of Franglish and their love of crusty breads and oily cheeses and their ability to write from an outsider's perspective without staying on the outside.
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