Catégorie : Archives 97-86

Jazz Feature, February 1997

With his trademark hat and cigarette, Mike Zwerin is a recognizable figure in any Paris jazz club. In fact Zwerin wears two hats, as a trombonist and as a columnist for the International Herald Tribune. We met recently in his comfortable home in the 11th arrondissement to discuss both « chapeaux. » Is it tough living a double life? « It’s not quite a double life because both jobs involve music. But it is very hard to mix the two. If I go to play at a festival, it never crosses my mind to do any interviews on the side. I’m there strictly as a musician. » Continuer la lecture de « Mike Zwerin’s two hats »

Fashion feature, June 1995

Next month French haute couture will lose one of its few remaining giants. The towering (6 foot, 6 inch) Hubert de Givenchy will take a final bow after his couture collection, then retire from a world he has gracefully dominated for more than 40 years. A perfectionist in cut and silhouette with impeccable taste impervious to radical changes in style, Givenchy is part of the old school of fashion, which believes first and foremost that clothes should beautify the woman. Having dressed many of the world’s most elegant women, including Jacqueline Kennedy, the Duchess of Windsor, Princess Grace and Audrey Hepburn, Givenchy is recognized by industry professionals, including his colleagues, as one of the world’s greatest designers.

Though he has been criticized for doggedly clinging to his signature look – suits and jackets with square shoulders, graceful, knee-length ladylike dresses and grand, aristocratic ball gowns – during fashion’s wild and crazy metamorphosis, Givenchy’s design influence has withstood the test of time. After chaotic years of androgynous clothes, intellectual dressing, sloppy grunge and trashy vamps, many of today’s designers have retreated to a more elegant look that has been omnipresent throughout this couturier’s career. « A dress must be like a breath of air, giving the impression that it has just been put on. It should follow the movements of the wearer, » Givenchy insists. « I want fashion to be beautiful and lively. » He continues, « With haute couture, we are like plastic surgeons. We smooth over the bad points, refine the silhouette. In some ways we are also like magicians in that we create an illusion of beauty. »

Every day, the designer arrives promptly at 7am for work. He wears a white smock, his silver hair neatly brushed back. « I love to hear the house come alive each morning, » he enthuses. With music creating a background ambiance, he begins work by sketching and planning his daily schedule. While preparing his twice-yearly couture collections, Givenchy is incommunicado, completely losing himself in work. For hours on end, his models walk, stand and sit while he discusses patterns and sends the muslin prototypes back to the workroom for alterations before the ideas cool. « It is still a pleasure to see a dress come to life on a woman’s body, » he says with the same enthusiasm he had as a child rambling all over his grandparents’ house.

Born into an aristocratic family in Beauvais, north of Paris, Givenchy was raised by his mother and her parents after his father, a pilot, died in a plane crash. As early as 7, he recalls, he was designing imaginary dresses for celebrities featured in magazines. His grandfather, a student of Corot, was director of the Manufacture de Beauvais tapestry works; he collected precious art objects and rare textiles. Every armoire and chest in the house revealed a treasure of antique fabrics and decorative items. Together with his grandmother, the young Hubert would gaze in awe at the fabrics, trying to imagine who once owned them and how they were used. From this early experience, Givenchy developed a taste for and sensitivity to sumptuous textiles and art. In 1937, the family made a trip to the capital to see the Paris Exposition. At a time when Europe was slowly erupting into war, the French had created a dazzling environment reflecting their fantasies of world trade and peace. The 10-year-old boy was attracted to the Pavillon d’Elegance, a grotto with pink plaster walls housing a fashion exhibition with flamboyantly dressed mannequins representing the high fashion designers of the times.

After the Liberation, Givenchy first bowed to his family’s expectations and began studies in law. But a passion for fashion induced him to drop out and head for Paris. In 1945, he enrolled at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts and began an apprenticeship with the house of Jacques Fath. The postwar era saw Paris sparkling with the excitement of adjustment and reformation. Unheated cafés and restaurants were warmed by lively debates on politics, existentialism, future trends for the nation, the world, politicians, scientists, artists. The fashion world was bubbling over with Dior’s revolutionary « New Look. » This trend, with its wasp waists, padded busts and extremely full skirts, and all of the controversy surrounding it, put the house of Dior on the map. Dior, however, soon became the victim of his own success. Each collection had to be more grandiose, more complicated, more boned, padded, stuffed with more and more petticoats. Givenchy, who was working for the avant-garde couturier Schiaparelli, began exploring a simpler direction, devising tops, skirts and jackets that could be worn together or in a variety of combinations. Everything was uncomplicated, supple, lean and very young.

Aided by a top model, Bettina Graziani, who also worked as his publicist and saleswoman, and a close friend, Hélène Bouilloux-Laffont, who offered moral and financial support, Givenchy founded his own couture house in early 1952. With limited funds for fabrics, the young designer cut most of the clothes from the same white percale and put them on the best models in Paris. Customers could choose the silhouette they liked and then select the desired fabric. This novel idea won over much of the international press and buyers, who found everything fresh and exciting. On the first day of selling, Givenchy Couture was reported to have racked up 7 million francs. By age 25, Givenchy was one of the few couturiers to own his business outright, a status he enjoyed until he sold his house to LVMH in 1988.

Of all the celebrities who figured among Givenchy’s illustrious clientele, no one had such a profound impact as the legendary Audrey Hepburn. One day, Givenchy received word that he would be dressing « Miss Hepburn » for a Billy Wilder movie, « Sabrina. » A big fan of Katherine Hepburn, he was quite excited about the impending project. Much to his surprise, awaiting him in his salon was a frail young girl named Audrey, with short hair and no makeup, clad in gingham. Nevertheless, the charm of Hollywood’s newest star quickly won over the designer, who became so enthralled with her graceful, slim body and her long, swanlike neck, he adopted her as the symbol of his house. Each collection seemed to have been designed just for Audrey. His perfume « l’Interdit » was created expressly for her, in 1957.

The press and buyers, however, were not impressed by silhouettes designed for someone with such a gamine figure. Neither did they appreciate the strong, minimalist influence resulting from Givenchy’s friendship with Balenciaga, a couturier known for pure, simple lines. The 1955 winter collection provoked an outburst of unkind remarks, insults and other negative reactions. Some dresses were called « Balenciaga copies. » Others, cut with flat busts and low belted waistlines, were shunned. Still, for all of the contention, Givenchy’s « sack » dress was the latest rage by the mid-1950s. Other innovations that followed included the empire look and the « shift, » a popular style of the 1960s.

Givenchy dressed Audrey Hepburn for such movies as « Breakfast at Tiffany’s, » « Charade » and « Funny Face, » as well as for her personal life. « Givenchy’s friendship is something very precious to me, » the actress told journalists during an exposition held for her dear friend four years ago. « We’ve known each other for more than 30 years. He is always there for me, particularly during difficult moments. He came to New York when I received the Lincoln Center tribute. When my son was born, he came to see me and brought a christening gown with Spanish embroidery. And for my 60th birthday, he sent me 60 white rose bushes, which have just begun to blossom. » Their friendship lasted right up to her death in 1993. After a respectable amount of time had passed, Givenchy discreetly designed one last collection paying homage to his elegant friend.

Today « Givenchy » is more than a man creating made to order clothing for a privileged few. Part of the LVMH group, it is now a veritable empire of couture and ready-to-wear garments, perfume and cosmetics, menswear, articles for the home, and fine jewelry. Who will take over the reins after its founder leaves is anybody’s guess, though rumors point strongly to John Galliano, the British designer credited with the « elegance revival » of the ’90s. Assuming Givenchy doesn’t change his mind before the end of the year, when his contract expires, he will retreat to the 17th century manor he calls Le Jonchet. Bordered by fields and gardens, and surrounded by a tranquil moat, everything is as majestic as its owner. The interiors are decorated with an eclectic mix of contemporary paintings and rare antiques, chrome and glass tables and 18th century artifacts, all carefully balanced and in proportion.

Throughout his career, Givenchy has repeatedly said, « I’ve always wanted to create something that would not disappear with me but would outlive me for 50 or maybe 100 years. » He has indeed left an indelible mark on fashion. Like his mentor Balenciaga, he leaves behind a legacy, a great name that will surely outlive him for generations.

 

 

Q&A Closeups, December 1997
Q:  For several years I have been living with a Frenchman who was previously married and had three children with his wife. Even though his marriage was dead before we became intimate, his children have never accepted the idea of my presence in his life, and he keeps me totally separate from anything to do with them. Although he says he intends to make our relationship permanent once the children change their attitude,  he plans many of his weekends and all of the holidays with them rather than me.So now I am facing yet another Christmas on my own, and despite countless hours spent in tears, reasoning, pleading or threatening, nothing changes. What's left to do?

A:  Not much.  I hate to be so pessimistic, but this is a situation which I have encountered before, and it can remain deadlocked for a long time, even when people get counseling. This particular dynamic often occurs when the previously married partner embarks on a new

couple relationship before the first one is really packed away, even though it may have been perceived as over or "dead" for a while. This lack of true resolution and separation leaves space for a bitter ex-spouse or angry, upset children to act out their pain by emotionally threatening the partner with vengeful behavior (the spouse), or withdrawal of contact/affection (the children). This partner usually feels guilty anyway for the family's break up, and tries to repair or control the damage by acceding to the demands of the people he (or she) has hurt.  In contrast, the new partner (in this case, you), has no such conflicts of loyalty, and is ready to engage fully in the new relationship. This difference in levels of commitment is extremely painful to experience. The sad fact is that lateral relationships (partners) are more easily expendable than vertical (parents, children) ones. Nevertheless, if a person has truly divorced and has been living alone for a while prior to meeting someone new, the guilt may have been resolved somewhat, and the parent is less likely to play along with the children's naturally oppositional behavior to someone new. In your case, the children and perhaps the former spouse are running the show for both your partner and you, and as you have learned to your sorrow, there is little you can do about it.

Because you are probably suffering more than he is, this puts the onus on you to do for yourself what seems necessary to relieve your unhappiness. This can mean deciding to leave the relationship, or backing off and creating a life for yourself while waiting for your friend to take greater risks on your behalf. Know that even if your partner does eventually try to create more space for you in the family, the battle is far from over. The step-parent role is generally thankless, even more so when the biological parent is still in the picture. "When You Marry a Man with Children," by Barbara Mullen Keenan, is one of several good books about step families which may lead to your realizing that the current situation also has certain advantages.

Jill Bourdais is a psychotherapist practicing in Paris both privately and in a hospital setting. A specialist in couple/family problems, she also teaches PAIRS, a skills-building course in intimate relationships.

 

Books, December 1997
"Why do people come to Paris any more?" asks Stanley Karnow, Pulitzer prize-winning writer and author of a new book, "Paris In The Fifties." He lights another Gitane and sips his café crème. "When we came here, we were kind of searching for the belle époque of the '20s, the Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein era… I'm told that young people today come here searching for the belle époque of the '50s. Everyone looks backs and says wow! Things were better then. Who knows, maybe they were."

Karnow's story may sound familiar. He came to Paris as a student in July 1947, straight out of Harvard, planning to stay for the summer. After a whirlwind tour of a Europe still devastated by war, he fell in love with a French woman and started looking for work in Paris. Taken on by Time magazine, he stayed for 10 years.

His new book is "a reporter's notebook, not a social history." Despite the grinding poverty – food and clothing were rationed, and only fifteen percent of Parisians had a bathroom – Karnow lived a charmed life, hanging out in cafés with the local intellectuals, eating endless lunches, then retiring to the bar of the Crillon Hotel on Place de la Concorde – the Time office was just upstairs – to file his voluminous weekly dispatches. Most of these were never used, and form the basis for his book.

Karnow recounts his interviews with a long list of visiting celebrities – Hemingway, Orson Welles, John Huston, James Baldwin, Samuel Beckett and a breathless Audrey Hepburn, only 24 and just finished filming "Roman Holiday." He plays golf with the Duke of Windsor, and befriends Karl Marx's great-grandson, Robert-Jean Longuet. He describes the political confusion of the chaotic Fourth Republic, and his investigations into crime, "le Tout Paris," the intellectual world, French youth, the fashion season, and the last prisoners to return from Devil's Island. We go on quick tours of the Beaujolais and North Africa, and are given potted histories of Paris brothels (a favorite subject), the grandes écoles, the French love of food, the guillotine, even tax evasion.

If a lot of this sounds like romanticized nostalgia, remember that France used to be dirt cheap for foreigners. Karnow came over on the GI Bill, $75 a month, and lived "not lavishly, but pretty well. Now you can shoot 75 bucks for a dinner, easily." And if it was a golden age for Americans in Paris, it wasn't so great for the French. "It was terribly poor, especially in the immediate postwar years, salaries were very low, there were lot of social tensions. The French look back and they say it was terrible – they were humiliated by their surrender in the war, they had an absolutely preposterous political system, they were losing a war in Algeria, and getting engulfed in a war in Indochina."

The Cold War casts a long shadow over the book. On one side are the American bureau chiefs who are convinced that the French are all commies, and make Karnow swear on oath that "I am not now, nor have I ever been, a Communist." On the other side are the French intelligentsia, lead by Sartre, who toe Stalin's line until late into the decade – only André Gide, shocked by a visit to Moscow, dared to question the Soviet orthodoxy, and he was ostracized for it.

In May 1958, Karnow moved to Hong Kong to become Time bureau chief for Asia. He went on to write acclaimed books on Vietnam and the Philippines, before returning to the States in the early 1970s. He visits Paris regularly, to visit old haunts and friends from the '50s.

So how has Paris changed? Not a lot. "I think the French are fundamentally conservative, in the sense that they want to preserve things, they like things the way they were. In many cases, what sounds like radicalism is rhetoric. They recoil from drastic change."

But he can't help this feeling that a certain dynamism has gone: "One of things that attracted Americans, and a lot of other foreigners, to Paris in the '50s, was this sense that this was a cultural center. With a global impact. When Sartre, Camus, Malraux [or] Françoise Sagan published a new book, it was a worldwide event, it would make the newspapers in New York, London; it had real impact. The painters were painting, Picasso, Braque. Paris still dominated the fashion world. It's all gone."

So why do people come to Paris any more? "Well, there is a style of life that is very pleasant," he says, puffing on his Gitane and looking around the café. "No one cares if you smoke! It's a very permissive city, a very discrete city. And all week I've been going out to restaurants. Naturally, that's what you do in Paris – dine out night after night. I sometimes wonder when they sleep."

 

Commentary, December 1997
It should come as no big surprise that for foreigners getting married in Paris this is no Las Vegas-slam-bam-thank-you-mam-you-may-now-kiss-the-bride affair.

In fact, the process of getting your nuptual papers together can be so cumbersome that the administrative hoop-jumping really tests your will to commit to your partner. In other words, at this moment in social history where the numbers don't look favorably on the chances of succeeding at marriage, and in a country where the stigma of cohabitation is "nul," you really have to want to do it. It's clear that Nike is not a French company; no one here can "Just Do It" or anything else for that matter.

The US Consulate confirms that Americans call long distance at all times of the day and night with their romantic and kinky requests to take the vows on top of the Eiffel Tower or at Notre Dame at midnight. One of the funkiest was a request for a Catacombs ceremony on Halloween in the presence of the exhumed bones of Maurice Chevalier. Hey, it takes all types to make a world.

Admittedly, Paris should be a swell place to get married, great photo ops, top notch flowers, champagne, and "pièce montée" (wedding cake) are all readily available, and of course, out-of-town guests prefer trekking to Paris than Peoria or Reading, Pennsylvania, like last year's gig when your nephew Clem finally got serious and popped the question to his old standby Mandy. Get hitched in Paris and you give 'em two reasons to get on a plane.

No, the problems aren't with the party but the papers.

Firstly, if you think that just because you're two willing adults with  lawless blood tests that you're gonna become man and wife ("entre autres"), guess again – you need to start with an office of documents:

1) "Quittance EDF" (electric bill). Note: if you light by candle in Paris, you're not even considered a person. So turn on the lights and get your name on the freaking bill.

2) Carte nationale d'identité. A carte de séjour and a passport will do. If you don't have a carte de séjour, or if only one of you has a carte de séjour, go directly to jail and do not collect $200! One of you, in all cases, must have resided here for at least 40 days immediately preceding the marriage. And if you're both American, then both must comply with this. And, if you think because you've lived in Paris for over 40 days, or even 40 years, that you can dash off and get married somewhere cool like the Mont St-Michel or on a TGV to Marseille, get real. You can only get married in the town where one of you resides, and it must happen at the Mairie. Churches, etc. come later, but that's your business. (Church and State split up a long time ago in this Catholic country, and don't forget it.) To be legal, all marriages must be performed by a French civil authority. So your friend the ship captain, your cousin's rabbi, or the spiritual leader of the Yoga Church of Endless Love won't do the trick here. It'll be more like the Mairie of Malakoff or the Mairie of the 19e!

3) "Justificatif de Situation Militair." Americans can get away with a sworn affidavit on this one, unless you went AWOL in the Mecong Delta or denounced your country during the Gulf War crisis.

4) "Attestation sur l'honneur du domicile." If you don't understand why you need this as well as your electric bill, you're being far too logical to live here. Go home; you're not ready!

5) "Copie intégrale de l'acte de naissance." This one is fun. If you figure out the difference between the "copie intégrale" and the "extrait de naissance" par contre, you are more than ready to make France your home for life. In France your birth certificate is valid for three months, and only the town hall in the place where you were born can issue you a renewed document. Being born outside of France, you can provide your  original birth certificate – not a copy – but you'll probably have to supply a translation, but not just any ol' translation, one that's been translated by a translator "assermenté," in other words, officially recognized by the State, and thus, not cheap. The Consulate offers lists of these chosen few.

6) "Certificat médical prénuptial." This is no biggie. Any doctor can do it. Of course you'll need to get a blood test at your local laboratoire (remember syphilis) and sometimes a chest X-ray.

7) "Certificat de célibat." This simply means that you are single and you are eligible for marriage. Yanks don't have these. We just do it, remember?, and rely on lawyers, lots of them, later. The Consulate will give you the equivalent in the form of a sworn affidavit for 10 bucks.

8) "Certificat de coutume." Very interesting concept. The French authorities want to make sure that the customs of your native country are not incompatible with French law. If you come from Mali and you have three wives you might run into a complication or two. If you come from Newark, New Jersey and you have three wives or husbands, I strongly advise that you lie profusely. In any case, the Consulate can provide another affidavit of law that gets you over this wall.

If you're not dissuaded yet, bravo. Dig in and do it. You've proved your love and devotion to your imminent spouse. But, buyer beware: the rules at each Mairie are subject to change and local interpretation. So any of the above may no longer be valid.

The champagne, I promise, will be great though!

 

Jazz Review, December 1997
A wealth of jazz material recorded in mid-century Paris has recently been re-released and like most voices from the past, these evoke conflicting emotions: nostalgia and sadness on one hand, a sense of wonder and celebration on the other.

As Miles Davis noted in his autobiography, Paris was a haven of artistic and personal liberty for African-American musicians in the post-war years. Above all, they were free of the public humiliation of segregation inflicted on them back home. They were welcomed into the city's intellectual life and the place to hang was the Club Saint Germain. A live recording, "Art Blakey et les Jazz Messengers au Club Saint Germain 1958," (BMG) featuring Benny Golson on sax and Lee Morgan on trumpet, captures all the spontaneity and conviviality of that legendary establishment, complete with amusing chit-chat between band members and audience.

But it wasn't only the Americans who were swinging. Banned during the war, French jazz enjoyed a renaissance after the Liberation, supported by intellectuals like Sartre and Picasso. EMI-Swing have put out a double-disc compilation, "Jazz à Saint Germain, 1945-1967," which is a joyous overview of the French contribution, featuring artists such as clarinetists Claude Luter and Maxim Saury, and writer/cornetist Boris Vian. The one giant of these recordings, though, is undeniably Sidney Bechet, an American who stayed on so long that many local fans assumed he was French.

Franco-American saxophonist, Barney Wilen, was another example of cultural fusion. He was an engaging player with a bold, energetic tone but somehow the tremendous promise of his early career never quite panned out. The glory days of Wilen, who passed away last year after a long battle with cancer, are recaptured thanks to the CD, "More From Barney at the Club Saint Germain" (RCA Victor), recorded in April 1959 and featuring Kenny Dorham on trumpet.   

Wilen can also be found on a record that perfectly captures the twin allure of jazz and Paris, the re-mastered soundtrack of Louis Malle's noir classic, "L'Ascenseur pour L'Échafaud," composed by Miles Davis. Davis improvised in front of a projection of the film and the results are truly haunting. His trumpet has never sounded so sensual or yearning. The first piece, "Générique," is like an aural aphrodisiac and achieves a sexual lyricism that, while scandalous in Eisenhower's America, was perfectly at home in 1957 Paris.

Today most of the musicians heard on these records are gone and the Club Saint Germain is a Karaoke bar. If it were not for La Villa jazz club, there would be no special place to remind us of Saint Germain's once privileged past. Like the Club Saint Germain, La Villa mixes visiting and local musicians and is the only remaining club in Paris to program artists for week-long engagements.

Among the acts you can catch there this month are singer/pianist Ben Sidran, who'll turn your notions of jazz and popular music on their heads, December 3-9; singer Alice Day, whose pianist, Georges Arvanitas, was a part of the Club Saint Germain scene, December 17-23; and the great pianist Alain Jean Marie with his trio, who'll be performing from their CD, Biguine Reflections, December 25-31. From January 28 to February 3, don't abandon hope with "A Band in all Hope," featuring drum star Bill Stewart and brilliant young pianist Bill Carrothers.

La Villa, 29, rue Jacob, 6e, Mº St-Germain-des-Prés, tel: 01.43.26.60.00, 10:30pm, Mon & Thu 120F, Tue & Wed 150F per couple, Fri & Sat 150F, prices include first drink, closed Sun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jazz Review, December 1997
One of the best tracks on Loudon Wainwright III's latest album with Virgin Records, "Little Ship," is titled "Mr. Ambivalent" ("Make a little movement or get off of the pot"). Given that Wainwright is a singer, songwriter, instrumentalist, actor and social satirist, is the song a reflection of a career dilemma – a case of too many hats and not enough heads? "It was more the Freudian idea of ambivalence: loving and hating the same thing; my inability to choose. But as far as my career's concerned, I don't think of myself as an actor or comedian or social commentator. I think of myself as a songwriter and performer."

While these days we tend to associate names-plus-numerals with robots or movie sequels, Wainwright earned his numbers the old-fashioned way: from his father, a well-known writer with Life magazine and his grandfather, a prosperous businessman. Born in Westchester County, "Cheever country, Updike country, businessmen commuting…" he returned to his hometown after the death of his mother last spring. "It was a mixture of fate and choice that brought me back. It's strange yet at the same time very familiar."

That mixture of strangeness plus familiarity is a cornerstone of his art, along with an astoundingly candid self-analysis which borders on obsessive and an observational humor that can be charmingly wry one moment and startlingly direct the next. Wainwright's wit has a way of sneaking up on you. He chuckles when discussing the incongruity of the lyrics to his song, "The World" ("The world is a dirty old, crappy old, shitty old, terrible joke") when placed within the context of the fixed-grin, bouncy melody of the tune. "The banjo has such a happy, cheerful sound. I thought it went perfectly with the pessimistic lyrics. The world is a terrible place; there's proof of that. It can also be a beautiful, wonderful place." He pauses, sighs, then delivers the punchline: "I don't know what I was feeling the day I wrote it. I guess I must have turned on the news…"

Wainwright is launching a new series of concerts and comedy performances at the Hôtel du Nord, on December 7 & 8. Made famous by the film starring Arletty, the hotel has been lovingly restored to all its 1930's glory. Forthcoming acts include the outstanding double bill of singer/composers John Greaves and Gabriela Arnon on January 18 & 19, and a comedy double bill featuring Simon Bligh and Mickey Hutton (call for dates). An excellent pair of Djangoish guitarists, Angelo de Bar and Rodolpho Raffalli, also give free performances there Thursday evenings and Sunday afternoons from 4-6pm.

Hôtel du Nord, 102, quai de Jemmapes, 10e, Mº République, tel: 01.48.06.01.20, 8:30pm, 120F, 100F students.

 

Feature, November 1997

Last month, L'Express did a cover story on France's most powerful women. Based on a recent publication titled "Femmes en Tête" (Flammarion, 534 pages, 139 F), the weekly news magazine's article focuses on "100 women who keep France on the move," ("100 femmes qui font bouger la France.")

Celebrating the achievements of French women in a wide range of fields that were once the unique preserve of men, its authors, Evelyne Pisier and Françoise Barret-Ducrocq, point to gains made in recent years, particularly in terms of access to education and job possibilities.

They start by reminding us what women were up against. Rita Levi-Montalcini, who was born in 1909, remembers a game she used to play in the school playground. The girls wore smocks that buttoned up at the back, and they used to flick the buttons and recite "mother, nun, whore… mother, nun, whore," like lovers pulling petals from a daisy. At the beginning of the century, girls didn't need to spend too much time in career counseling – they weren't exactly overwhelmed with choices. "If the game was still in fashion, schoolgirls would need an incredible number of buttons on their smocks" says Levi-Montalcini, who surprised her classmates by becoming a doctor and winning the Nobel prize for medicine.

Pisier and Barret-Ducrocq tell their story of emancipation through the portraits of 100 women. The subjects are not all famous or powerful, but they are all "emblematic." And many are pioneers in their field, hacking a new path through the career jungle. "By dint of hearing so many women say they were 'the first' to have occupied this or that exceptional post," they write, "we wanted to meet a few and ask them to tell us their personal adventure."

The list of firsts is certainly impressive. The Greek scholar Jacqueline de Romilly was the first woman to be given a chair in the College de France, and the second elected to the Académie francaise (after Marguerite Yourcenar, who died in 1987). Claudie André-Deshays was the first French women in space (though 30 non-French women got there before her). Françoise Cachin was the first curator of the Musée d'Orsay, and is now director of the Musées de France. Isabelle Bouillot was the first female budget director in the Finance Ministry and on it goes.

"To think that we didn't have the right to vote when I was born," exclaims the cardiac surgeon Francine Leca, the first woman to pass the prestigious aggrégation exam in medicine. She is 59; French women didn't get the vote until 1945, 27 years after their sisters across the Channel, and 25 after women in the US.

Many of the women interviewed tell tales of everyday misogyny at work. Anne Réocreux, a 34-year-old engineer, remembers a young colleague, male and cocksure, coming into her office and asking her to announce his arrival to Mr. Réocreux. "To him, I could only be a secretary… I put him in his place." But not too brutally; she is of the new generation. "Women bosses of 40 or 50 often play at being macho: they are bigmouths who impose their opinions on others. Like men." She prefers to prove that a woman can exercise her authority by competence alone. Joëlle Bourgois remembers a bad-tempered accountant who told her, "No woman is going to give me orders." "I happen to be the ambassador," Bourgois replied. "So get out, or behave properly." The first woman in the diplomatic corps and now France's ambassador in the disarmament talks in Geneva, her bright suits and joviality were a shock to her colleagues.

Surprisingly, many of the women talk about how important their fathers were in encouraging their ambitions. Col. Colette Giacometti, the first woman admitted to the French army's Aerial Warfare School, says it was her father, who supported her when she first talked of joining the army; her mother was "against war" and wanted her to do something more traditional. The best known woman in the book, a real star in France, is the journalist Anne Sinclair. The first time she was on the radio, her father, an industrialist in the cosmetic industry, invented a meeting every day between 5:00 and 5:05pm and locked himself in his office to listen.

Another journalist, Christine Ockrent, began her career working for CBS in Britain and the US, where she produced "Sixty Minutes." "I developed very bad habits," she explains. "I came back with the idea that I was free to work where I wanted. That cost me a lot in France, where we live in a society of clans in which networks are so important."

For Pisier and Barret-Ducrocq, access to education "is the key to independence, liberty, and power." Most of their chosen hundred got where they are by studying hard. The right to equal education was only acquired very recently – primary schools and lycées did not become coed until the 1960s, and those mythical grandes écoles, where so many of France's ruling elite are primed for power, were only fully opened to women in the early 1980s.

Historically, French feminism is characterized by high ideals but a slow pace of real change. The Revolution was a double-edged sword. Its lofty pronouncements inspired Olympe de Gouges' "Declaration of the Rights of Women and Citizens," but it also produced an all-male National Assembly. Under the ancien régime, women had wielded a certain power through noble birth; in the new meritocracy of the republic, all men were citizens, but women were just women. Liberty led the people, one breast bared, but "fraternité" did not extend to sisterhood.

In the corridors of power, men were terrified of what de Tocqueville called "the cauldron of immoderate democracy." The Concordat of 1801 gave the Catholic church complete control over girls' education, and the Code Napoléon of 1804 made wives legally subordinate to their husbands. It took a century and a half to roll back these laws; French women did not gain the legal right to work or open a bank account without their husbands' consent until 1965, and only become the legal owners of their possessions in 1966.

More and more French women work – they now make up 44.5 percent of the workforce (roughly the same percentage as in Britain and North America), compared to 34% thirty years ago. French women enjoy better, cheaper childcare than Americans or Brits, aided by the fact that school begins at the tender age of three. But like women everywhere, they tend to have low-paying, precarious jobs, and still do most of the vacuuming and diaper changing. Often access to work reinforces inequality, by legitimizing "the double workday."

We are still a long way from true equality of the sexes, what the authors call "the democratic ideal: to equal competence, an equal career, equal responsibility, equal power." So are women catching up, or is the glass ceiling (yes, the French call it "le plafond de verre") still intact? Should we agree with the rabid right-winger Charles Pasqua, who said that Edith Cresson's failure "will discredit women for a long time"?

Remember Cresson? She became France's first woman prime minister in 1991, and is best known to Anglos for her comment that 25 percent of English men were homosexual and "in some way a little maimed." She told The Observer newspaper, "I remember from strolling about in London… the men in the streets don't look at you!" "C'est pas normal!" Gaffes like this made her the least popular prime minister in history (a record soon beaten by Alain Juppé), and she had to resign after only 11 months in office.

Pisier and Barret-Ducrocq don't think that setbacks like this are permanent. It was more important that a symbolic barrier had been crossed. In one poll, 77% of French people said it was "very good" to have a woman prime minister. A president, well, that may take a little longer.

The present government, announced by Lionel Jospin in June, includes eight women ministers. One of them, Catherine Trautmann, Minister of Culture and Communication and interviewed in "Femmes en Tête," is almost mystical with optimism. "In every level of society, the same ground swell is at work; women are moving inexorably towards the conquest of independence in every domain. A first generation has invented other conceptions of love and the family; we won't go back."

All these high-achieving women have one thing in common – they had to struggle, and make it up as they went along. They had no models to follow – with few exceptions, their mothers were housewives. Their daughters will take it for granted that women have fulfilling careers. "They will be able to choose to be human beings, not women."

 

Food & Drink, November 1997

Following on the success of this year's Fête de la Musique, Paris' other great annual Festival, the arrival of the Beaujolais Nouveau, is also expected to be one of the biggest yet. Thanks to the dazzling sunshine of July and August, the 1997 vintage, to be released on November 20, should be surprisingly full-bodied with a velvety texture. Tim Johnston, the patron of Juveniles wine bar, confirms the optimism, predicting an exceptional year. "The growers are extremely happy this year. It'll be an exceptional, very healthy drop that won't give you a headache because the growers have not had to add sulphur to boost alcohol content." That seems as good an invitation as any to imbibe. Below is a guide to some of Paris' most appealing wine bars.

Juveniles

Opened 12 years ago by the Johnston-Williamson team that also runs Willi's wine bar just around the corner, Juveniles is an extremely friendly establishment with an elegant, warm decor and an inventive kitchen. It also puts on one of the best Beaujolais Nouveau parties in town and is an excellent wine bar if you want to try some of the superb wines from around the world, such as the 1995 Mount Langi Ghiran, a glorious Australian shiraz at 45F a glass or a 1995 Haza, an exceptional Spanish red from southwest of the Rioja region, for 34F a glass.

Juveniles, 47, rue de Richelieu, 1e, Mº Pyramides, tel: 01.42.97.46.49, closed Sun.

Au Sauvignon

This small but welcoming wine bar is also one of the busiest and most chic in Paris, thanks to its location in the heart of the Left Bank, nestled among small, branché designer boutiques and art galleries, just a stone's throw away from Au Bon Marché. The specialties of the establishment are its tartines, or open-faced sandwiches made from pain poilâne. Manned by friendly staff who never seem to be ruffled by the often-frantic conditions, it is best visited in the mid-afternoon or towards closing time if you want to avoid the crowds, and don't even think about coming here on Saturday afternoons. Prices for wines average around 18F a glass.

Au Sauvignon, 80, rue des Sts-Pères, 7e, Mº Sèvres-Babylone, tel: 01.45.48.49.02, closed Sun.

Le Relais Chablisien

In a little side street near the pet shops of the quai, this old relais with stone walls and huge beams offers the possibility of a quiet glass of wine at the red-tiled downstairs bar or the more leisurely enjoyment of a bottle with a meal upstairs. The bar has a good range of wines with a glass of Gigondas or Saint-Amour for 12F or a simple Saumur for 8.50F, Côte de Bourg for 9F, or 18F for the Irancy, a delicate Pinot noir from Burgundy. On a lovely but fairly chilly evening we decided to stay for dinner and went up to the third floor dining room, with its beautiful beamed roof so low it is literally impossible to stand upright perhaps a problem if you've had a glass too many. The superbly cooked veal kidneys were devoured by my husband while our friends appreciated the blanquette of lotte (monkfish), even if it was a shade small, and the generous helping of roast pork with apples. My coq au vin had been cooked in Irancy wine with plenty of potatoes and carrots and while our 1995 bottle of the same wine was a good choice for the various dishes, it was wildly overpriced at 180F.

Le Relais Chablisien, 4, rue Bertin Poirée, 1er, Mº Pont-Neuf, tel: 01.45.08.53.73, closed Sat and Sun.

Les Pipos & Bistrot de L'X

The steep Montagne Sainte Geneviève hides two wine bars among its many pubs and student cafés. Just down from the Panthéon is Les Pipos, a friendly neighborhood hangout that also attracts students and tourists with its red-check tablecloths and big selection of wines at all price ranges. A small daily menu offers cheap, hearty fare at affordable prices, such as leek salad for 25F, lamb stew for 59F and veal chops for 68F. Right across the road is the charming wedge-shaped Bistro de L'X. It possesses all the charm of an old Doisneau photo, with its marble-topped bar and tables, and walls decorated with the lids of wooden wine boxes. Bottles of wine range from a humble Gamay for 85F to 420F for a 1987 Vosnes Romanée. A well-priced 1993 Château Bel Air Lalande de Pomerol is 180F.  Food on offer includes a Muenster cheese tart and a salmon salad.

Bistrot Les Pipos 2, rue de l'Ecole Polytechnique, 5e, Mº Cardinal-Lemoine, tel: 01.43.54.11.40, closed Sun.

La Tartine

Its nicotine-colored walls, large mirrors, old fixtures and molded ceilings attract a pleasing mix of elderly regulars and branché students, giving La Tartine an enjoyable bohemian quality. Located in the center of the Marais, it's named after the open-faced sandwiches which start at a very reasonable 14F. The emphasis is on wines from the Beaujolais and Bordeaux regions. A glass of good Sancerre goes for 13F and a pleasant Morgan is only 11F.

La Tartine, 24, rue de Rivoli, 4e, Mº St-Paul, tel: 01.42.72.76.85. Open 9am to 10:30pm, closed Tue.

Le Baron Rouge

Just around the corner from the working class markets of the place d'Aligre, the decor of the Baron Rouge suggests the 1930s, although the spirit is much more in keeping with 1968. Large tapped kegs stand guard by the door, and you can fill your bottle from them or stand at the zinc bar and try a 10cl glass of Saint-Véran for 12F or Santenay for 18F. There are a series of assiettes with strong traditional flavors to accompany the wine, such as pork liver confit, very pungent andouille, or chitterling sausage, for 50F for a large portion or 20F for a small version, and chèvre cheese for 20F. It's very pleasant to pass a late Sunday morning here over a plate of freshly opened oysters.

Le Baron Rouge, 1, rue Théophile-Roussel, 12e, Mº Ledru-Rollin, tel: 01.43.43.14.32, closed Sunday afternoons and Mon.

Les Vins des Rues (Chez Chanrion)

This is the neighborhood wine bar par excellence, thanks to the inviting personality of its patron, Jean Chanrion. Winner of the "Coupe du Meilleur Pot" in 1989, the decor is more like a little place in the country then in Paris, happily occupying some space between atmosphere and neglect. All sorts of wine can be had, from a Coteaux Lyonnais for 9F, a Macon or Bourgogne Aligoté for 16F, and a Saint Véran for 20F or Saint-Amour for 22F. The kitchen has a reputation for simple, hearty fare.

Les Vins des Rues, 21, rue Boulard, 14e, Mº Denfert-Rochereau, tel: 01.43.22.19.78, closed Sund and Mon.

Caves Saint Vincent

Just one block away from Chez Chanrion is one of my favorite wines shops in Paris, the Caves Saint Vincent, a long-established store with an extraordinary range of wines at all prices. Apart from a strong selection of Burgundies and Champagne, it's an ideal place to pick up that obscure bottle from an unfamiliar region.

Caves Saint Vincent, 35, rue Daguerre, 14e, Mº Denfert-Rochereau, tel: 01.43.20.05.74.

Le Lutétia

Thanks to its view giving onto the river and the Hôtel de Ville, the terrace of this wine bar and bistrot is one of the most popular on the Ile-Saint-Louis, and was one of the first terraces in Paris to install big winter heaters, an idea that goes back to the old charcoal braziers of the 1920s.  There is a light three-course menu, offering such things as pâté or crudités as an entrée, soupe à l'oignon, spaghetti with basil, or an omelette for a main course, and dessert, for only 49F. Wines by the glass include a Saint-Emilion for 28F or a Muscadet Blanc for 21F or a bottle of Beaujolais Villages for 85F.

Le Lutétia, 33, quai de Bourbon, 4e, Mº Hôtel de Ville, tel: 01.43.54.11.71, closed Sunday evenings and Mon.

Le Moulin à Vins

This extremely attractive establishment is in one of the most bustling and least tourist-visited parts of Montmartre. The old bar is loaded with wine and atmosphere, and the dining room with its old-style furnishings recalls the Paris of the 1930s. Among the wines offered by Mme Bertin-Denis, mainly from the Southwest, Loire and Sancerrois, are an excellent Pacherenc blanc for 100F and  a Saint-Joseph for 24F a glass. Le Moulin à Vins has also built up a reputation over the last four years for its Thanksgiving dinners.

6, rue Burq, 18e, Mº Abbesses, tel: 01.42.52.81.27, closed Sunday & Mon.

Le Rubis

An institution in this neighborhood, Le Rubis is also the focus for some of the most exuberant, even rowdy, celebrations of Beaujolais Nouveau, and is best avoided by claustrophobes. Run by Albert Prat, the otherwise extremely civilized tiny corner establishment is perfect for a quiet, quick glass or a long evening lingering over a bottle of Cheverny for 80F and tray of cheese or plat du jour for 50F.  The wine list mainly features the Beaujolais and Loire region. Glasses of wine start for as little as 6F for an 8cl glass.

10, rue du Marché St-Honoré, 1er, Mº Tuileries, tel: 01.42.61.03.34, closed Saturday evening and Sun.

 

Q&A Closeups, November 1997

Q:  We've been living in France since the beginning of our married life, and for more than 20 years my American wife has been complaining about my French compatriots. She criticizes just about everything: our habits, our culture, our behavior, etc. I actually sometimes agree with her comments, but her criticisms are continual and systematic, and I'm finding it more and more difficult to put up with them. What can I tell her to get her to change her attitude?

A:  Your letter really strikes home, as the phenomenon you describe is characteristic not only of my own marriage but of the relationships of many I have counseled, and I suspect that, in intercultural couples where one spouse has moved abroad through love for a person rather than for that person's country, a deep nostalgia for the culture and the people one has left behind fuels the criticism as much as or more so than any unwillingness to adapt to the new situation. So it's important that you leave plenty of space for your wife to be able to express her sadness over having left home, and that you make sure to demonstrate emphatic agreement when you find her comments well founded. Some of her negativity might be siphoned off that way.

Now take a minute to reflect on how you respond to her criticism.  Do you react defensively ("America's not so great, either")? Aggressively ("Oh, for God's sake, are you going to start that up again?")? Disgustedly (a contemptuous look and then walk out of the room)? Logically ("You have a nice house, a good husband, a car, so please stop complaining.")? All these reactions are justifiable, but do not demonstrate the personal feelings of hurt, fear or disappointment that might be beneath them. If she realizes that her comments might wound you in your love of your country, frighten you that (she might leave eventually if it gets bad enough), worry your children (her position is bound to create loyalty conflicts for them) or disappoint you in your efforts to create a happy environment for her, she might well become more aware of the deeper, more emotional effect of her criticism on you, and cut back on it.  But first you need to take the time to explore these feelings for yourself, and then to share them with her during a moment of calm. A few minutes' sharing of genuine feelings with the woman in your life will get you – and all men – a lot more mileage than hours of expertly conceived logical rebuttal.

On her end, your wife needs to take charge of her own aggressiveness toward the French and stop making you pay. There are ways to do that with professional help. Have her call or e-mail me for some ideas. By the way, using his sense of humor, my own husband found a very creative solution to this problem. When I get started, he labels the French "les Nains," (the dwarfs) and the Americans "les Géants" (the giants) in his responses. The ensuing laughter totally defuses the situation!

Follow-up: Thanks to Thomas Krischer for sharing with us his method for meeting French people: shortly after moving into his apartment, he and his wife invited everyone in the building for an aperitif.  Many accepted, laying the groundwork for further, more substantial exchanges.

Jill Bourdais is a psychotherapist practicing in Paris both privately and in a hospital setting. A specialist in couple/family problems, she also teaches PAIRS, a skills-building course in intimate relationships.