My Life in France - Julia Child

A few weeks ago, I enjoyed a weekend with Julie Powell's memoir, Julie and Julia, which got me excited to see the movie (released this weekend, but I'm waiting to see it with Dan). When I read the book, however, I was disappointed that it didn't include more about Julia Child's life, as the movie seems to do. Come to find out, the movie is in fact based on both Julie and Julie AND Julia Child's memoir, My Life in France, which I picked up on Saturday and spent the weekend reading.

That, coupled with last week's viewing of a few French Chef episodes PBS kindly put on their website, has convinced me that Julia Child was one of the most endearing personalities of the last century, and led one of the most delicious, joy-filled lives. Granted, I learned as a young, young person that the memoir is not necessarily the best rubric for developing an objective opinion of someone's life and work (see Inside the Third Reich by Albert Speer); however, Child's memoir is filled with such effervescence and ebullience, it's impossible to believe that she was anything but the way she describes herself: loud, funny, mawkish, curious, pugnacious, irreverent, and unrelenting. She was, on television and in the pages of her book, a larger than life character, someone who attacked projects with an enviable vigor and who really enjoyed living.

I guess I expected that. What I didn't expect when I picked up her book was the effortlessness of reading it, the uncluttered, unfussy, often very funny prose (granted, she had a co-writer, Alex Prud'homme), and the deep love for France and for her friends and family that emanates from the pages. Child also had either a prodigious memory or kept copious records of her life, for when she describes memorable meals (as she does often and with great delight), she does so in the meticulous detail of someone for whom those meals made a lasting, indelible impression.

I was also delighted to read about her relationship with her husband, Paul Child, ten years her senior, and a so-called "exhibits man" for the United States government. It was his job that took them first to Paris, then to Marseille, and eventually to Germany and Norway, and its his presence in the book that really grounds it. Julia doesn't waste time or poetry lyricizing about her husband, but her deep affection for him and his for her really permeates the pages. While wading through a culture and media that insist that all romantic relationships be comprised of fire and ice, of passion, deceit, and heartbreak, it's refreshing to occasionally come across a record of a marriage based on mutual support, affection, and respect. Though one gets the feeling the Childs' relationship wasn't one of shooting stars or roses, necessarily, it certainly appeared to be a loving partnership, filled with humor and grace.

And that's really the book in a nutshell: humorous and graceful, an easy read, and a delightful one. While the derivative, Julie and Julia, was a confection, My Life in France is like Child's famous boeuf bourguignon: warm and filling, something that will stick to your ribs after a very long day.