Pavane for a petrified Paris

Sunday Herald, The, Jan 23, 2000 by George Walden

A Parisian's Paris: Chronicle for the Millennium By Philippe Meyer (Flammarion Paperback, #13.50) Reviewed by George Walden

IN the middle of this capti-vating and wonderfully human book on Paris, its Parisian author suddenly says: "I started wondering if my home town wasn't insidiously beginning to resemble Venice, that extraordinary stage set which is less and less populated, and where boredom sets in at 6pm."

Later, there is more: "The banal insipidness of the centre of Paris first became apparent on the Right Bank ... As for Paris's reputation for elegance, dissipation, arts and night life, it may still sell in Tokyo, Seoul, Beijing or Taipei, but maybe not for long ... When it comes to intellectual life, as with social life, Paris is a town in a mindless daze."

All this may sound like a pavane for a defunct city, but the genius of A Parisian's Paris is that, by probing the human underside of what the author at one point refers to as his petrified capital, he brings it back to life. Philippe Meyer is a well-known French broadcaster, journalist, writer, humorist, actor, opera buff and cultural commentator who smokes a pipe; for Brits, a reassuring touch. The attraction of his book is it's a warts-and-all look at Paris written for the French, which makes it ideal for the Anglo- Saxon. Paris is a notoriously difficult city to penetrate and Meyer takes you straight into its heart, or rather its tripes.

Best of all are his accounts of things that could not happen here. The annual act of remembrance near the Cours de Vincennes by the descendants of aristocrats guillotined during the Great Terror of 1794. Or a sequence in an all-night post office where a boy who has to fill in an official form to resign from a football team explodes with menaces because he can't write, while bons bourgeois wait in line, terrified of missing the deadline for registering their property for the wealth tax.

Many vignettes concern illegal immigrants, such as the silently expanding cohort of Chinese, who materialise from buildings where no- one knew they lived, and whose children sometimes combine fanatical study with sweatshop exploitation.

Social trends, such as the decline of religion or the growth of early morning prostitution, are neatly drawn together. The dwindling congregation of the Church of Saint-Louis-D'Antin near the Gare St Lazare attracts some of the same customers as the prostitutes cater for a new clientele who seek a little relaxation before their day's work. "Nothing like a good confession while the sin is still warm."

To write about one's capital city without a single sentimental, aggrandising or uplifting word is an achievement. And rather than the anonymity he or she receives, the translator deserves a cheer.