Pardon Me While I Gloat

Before heading off to bed, I though I’d take a quick look at the weather. I also glanced at the Daily Beast website which was already open in a different tab because the internet is like that. I just saw in the sidebar, “Who the Hell is Patrick Modiano?” Darling, darling, darling, you are soooo provincial; it’s almost sweet.

About a decade or so ago, I asked a French acquaintance if he could suggest some contemporary French authors. He recommended several, but the next day the only name I could recall was Patrick Modiano. The book he had recommended was Rue des boutiques obscures, but I couldn’t find it in New York at the time. I did, however, come across La Place de l’Etoile, and read that. About a year or so later, I did find a used copy of Rue des boutiques obscures.

So, when I saw the headline, my first thought was that he must have died. Happily, no. He apparently has been awarded the Nobel Prize in literature.

Now, I will go fall asleep with a feeling of self-satisfied cosmopolitanism.

Oh, right, he’s not a bad choice for those of you whose French is pretty good but it takes you a long time to read because his books tend to be short. They’re not especially easy, the length makes it bearable. There were a lot of places were I felt confuse by what was going on and had to reread sections several times.

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