The Weave of Friendship
07.9.2011 
Tuesday was blazing hot, almost Arizona hot, but in Paris, you simply wait ten minutes and the weather will change. We didn’t know if we’d need sweaters, but we carried them just in case for dinner on Mort and Jeannette’s boat on the Seine.
We did know that we needed to bring a very good chocolate dessert, since this couple leads chocolate tours of Paris.
As we walk from the Concorde Métro to the Seine, other boats float through my imagination:
The barge where I lived on the Thames as a student in Oxford.
The schooner on which I crossed the Pacific from Honolulu to Marina del Rey, and on which I lived for two years while we renovated the ship.
The bateau mouche we took with my niece and her boyfriend the previous weekend. We’d pointed out Mort and Jeannette’s boat as we motored by.
Rivers are the circulatory system of the earth’s body, boats and their cargo the cells carrying nourishment and oxygen and ferrying toxins away.
We cross the larger boat to which Mort and Jeannette’s boat is moored, and see four old friends. Tonight, every cell that surrounds us promises to be nourishing.
Mort, a combat reporter who is the former editor of The International Herald Tribune, and writer of numerous books on food, the Seine, journalism and travel, wears wonderful round tortoise shell glasses and looks fresh and rested in spite of having just finished co-leading a ten-day tour of Paris.
We talk of Obama, our hopes and our disappointment.
Phil has just co-led the tour of Paris, and right before that, gave lectures on a Mediterranean cruise. Though he’s still standing, he seems paused at a point of stillness, between breaths, gathering energy for his next Sisyphean task.
Porter is overflowing with good spirits. He and his wife, Louise, have just found a magnificent apartment for a well-known novelist in a chic part of Paris a block from Catherine Deneuve, and he and Louise are about to renew their wedding vows in a second ceremony in the Loire Valley.
The boat has a canvas canopy, open to the sides, and the table is set in Jeannette’s usual charming fashion.
Jillie, Mort and Jeannette’s neighbor in this houseboat village, steps on board. I recall meeting her on this boat several years ago. We had talked of my joining her on one of Jeannette’s labyrinth walks in Chartres Cathedral.
Jeannette brings up dinner from the galley. Garlic buds, cherry tomatoes, and marinated endive. Wine and hard cider. A curried fish stew with vegetables and rice and fresh bread, followed by a salad, and two cheeses, Roquefort and Camembert with a baguette.
Our interwoven stories began on Richard’s 1983 trip to Paris, when he met Porter, a Beaux Arts painting student who financed his studies by importing and selling “Louisiana” pecans. The French love Louisiana. Instead of returning home to Birmingham, Porter stayed in Paris and began to buy, renovate and manage apartments as rentals.
In 1984, Richard met Phil in Marin County, where Phil was teaching Myth, Dreams and the Movies, inspired by his encounters with Joseph Campbell, whom he would later celebrate in a documentary and book.
In 1986, Richard and Phil covered the Cannes Film Festival, then both helped Porter renovate a flat in Paris.
In 1988, Jeannette, a top-notch San Francisco travel agent who had helped Phil organize a tour that featured Mort as a speaker, met Mort in Paris and stayed. Richard and his stepmother were here for that tour and witnessed the burgeoning romance.
And in 1994, on this very date, Richard and I met at a poetry reading in Santa Monica, and so I joined this web of friendships and stories.
In 2006, Porter helped us remodel our Paris apartment.
The weaving is intricate and full of refrains: Two of us grew up in Arizona. Three have roots in San Francisco. Four of us are writers. Six of us are American. And six of us, not the same six, live in Paris. Four of us lead tours of Paris. Four of us have lived on boats. Four of us are obsessed with myth. And all seven of us loved Woody Allen’s newest film, “Midnight in Paris.”
I ask Jeannette what is in the stew. In her usual low-key, self-effacing tone, she says, “Just fish; and I threw in all the vegetables in the fridge.”
Jillie tells a story of her cat awakening her with a paw on her face, just before dawn. She heard a noise, came out of the bedroom in her tattered nightgown, and into the salon, to see a man standing there.
She gently and calmly talked him into moving up on deck, as skillfully as Athena, weaving peace where another might incite a dangerous battle.
Her neighbor on the next boat spotted the man and yelled at him. Instantly, the stranger’s aggression flared. Jillie pantomimed behind the man’s back, “Should I call the police?”
Her neighbor nodded yes. In three minutes the police were there, and took the man away.
I’m impressed by the cool-headed savvy with which Jillie handled the break-in.
Mort tells the story of their cat not waking them up several days later when intruders walked across the deck of their boat, though they heard the footsteps and scared the men away.
Porter tells how his father, facing a diagnosis of terminal cancer, gained seven more years by researching and writing a book about his grandfather, who commanded a battalion of “buffalo soldiers” after the Civil War.
I tell a story of driving cross-country to Key West, and stopping for water at a 7-11 in Georgia. Startled by the enormous amount of ammunition on the shelves, I asked the woman clerk what it was for.
“Why, for killin’ things!” she said, as if I were the oddest human she’d ever met. “Squirrels and deer and such.”
Phil tells how this most recent tour overlapped with the fortieth anniversary of Jim Morrison’s death in Paris, and how the throngs gathered at the rock singer’s Père-Lachaise grave wanted to touch him, like some holy relic, when they found out he had co-authored The Doors’ drummer, John Densmore’s, autobiography.
The bateaux mouches pass by, ablaze with light. We turn to wave, and Richard points out, on the opposite bank, the narrowest building in Paris.
Wind comes up and lashing rain; we dash below deck to fetch our sweaters and jackets, and the wine and stories flow on. And, thank the gods, everyone loves the chocolate cake from the best pâtisserie in our neighborhood.
This continuing weaving of stories and lives has been alchemized by Jeannette. By inviting us all here, setting a beautiful table, “throwing together” a meal—by creating this ambience, she is Demeter, goddess of the harvest. And Penelope, who invites the weaving of stories, while her husband still travels to war zones to cover breaking news.
Reader Comments (23)
What a magical evening!
Boats on the Seine are indeed loverly. Birds do it. bees do it. Anaïs did it. I still dream of a rocking péniche, if the good fairies are listening... &, a Seine-docked boat's a good place to behold some up-coming fireworks, this week. (Stay away from the tourii traps.)
And...Well, umm, well... must say, different strokes...You may carry on about "Midnight in Paris," I shan't. I'll call it a long second or more like a limping third bunch of fluff beside this ravishing and raw writing and telling of Jeanette Winterson's "All I know About Gertrude Stein," and the Paris of that era, master-merged with this era. http://www.granta.com/Magazine/115/All-I-Know-About-Gertrude-Stein/1
Dream weaving needs a different mastery. Many a movie and page has and will try and try again to evoke the time traveling mysteries of the good city of light. Woody Allen has made fine films in the past, the French quite love him, as they do a number of things Américaine, (like the latest Parisian craze for cheeseburgers!) and this one (Midnight, that is,) is ok for the thrall of a Hollywood-ized wannabe Paris, (imho.) That's about it. For depth charge, I'd scurry back to "A Moveable Feast," thank ya, and-- here comes Winterson--who is a fine soul illuminator. Well, different strokes. :)
Keep lovin' Paris. All may be revealed. or not :) Glad you're having such fun. madame K et monsieur R...carry on, blog's still lookin' good.
xx, margo
Ann,
Magical it was! You, too, have Jeannette's gift for creating ambience as a hostess.
Much love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Dear Margo,
Thank you for this nuanced response!
We would love to hear your recommendations for the best non-tourist spot to watch the fireworks.
Now, hold on--did we "carry on" about Midnight in Paris? Mais non! It's a souffle, a light story whose true subject is Paris, especially its history, and the magic it continues to hold for writers and artists. I'd read this piece by Jeanette Winterson, and loved it, and Hemingway's memoir as well (here's our link on THAT subject:
http://parisplay.squarespace.com/journal/2011/3/26/genius-and-generosity-a-sort-of-book-review.html),
but wouldn't compare them. It's like comparing a souffle to a bouillebaisse or an orange. One is light and that's exactly what you want at a particular time, another is heavier and that is satisfying at another time. And sometimes you just want an orange. Don't you enjoy the range of tones, in literature and film and all the other arts, from profound to comedic and everything in between?
What we all loved most about Woody Allen's latest is the imaginative leap it took in time travel and his portrayal of various artists. I thought he nailed Hemingway, the pomposity and humorlessness. And Adrien Brody did a great Dali sketch. The Bunuel skit was funny, and the visual portrayal of Man Ray was good, though I thought the Picasso portrayal missed.
How many years have you lived in Paris? Is it possible ever to stop loving this city (in spite of any difficulties life brings--wherever one lives)?
Thank you for the appreciation. Really, the mention of "Midnight in Paris" was just a tiny slice of a magical evening.
Love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Well, my dear, you sure are fortunate! What I mean is that I am fortunate to participate (which is, I guess, where the word "party" comes from) in the atmosphere, mood, and savor of that magic and loving party. Thanks for including me. I loved being there. I was the rain.
Bruce
Dear Bruce,
We love your writerly (and uniquely you) comments. And the metaphor: yes, you were the rain: a sweeping, nourishing force!
Thank you for your friendship.
Love,
Kaaren & Richard
"Garlic buds, cherry tomatoes, and marinated endive. Wine and hard cider. A curried fish stew with vegetables and rice and fresh bread, followed by a salad, and two cheeses, Roquefort and Camembert with a baguette." Yer killin' me! Actually, I love how you write about food. You'll have to "do" a full-scale meal at a favorite restaurant for us in a future post. I've already got my bib on!
Margo,
Richard and I talked later about how much we love the dialogue that you and others engage in. A salon of sorts, a new kind. And which we can always continue in person with you!
Love to you,
Kaaren & Richard
dear kaaren,
the photos of the 'pompiers' are excellent, as is the tale of the dinner on the seine.....BRAVO!....so colorful to read your sensitive descriptions and you write with such feeling about your experiences in this grand city....i enjoy your appreciation for 'the Parisian''
ways and attitudes which many americans do not have time to digest.....such details give the paris 'scene' the technicolor and 3-D effects of a daily movie every time one hits the streets.............
fondly, edith
Margo, to offer another expert's nuanced look at Midnight in Paris, we suggest our friend John Truby's outlook, given at length here: <http://www.truby.com/im_midnightinparis.php>
Here is the essence of his argument:
"The love interest in Midnight in Paris has nowhere near the character definition or quirky uniqueness of Annie Hall. She is simply a gentle, beautiful Frenchwoman who wants to live in an earlier time, just like the hero. As a result, there is little chance for the romance of these characters to build in a way that is satisfying to the audience.
"The love story structure is really just an excuse for Allen to provide a storyline on which to hang the real gold of the idea, the fantasy comedy elements. With the woman as a desire line, the hero can take a number of trips into the utopian moment. And there he can meet a succession of famous artists the audience knows.
"In the Story Structure Class, I talk about the crucial technique of digging out the gold in your premise – finding what is original to you – and then presenting that gold again and again to the audience over the course of the story. The gold here is Allen’s comical take on each of the famous writers and artists of the time. Once he was clear about that, the question for Allen, the writer, then became: how do I create a storyline that can allow me to play as many of these comic bits as possible without the story becoming episodic and collapsing?
"The solution Allen chose is the same one used in Crocodile Dundee. In that film the romantic line between Dundee and the reporter allowed for the maximum number of encounters between animal man Dundee and the denizens of New York. Here the hero’s encounter with Hemingway is the equivalent of Dundee saying to the mugger, “That’s not a knife. This is a knife.”
"This structure also allowed Allen to write to his strength, rather than what he has been doing for the last twenty years, which is writing from his weakness. Allen has never been very good at the craft of story. In spite of the complexity of some of his story structures over the years (Annie Hall, Hannah and Her Sisters), Allen has usually been unable to create a complex plot where the opposing characters play out their differences through building conflict."
(More at John's link.)
As Kaaren pointed out, souffle will never be bouillabaisse, but its a fine souffle, To close with Truby: "The story is really just an intellectual candy store, with the love story bringing us back to the store again and again. Of course while we are enjoying the pleasures of a utopian moment in this film, we also learn, in a great visual gag, the opposite lesson that you can’t live in the past."
Kaaren and I are going to see it again within the week. We haven't enjoyed a "see it twice" movie in dog's years.
--Richard
Dear Richard , and Kaaren,
I see how impassioned you are about your take on Midnight, quotes from John Truby and all. It's always hard to argue with passion, for it has no logic. You and Truby see what you see. I do also (see what I see, which is far less, amid the glitz.) Plot is not my passion necessarily, and it' s not what lacks for me. in this conversation about a film. Par example... "Tree of Life" has barely any plot, and relies on perhaps similar drives to tell an audience something cosmic. But o, the stakes. That's a film I'll see twice. A walk into past present and visual candy, while reinventing the form. As for stakes, another I saw twice this year was Black Swan, for very different reasons, although the quest for art and the challenges and risks to do that...are what rattled my bones in it.
Comparisons are not always useful. But they do give possibilities to finding what neighborhood one prefers to dine in.
I think we'll have to stay with "chacq'un a son gout, " my dears. Not a matter of apples and oranges or souff and bouill.... as I smiled 1st round..., but really, time travel and utopia wandering are not at all new in literature, or film ...but , been done far better, imho. The diff in how Winterson (just as one example I cited earlier, ...,and she's not into plot in the story I cited either, ...but the difference...) is in how she treats the historical and the personal mix,( or Hemingway for that matter... or Proust, for that matter.) How Allen does so may be signal. Tis to me. One is caricature, the others approach that blessed little three letter word, art. Sorry if I sound sound arch. I like souffle, it's what worked for old films, in old Hollywood, especially post war- when audiences hoped to forget the bad world for an hour. But no, not here in Midnight. Not for me. It did not help me to forget. And what it gave me to remember was frou frou without nourishment. No bone.No gristle. Not even the weight of C Rosetti's "And if thou wilt, remember,/ And if thou wilt, forget." A gag, yes. A dragged out gag. and then the old Time magazine adage: tell em what you're going to tell them, tell it, and tell them again what you told them. good for folks who read and forget. But for this viewer: Ho hum.
Paris and its history is just far more interesting than monsieur Allen's mush-meringue. The old "who would you want at your ideal dinner party" approach would need more than caricature to satisfy my personal hunger. Back to chaq'un a son gout. And then, well, there's the acting. well, maybe let's not go there...
On to Kaaren's earlier question about fireworks...watching the works from a boat, stationary or moving..., or from the top of the Arab Institute roof. would be a nice clear shot. No jostling, or drunks. Then again, I'd personally forget fireworks altogether, save that for Chinese new year in the lower reaches of the the 13 eme whilst feeding euros to lion dancers, ... and on Bastille Day, go dancing in the Parisian streets with the firemen of the pompier station in the 4eme. Best looking firemen I ever. The gay Parisian mayor's central casting knows where to find them :) no movie stars needed.
Ah, opinions. Enjoy your second sight...where 'ere it leads ye.
Take care,
xxx, margo
ps apologies for quick fingered spelling...
"chacun" is the correct French for each to her or his, or every one
& for Christina Rossetti...she certainly deserves her second "s."
:)
xxm
Kaaren:
Some of these stories remind me of the biography of Sara and Gerald Murphy, Living Well is the Best Revenge.
I want as much detail as possible: I want to hear about the shop which produced the chocolate cake. What sound did the door make when you entered? What were the people like there; do they make noises when you mull over your decisions? Smells? etc. etc. You are a master at prose, the prose can inspire poems.
Stuart!
You want food? We'll give you food! Actually all we have to do is describe anything that Jeannette puts on the table. But then again, we must create a post which zeros in on a meal in great detail, including the surround, the waiters, the tables, the smells, taste and state of mind it inspires. So yes, for you, this we shall do.
Love,
Kaaren & Richard
Edith,
We've missed you! Thank you so much for your kind words, and Richard thanks you for the compliments on his pompiers photos.
Oh, yes, like you we really pay attention to the details of this gorgeous city. It invites you to do that, don't you think? Your metaphor is exactly right: being in this city feels like an ongoing drama that is being performed at all times of the day and night. Though maybe more like a stage play than a film, or, even more, like performance art in which the viewer is a participant.
Love,
Kaaren (& Richard)
Dear Margo,
Here's what occurred to me walking with Richard down St. Germain today: if you talk about "your ideal dinner party," this evening was it for us. Enchanting in every sense: the setting, the people, the conversation, the dinner, the weather, the ambience. And that's what this post is about, not Woody Allen's film!
However, on that subject, there was one element of Midnight in Paris which I forgot to mention, though it's the central element for us: as we meandered from our house that night to see the film, we were both in a state of ecstasy at the beauty of Paris around us. Our experience watching the film was to see that ecstasy mirrored by the film itself. I think when a work of art conveys that sense of bliss, it's beyond analysis (at least, for those viewers). And probably many of the people who've loved it feel that way.
A friend of ours who tends to have similar taste in films saw The Tree of Life and loved it. We'll have to catch it. Also missed Black Swan.
Thanks for your suggestions about Bastille Day.
And the handsome pompiers? Yes, I did notice that. Are you going to the Firemen's Ball?
Love to you,
Kaaren & Richard
YEAH. wanna meet up n dance??
xxx,m
>"And the handsome pompiers? Yes, I did notice that. Are you going to the Firemen's Ball?"
Margo,
If the handsomest fiery man I know wants to come. I'll ask him if he'd enjoy the event!
XO,
Kaaren
Ah Kaaren and Richard:
I have been away from your Paris for so long. It is good to be back. The two of you have weaved together a tapestry of friends of the most varied and vibrant voices. It seems that Paris is your loom.
Richard your photos always root me in that sense a place. Kaaren your prose brings out the feelings, the longing, the romance of being transported. The combo is dazzling.
Your "Midnight in Paris" dialogue with Margo was also exhilarating.
I will now go back in time to another week in Paris Play and get back to you.
Much love,
Jon
Dear Jackson,
We've never read "Living Well is the Best Revenge," but we'll add it to our list.
You want more details? We'd love to give you more details.
And you're right, prose is best when it's closest to poetry, like the writing of Virginia Woolf and Proust. That is our aim: poetic narrative in images and words.
We love you,
Kaaren & Richard