They don't read books

[thisnewday]

It's Friday night and I'm sitting by the computer reading Peter Mayle's Toujours Provence, the follow-up to his acclaimed travel book, A Year in Provence, which I recently finished. Which had followed my reading of A Good Year, Hotel Pastis, and Chasing Cezanne. Which had followed multiple viewings of the movie version of A Good Year, with Russell Crowe as the main character. Which was nothing like the book. Which, I finally concluded, was probably just as well.

Which is not to say that they're not good books. But Mayle himself happily admits to writing for the mass audience, not the literary scholar. So, unless you're busy raising three or four kids, they're easily readable in a day. Ironically, it's their wonderfully uncomplicated look at life in rural France which both endears them to readers and makes irresistible, to screen writers, the urge to "sex them up" for movie-goers.

Contrary to what some movie critics have said, it seems to work well either way. After viewing the movie and reading the book, I had the not uncomfortable sense of having experienced two very different things. And the reason I didn't feel abused or betrayed by this was because the story had remained engaging and true to life despite, or perhaps because of, the transition. Which is a test the movie critics could've employed as well. But they don't read books, do they?