Jeanne Koré Salvato

Not long ago on the radio I head a solo piano piece called, I thought,” Le Rossignol a disparu.” Ah, just like Milan Kundera’s nightingale, I thought, who has also disappeared.

It is no wonder that Samuel Beckett set his play, “Waiting for Godot,” in the French countryside with a leafless tree and a moon for company.

I recently listened to a podcast by writer and teacher Maryama Antoine, called, “Toni Morrison, on the pursuit of goodness.” Ah, that word, “goodness.”

The title of the novel The City of Good Death by Priyanka Champaneri, already contains an interesting premise to think about.

The haunting image of a musician playing farewell on her piano to her home that had been by the Russians has chased many other thoughts away.

As the world watches the financial sanctions among other penalties imposed upon Russia and Mr. Putin, the world may be tempted to think that banking problems would be the least of Mr. Putin’s worries.

Last night I listened to historian Timothy Snyder talk about the invasion of Ukraine with American author and social critic Ta-Nehisi Coates.

Today’s post features two books. First, a final reflection on the notion of the outcast, prompted by Camus’ book L’Etranger.

Translation is a funny thing. Because I speak two languages, I am intrigued by how we manage to get from one to another.

Dear Reader, We interrupt our regular programming to talk about the first book in our series of seven. For those of you who don’t know, The Center for Fiction in Brooklyn, NY, presented a contest for debut novelists last December.

Dear Readers,
Our whole writing4godot began really with a celebration of June 16, the day in 1904 on which James Joyce’s book Ulysses takes place.

Sometimes there’s a short word of interest, a short blog post, a short short story.

The women are still walking! Our tour guide extraordinaire, Chris Friendly, a teacher and historian who lies in Paris, has created walking tours unlike the usual ones found in the usual guidebooks.

Highlights of a walking tour set us firmly on Paris ground, courtesy of historian, teacher and modern-day wit, Chris Friendly.

I once held a session in a computer lab for students learning English. It was a poetry lesson, and we called up pictures of the northern lights for inspiration.

Some French friends and I were recently discussing the idea of the commonwealth of a country. France thinks differently about the common good . . .

Christmas markets, ah, one of the great pleasures of living in Europe.

Today we have a guest blogger, The New Yorker, of all “people.”

Today on my front steps I found a peanut.

And let me say, a postscript is a lovely addition to a letter, or, in this case, a blog.

The value of cheating. First, cheating is fun. It is more fun to do than to read about, I’m guessing.

“What!” you say, upon opening this post. “Where’s Godot?”

Someone asked me what I miss about France in October, and the answer was la Toussaint

Today I’d like to showcase a book called A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan.

One of Canada’s finest short story writers, Mavis Gallant, was an expat writer who lived in Paris for much of her writing life.

Driving. I have refrained from the litany of driving anxiety experiences, only because, well, even I didn’t want to dwell on them.

Art is in the air, literally and figuratively.

It has been sobering and at the same time exhilarating to contemplate the sacrifice of a person who offered her life to fight against the Nazis, pledging herself to freedom.

In his fascinating book, Arthur J. Magida presents the story of Noor Inayat Khan against the backdrop of WW II.

The first thing you notice when standing in front of the gate surrounding Fazil Manzil, Noor’s family home, is the plaque commemorating her deportation.

As I was organizing my papers to begin a part-time teaching position at a small liberal arts college, here in Rochester, I found the prettiest collages French students had made of instruments.

Last week’s post was titled, “Why Godot?” So, applying logic, this one could be, “Why France?”

It’s time for a new season of writing4godot. I’d like to begin by talking about why I’ve chosen “Waiting for Godot” for my patron saint.

Summer fun!

“It’s a very bits and bobs piece of writing.” This is how, apparently, you use the phrase “bits and bobs” in a sentence, according to the all-knowing Internet.

As we approach the Fourth of July in the States, my thoughts naturally turn to Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette.

to wait

I strolled into a used bookstore in Versailles, France. It’s true. On the one hand, you’ve got the beautiful gardens of the Versailles Palace, not to mention the Palace itself. And then there’s a used bookstore.

It’s the season for summer book lists to begin to appear. And I thought, how about some books translated from French that are fun to read?

Lo and behold, we recently celebrated Africa Day on 25 May. An Irish friend reacted to my surprise that there was an Africa Day in Dublin.

What is it like to teach English literature in a French school? How fond of stairs are you?

One of the best names for a bus stop in France is called Puits Sans Vin. This means a well without wine. I thought, wow! Some wells have wine?

Ah, housework. I had a friend in France, an English fried, refer to it as “mind numbing housework.”

It was a cold and snowy night in December when I stood at the podium in front of hard souls at the American Library in Paris about to give a presentation on a novel called in French, La Vie Devant Soi by Romain Gary.