2011 In Review: Another Year of Books

condenaststore.com

Well friends, it’s that time again. Time to tally up the year in reading and take stock. Here’s what I read in 2011:

1. The Tower, the Zoo, and the Tortoise, Julia Stuart
2. The Tiger in the Smoke, Margery Allington
3. Inside of a Dog, Alexandra Horowitz
4. Kidnapped, Robert Louis Stevenson
5. The Towers of Trebizond, Rose MaCaulay
6. Ex-Libris, Ross King
7. In the Shadow of Gotham, Stephanie Pintoff
8. The Tempest, Juan Manuel de Prada
9. Parisians: An Adventure History of Paris, Graham Robb
10. An Expert in Murder, Nicola Upson
11. Nightingale Wood,  Stella Gibbons
12. The Age of Innocence, Edith Wharton
13. Harry Potter: La Coupe de feu, J.K. Rowling
14. Harry Potter: Order of the Phoenix, J.K. Rowling (re-read)
15. Harry Potter: Le Prince de sang-melé, J.K. Rowling
16. Harry Potter: Deathly Hallows (UK ed.), J.K. Rowling
17. Tales of Beedle the Bard, J.K. Rowling (re-read)
18. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, J.K. Rowling (re-read)
19. The Secret of Chimneys, Agatha Christie
20. Passenger to Frankfurt, Agatha Christie
21. There is a Tide, Agatha Christie
22. A Reliable Wife, Robert Goolrick
23. Decline and Fall, Evelyn Waugh (re-read)
24. Viles Bodies, Evelyn Waugh (re-read)
25. The Disappearance at Père La Chaise, Claude Izner
26. The Secret Wife of Louis XIV: Françoise d’Aubigné, Madame de Maintenon, Veronica Buckley
27. Murder on the Eiffel Tower, Claude Izner
28. The Heat of the Day, Elizabeth Bowen
29. Hercule Poirot’s Christmas, Agatha Christie (re-read)
30. Out of the Silent Planet, C.S. Lewis
31. Magic and Madness in the Library, edited by Eric Graeber

A bit leaner of a list than last year’s, but alas: these things happen. A couple of re-reads, a smattering of French, some non-fiction mixed in—I like to keep it eclectic. In keeping with last year’s declaration that a year in books is a very personal yet easily (by which I mean generally painless) shared window into the soul, let’s go ahead and ponder what the 2011 list reveals.

First, I have been expanding the mystery writers in my repertoire. Second, I decided to start reading Evelyn Waugh’s body of work in chronological order (sidebar: I also purchased his collected travel works, which are sure to be offensive but amazing). Third, I am embarking on the adult tomes by C.S. Lewis. Fourth, I read a very odd mix of non-fiction.

And the result? The recommendations for your newly born year in books?

1. Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know by Alexandra Horowitz. I started 2011 off with a hugely enjoyable (and highly anticipated) bit of non-fiction. As you may know from previous posts, I have a crazy dog and in general, I love the canines. I especially recommend Horowitz’s book for readers who have, or have ever had or even liked, a dog. The book is basically a reworking (read: making it readable for people who do not read dissertations for general joy) of Horowitz’s doctoral research on dog cognition. The tome is an incredibly enjoyable and hugely informative journey into dogness, features sections such as “Umwelt: From the Dog’s Point of Nose,” “The Vomeronasal Nose,” “Go Get the Green Ball!,” “…It Either Fits in the Mouth or It’s Too Big for the Mouth…,” “Don’t Bathe You Dog Everyday,” “Get a Mutt,” and “Anthropomorphize with Umwelt in Mind,” among many, many others. I grew up with a dog, I now have a “new” dog with whom—being an adult—I interact and experience quite differently, and I have to admit this book makes her make so much sense to me. For example, I now understand quite clearly that when she looks at me, looks at the food in my hand and then looks pointedly at the floor in front of her over and over again… yeah, she wants me to share that sandwich and she is telling me as clearly as she can—which is pretty damn clear if you think about it, but I never really had before. Maybe that’s just me.
2. The Towers of Trebizond by Rose MaCaulay. I adore travel literature, and this is a brilliant faux travel lit from 1956, opening with the line “Take my camel, dear,” said my aunt Dot, as she climbed down from this animal on her return from High Mass.” Roughly, it is the tale of the narrator’s (Laurie’s) journey with her eccentric aunt and minister companion through modern Turkey, peppered with oscillating moments of hilarity and deep introspection. It’s one of those books that just cries out to be dog-eared and underlined. I stumbled upon it thanks to my favorite book catalog, Bas Bleu, and it was one of most fortuitous finds of my 2011. I recommend it constantly. A few choice excerpts I marked in my copy:
   “-Aunt Dot has always had her dreams. They are what take her about the world. She is an adventuress.
   –About the world, yes. Tell me Laurie, does she love her country?
   -Not that I know of, particularly. Why should she? I mean, she usually prefers to be somewhere else, when she can. Most Britons do, I think. I expect it’s the climate. Besides, we’re a nomadic people; we like change of scene.'”
   “He looked through my passport, turning the pages with covetous inquisitiveness, as if he suspected them of obscenity.
   –‘Profession,’ he then said, very loudly and angrily. ‘Why have you not written it here? You have written independent.’
   -‘Yes, I couldn’t think what else to put.’
   -‘Independent, you have written.’
   -‘Yes,’ I agreed. The conversation seemed rather repetitive.
   -‘You know what means independent?’
   -‘Yes, I think I do. It means no one pays me regularly for working.’
   –‘Independent,’ he said, turning the word over on his tongue in some disgust. ‘That means spy.’
   -‘No,’ I said, ‘Not in English. Spies aren’t independent. They get wages.'”
   “Still the towers of Trebizond , the fabled city, shimmer on a far horizon, gated and walled and held in a luminous enchantment. It seems that for me, and however much I must stand outside them, this must for ever be. But at the city’s heart lie the pattern and the hard core, and these I can never make my own: they are too far outside my range. The pattern should perhaps be easier, the core less hard.”
   
   
3. Parisians: An Adventure History of Paris by Graham Robb provides a history of Paris through a mixture of obscure and well-known vignettes in the city’s history, ranging Napoleon Bonaparte’s first sexual encounter (with a prostitute of the Palais-Royal) in 1787 to Madame Zola’s personal trials, Marcel Proust’s issues with the métro, Hitler’s singular early morning tour of the city in 1940, on to and beyond Mitterrand’s Affaire de l’Observatoire. Being of the vignette sort, it’s another good read for those looking something to be read over time, bit by bit. It’s perfect for the collector of odd histories and random facts, and, of course, all the many lovers of Paris out there. Endless tomes compile vignettes about the City of Lights (and I own a lot of them), but unlike many of the others, I actually read this one without getting bored and leaving it to sit unfinished for weeks on end. Also, it has some pictures. I love a historic photograph.
4. Vile Bodies by Evelyn Waugh. As I mentioned above, I returned to Evelyn Waugh this year. I first read Waugh back in high school when a copy of Scoop drew my eye at the bookstore (remember those?). I own about half of his works, including that recent compilation of non-fiction. Vile Bodies was his second novel, continuing with some of the characters introduced in his inaugural work, Decline and Fall. Vile Bodies is a bitingly satirical swipe at the youth of upper society in London between the world wars: the ‘Bright Young Things.’ It involves a car race begun humorously but ending horrifically wrong, a party in an anchored dirigible, a cast of singing evangelical angels who aren’t angels (reminiscent of Anything Goes), and a terribly embarrassing event at 10 Downing Street. I am a big fan of Waugh, satire, sarcasm, and of British literature of the period in general. If you have never read Waugh, this one might not be the place to start, but it is brilliant and if the style happens to be your cup of tea… it is very ‘delight-making’ (a phrase construction that will mean more to you if you read Vile Bodies) before a sobering descent into various looming realities that ruin the best of parties.
5. Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis. I have always meant to read “adult” Lewis, and when a Christmas order from Amazon needed a couple extra dollars-worth to qualify for free shipping, I decided it was finally time to make it happen. Out of the Silent Planet is the first volume of the Space Trilogy, a science fiction series to which I am now committed. Lovers of the Narnia books will be happily familiar with Lewis’ creation of a new world (you eventually find out to which planet the hero is abducted), verbally painted to vivid perfection. It is a brief read, full of geeky academic-y jokes relating to being on term leave and the sorts of things in which a philologist (the protagonist) is interested. Of course, as should be expected, there is a lot going on beneath the bare surface of the plot.

And This Is What Pottermore Is

As promised, an announcement has been made on the Pottermore website. It’s kind of vague and revolves around some sort of enhanced online reading experience.

I just don’t know.

Also those interested must now sit around for over a month if they are selected for early admission, general usage will be open in October.

Hmm, ponderous.

Will All Our Questions Be Answered Tomorrow? Pottermore.

In case you are not appropriately up-to-date on Harry Potter business, you should know that J.K. Rowling has had this new website: Pottermore for while, which recently became a jazzy purple and be-owled tease promising, “coming soon.” Last week it came to light that an announcement would appear this week, and supposedly the day it tomorrow. As of the moment, Gawker has info claiming that it’s some sort of massive online-but-also-real-life game with magic wands hidden in the actual world. The Guardian has a slightly more in-depth article about the whole thing.

All very ponder-worthy.

 

Update to Little Miss & Mr. Men: Bossy & Greedy Books

I raided my parents’  basement in an effort to locate Lady Lovely Locks and the Pixietails: Silkypup Saves the Day, but instead I came upon my collection of Little Miss and Mr. Men books by Roger Hargreaves, as recently featured by Google and myself.

They’re more than a little battered. There are a few stains. There is also great advice at the end of Mr. Greedy: “Beware of giants!”

It’s just good advice. For children of all ages. Timeless.

P.S. Remember when you could buy a new book for one dollar? Sigh.

Nostalgia Lane: Remember Lady Lovely Locks?

the80stoyark.blogspot.com

Last week an entirely random urge came over me. I was compelled to scour Netflix (and beyond) for what I can only infer is an obscure 1980s cartoon, vaguely ensconced in the foggy mists of my memory.

Once on the road of 1980s cartoons for girls there was no turning back.

First of all, in my mind the cartoon I am thinking of is linked to something called “Gigi,” but according to my excruciatingly time-wasting internet research… it is not. People fly. There are clouds. We rented it from our local video store in the mid-1980s. I have no idea.

At any rate, my search brought me to many a 1980s cartoons website. It was a little magical. One post dedicated to girly cartoons reintroduced Lady Lovely Locks to my memory. The 80’s Toy Ark is flush with collectibles and memories as well.

the80stoyark.blogspot.com

I never saw the actual cartoon, but I did own an “Enchanted Island” edition of Lady Lovely Locks herself and a Little Golden Book entitled Lady Lovely Locks and the Pixietails: Silkypup Saves the Day.

I loved that book. I loved that doll.

Lady Lovely Locks came with little magical creatures called pixietails that lived in her (and her friends’ hair). My doll came with three aquatic pixies, being the Enchanted Island variety.

Her dog—as you may have guessed—was named Silkypup. She had a posse of similarly charmed friends and an enemy (who obviously had black hair to denote her evilness) named Duchess Raven Waves.

It would appear that the whole affair was mainly geared towards selling merchandise rather than establishing a classic cartoon… but then again, I have not bothered to watch more than the intro to the cartoon on YouTube.

http://www.soaresantiques.com

Ah memory lane.

I am more than a little saddened to realize that my precious Lady Lovely Locks doll and the even more awesome pixietail barrettes (yeah I wore them in my own hair) perished in a flood that swept many a childhood memory out of my parents’ basement.

Those barrettes would have looked really great clipped to my dog’s ears. She could have been Silkypup for Halloween. Unfortunately, she will have to stick with her bumblebee costume.

Pondering the Royal Wedding

telegraph.co.uk

I have been mulling over the whole royal wedding thing. I read David Weigel’s “In Defense of the Frivolous Royal-Watching” for Slate Magazine; I went on to suggested articles by Amanda Hess, Petula Dvorak and Matthew Yglesias with its slew of cranky comments. I percolated.

Weigel wrote: “First there was the royal wedding hype. Then, there was the backlash to the royal wedding hype. Then, there was the backlash to the backlash to the royal wedding hype.”

Precision.

At the beginning, I remember the cover stories and the endless replaying of the engagement announcement clips. I thought briefly to myself, “Oh that’s nice,” before saying something snippy about why the 10 o’clock news never covers actual news and could we please get on with it?

Going into last week, the only reason I was sure of the date was the souvenir mug that recently made it’s way across the Atlantic and into our kitchen, the merit of which—for me—was deeply rooted in the Regretsy post regarding mugs mistakenly featuring Prince Harry (despite fancy detailing).

I figured I would click through a few slide shows of the whole affair once all was said and done. I am vastly entertained by hats.

And then I remembered that I am unemployed, so why not? I remembered that it is OK to like seemingly silly things once in a while. I also remembered that I like to sleep. Solution: I DVR’d BBC America’s coverage, along with Today and The View (which was an embarrassment for the hosts and I felt through-and-through each prick of Barbara Walters’ pain). The only thing I saw live was the circa 9:30 CST Aston Martin appearance, which may have been the best part.

dailybeast.com

It was cute.  If it hadn’t been an Aston Martin, it would have even been a little kitsch.

dailybeast.com

Actually, with those 1990s-esque neon-colored initialed balloons—it was kind of kitsch, which provided a feeling of authenticity, of fun and joy in the day. It wasn’t boring. In fact, the convertible exit was what prompted me to actually delve into the DVR menu in order to see how else the royal couple had attempted to give some lightness to their nuptials.

So I assessed the BBC coverage situation. It was lengthy. I won’t lie: I fast-forwarded through some of it. The endless street parties throughout the isles? No, thank you. People waiting in line? No, thank you. Interviews with every England coach? No, thank you.

Historian Simon Schama voicing my exact thoughts about the use of young trees lining the aisle providing an organic echo of the soaring Gothic arch of Westminster Abbey? Yes, please. It was inspired, perfect and I loved it. If I get my childhood wish and marry in a Gothic cathedral, I want trees. Done and done. Copied.

dailybeast.com

Seriously. Whoever suggested trees should get a medal.

All in all, it was sort of exactly what one should have expected. The line between impersonal pomp and perceived personable approachability was danced and a satisfying show was given.

I think the word “given” is key here. As much as plenty of people would rather stab their eyes out than watch the royal wedding, and as much as plenty of Londoners fled for the long weekend, a lovely show was provided for those interested. What is the point of having a powerless monarchy if they don’t give you a show once in a while?

flickr.com/photos/britishmonarchy/

The carriage procession delivered like the end to an animated Disney princess movie (somewhere between Cinderella and Robin Hood, if you’re asking me as the expert I am).

The gown evoked a Tudor-esque silhouette with the long tight sleeves, corseted bodice and padded triangular skirt (for princess story aficionados, hitting just a few stylistic notes later than Sleeping Beauty’s dress).

Prince William’s uniform on the other hand evoked Cinderella’s later nineteenth century prince-with-no-name-and-barely-a-face, except that this prince has a name and a face, and evidently was interested in having a personal royal wedding.

telegraph.co.uk

It wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t off-putting. It was enjoyable. It mixed necessary pomp with what felt like a personalized shot at naturalism as far as such can be achieved.  It was what it was.

Which sort of brings me to my point, and the final decision that all my percolating came to: [we don’t have this in the United States, but] it is a nice, hopeful, patriotic, national show that the wide public is invited to witness. You can enjoy it, or you can leave it. It doesn’t matter. If it makes you happy to watch, then watch. If not, that’s cool too, but forced negativity based on a desire to prove oneself to be above engaging with outdated royalty is besides the point. At best, they provide entertainment or the occasional comfort on some level. At worst they do embarrassing things like wear Nazi uniforms to a costume party, which gives everyone a chance to shake their heads and rant. On average they are boring figureheads who stay out of politics and look nice on special occasions. It’s not as if they have any actual life-ruining powers.

orlandosentinel.com/ Pierre-Philippe Marcou/ AFP/ Getty

It might seem silly. It certainly is excessive, but you know, every few decades shining up the old Rolls and Landau, giving the people a show—why not?

orlandosentinel.com/ Peter Macdiarmi/ Getty

A woman in the crowd outside Buckingham Palace shortly before the kiss said to a BBC reporter, “With all going on in the world today… it’s nice just to have fun and just to be British.”

I think this was the overall sentiment of the day. Schama declared the day as “the triumph of sentiment” (which has kind of been the British monarchy’s thing since Victoria, let’s face it). He also noted “there’s a sort of wisdom when you suspend cynicism.” It’s nice to have a nice news day. You don’t have to be obsessed with princes and princesses to recognize that. And sometimes our cynicism is just as sickening as getting lost in the idea of a fairy tale day.

So at first, I was politely interested/disinterested. I’m not 13 anymore, I will not be adding any commemorative magazines to my library. Then I felt strongly that I should not be interested. After all, I am not a cat lady making tea sandwiches at 4 a.m in flannel pajamas. And then I realized that there is no harm in engaging with it. Hell, I watch the Oscars every year like it’s a religion. If I am going to be snooty about actively not caring that William and Kate are getting married, then I probably shouldn’t keep doing an Oscars best and worst breakdown every year focusing not on anyone’s merit but the entertainment of the evening.

On that note, you better believe I took a few notes on my phone, so here’s my list of moments and things. You knew it was coming after my ponderings. I cannot help myself.

• First of all, is Pippa short for something? If not, I bet the Middletons are really glad they named their eldest daughter Catherine. Princess Pippa just doesn’t seem in the cards. It is spunky though.
• Some brass band somewhere at some point was playing “I’m Getting Married in the Morning” and now I am going to have to watch My Fair Lady, because it is the best.
• Posh Spice, what on earth were you wearing? I mean really. First of all, you are wearing black at a wedding. Second of all, you are wearing hooker shoes from 1999. Third of all, your hat would have won worst hat if Princess Beatrice hadn’t shown up later. In fact, maybe it still does, because you wore black to a midday wedding.
• 

  zimbio.com

  Prime Minister David Cameron’s wife Samantha did not wear a hat. Isn’t that against dress code? She certainly looked the odd woman out.

• There was an awkward moment where Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall was trying to discretely side step into place for the procession into the Abbey… but it took far too many steps for her to get into position. Awk.
• 

  flickr.com/photos/britishmonarchy

  Dear Queen Elizabeth II: way to wear canary yellow (I am told the proper term is primrose). I applaud your bold fashion choice, despite the fact that you just had the same coat and hat that you always wear done up in a new color (I prefer you blue and red ensemble from the 27th) I understand, the sartorial choices for 85-year-old lady monarchs are scarce. Also, I am beginning to ponder your life and I think you might be sassy. More thoughts forthcoming.

• That time it took about an hour just to load Kate Middleton’s train into the Rolls Royce.
• There was an applaudable lack of tears at the ceremony. So many smiles. William and Kate were smiling through the whole thing. That’s nice. Even the Duke of Edinburgh managed to stay awake long enough for a few vague expressions of joy.
• Remember that time the ring just wouldn’t go over her knuckle?
• I quite enjoyed the sermon. There I said it.
• Awkward moments: “God Save the Queen,” camera zooms in on the queen and her husband awkwardly pretending to mumble the lyrics while she sits there being lauded.
  

  https://twitter.com/#!/Queenie_Uncut

  

• 

  flickr.com/photos/britishmonarchy

  

  flickr.com/photos/britishmonarchy

  I wish I was one of the little bridesmaids who got to ride in an open carriage with Prince Harry back to Buckingham Palace. There, I said it. Although if I was 5 years old or whatever, I would probably have rather been riding with the pretty lady than some ginger.

• Did you know that after the wedding three hours of bell peeling from Westminster Abbey ensued. Three. Hours. Of. Bell. Peeling.
• I have to admit one of my favorite things in life in general is when horses are supposed to be behaving in a dignified manner and instead they do weird things with their gums, or reach over and start nibbling or head butting the equine next to them. This brings me joy.
• I close with what may be the most likeable thing Prince Charles has ever done: Holding up tiny bridesmaid Eliza Lopes during the balcony appearance.
  

  flickr.com/photos/britishmonarchyy

Also, the best thing I have discovered in my post-wedding research: British Monarchy has a Flickr account.

Also, Kate Middleton for the Win is pretty funny, especially if you take the time to scroll through past the first page.

I have a lot of spare time.

A Foam Finger from God: The New Yorker Ponders Moses

Hope your Easter weekend was just grand. I made my whole family watch all five televised hours of Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments. I also baked a Breton flan with prunes.

If you had to go back up the mountain and re-carve the ten commandments all over again by your own muscle, you might get distracted and carve the a stone foam finger too.

Napoleon vs. Napoleons (Mille-feuille)

ladydianascakes.com

As a Napoleonic scholar (not kidding), it is fitting that I have always loved Napoleons, otherwise known as mille-feuille pastries. I remember being pre-school-aged, and begging for Napoleon’s at our local grocery store—in retrospect, a Kroger’s with a fairly impressive bakery department. I have not seen a tray of Napoleon’s in a supermarket bakery case in years.

I have never referred to a Napoleon as a mille-feuille (literally a thousand leaves), because let’s face it: Napoleon is a far more entertaining and evocative name for a cream-filled pastry.

But why?

A catered event I attended over the weekend finished off with trays of pastry deliciousness, including my long-lost favorite the Napoleon, the rekindling of my love prompted the question: Why Napoleon?

To the uninitiated, a Napoleon consists of sheets of pastry alternating with [generally] two layers of pastry cream custard. This neat architectonic block is then topped with a sheet of fondant that combed with chocolate or fruit swirl.  À la the image above.

Under the name Mille-feuille, the treat was first recorded (according to Wikipedia) in mid-seventeenth century France; in the eighteenth century, Marie-Antoine Carême considered it an ancient recipe.

Carême was an early chef of French haute cuisine who served members of the upper class and aristocracy between 1798 and his death in 1833 (by which point he was living in Germany). Famous employers include Talleyrand, the Viennese Court, the British Embassy, Czar Alexander I, the Prince Regent (George IV), Princess Bagration, Lord Steward, Baron de Rothschild and Napoleon himself.

But back to the Napoleon. Apparently there was an early French association between the mille-feuille and Naples, making it a napolitain pastry. The fortuitous connection to the emperor was made later, and tended to stick.

In the bible of French cooking, Larousse Gastronomique, the Napoléon as discussed is not mentioned, although a rather monumental and out of date Napolitain Cake is listed, with a passing note that while the cake itself is not often seen today, small biscuits known as fonds napolitains are still made, decorated with butter cream or jam (page 702). According to the description and subsequent recipe for a  full-blown Napolitain Cake, the Napoleon pastry under investigation resembles certain elements of the recipe, attributed to Carême (along with several other non-dessert à la napolitain dishes).

Larousse does have a separate listing for mille-feuille (page 667), where it states that the dessert is a late nineteenth-century creation. So that is confusing. Although a clear connection is not made, there is an implicit association with the entry on Napolitain Cake. The mille-feuille description is textbook (which is good, because Larousse pretty much is the textbook).

Similarly, in other countries the dessert is generally referred to as some form of “thousand leaves,” such as mille foglie in Italy. The French Napoléon version involves almond paste. The name is also used in Canada, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Germany, Poland, Norway and Sweden. In a less Napoleon-friendly climate, such as the United Kingdom… well, the British stick to “vanilla” or “cream slice.”

Fair enough.

It appears well-established that the Napoleon is a misnomer for Napolitain, likely popularized by the coincidence of Napoleon Bonaparte’s rise to glory in the same period that Carême was popularizing dishes à la napolitain across Europe. At the same time, it is clear that Carême and his art were engineered to feed directly into the new luxury of the Napoleonic period after the Revolution. The architectonic design of his pastries connects to the solid architectonic Empire style established by the state during this period.

Bust of Napoleon Bonaparte located at Malmaison. Photo by author.

You see, it all comes together.

Napoleon generally did not concern himself much with the finer aspects of dining, much like sleep it just did not top the list of important daily ventures. Although if you want to hear long-winded remarks on his acknowledgment of pomp, presentation, art, architecture and social practices in the wielding of power and establishment of political legitimacy, and the role of Empress Josephine in the finessing of these design matters… you know where to find me.

April Fool’s A Fish

On April 1, 2005, a couple of months after attending my first friend wedding whilst still in college,  I received an email from the couple announcing a new arrival in their family.

!

Sigh of relief. It was only a dog.

A few years earlier, in high school, I participated in a school trip to France over spring break, including April 1st.

toonpool.com

That was the year I learned about the Poisson d’Avril (literally, the April Fish) and the fact that the French refer to a goldfish as a poisson rouge. Neither our instructor nor our tour guide had a clear answer as to what the French would call a fish that is actually red. Perhaps un poisson qui est rouge?

Ponder that.

manolobig.com

For reasons mired in speculation, the traditional French April Fools’ Day prank is to attach a paper fish (often—in my experience—either a poisson rouge or a poisson qui est rouge) to the back of your victim. When said victim discovers your knavery, you get to call him a poisson d’avril.

Silly fish.

Fish and fools go hand in hand in the French springtime.

parisbreakfasts.blogspot.com

Plus, after a day of pasting paper fish to people’s backs, the French indulge in fancy fish-themed pastries and chocolates.

Not too shabby.

P.S.
This is a prime example of what happens when you inform high school students about poisson d’avril right after they have been to a museum that gives out little red sticker badges upon entry.

Mind you, multiple stickers arranged however artistically on the subject’s back can only be done with his cooperative indulgence, as clearly this was quite the operation. I recommend a single fish if you are looking to actually fool someone.

Sidewalk Art in Paris: Colorful Yarn + Potholes = Le Projet Nid de Poule

I just discovered that yarn bombing—also know as guerrilla knitting or knit graffiti—is a thing.

Juliana Santacruz Herrera’s 2009 Parisian Projet Nid de Poule (Pothole Project) is deceptively discreet yet surprising example of this woolly street art. She crocheted bright multicolored chains of yarn to fill cracks and potholes throughout Paris, creating an arresting contrast between the gray cityscape and the whimsical deteriorated pavement solution.

I was in Paris over the summer of 2009, and how sad am I to have missed witnessing her September yarn bombing campaign!

Herrera even put together a video of the process for this almost monumental intervention.

Love this.

There is not a lot to be found on Herrera or any new projects unfortunately, but hopefully she’ll be up to something else creative soon.