Not too French, a bit British
Woke up still very tired, but since I bought ticket for Godard’s “Slow Motion” I dragged myself to the cinema.
I will not pretend I fully comprehend and appreciate Godard… Instead I must admit I still cannot quite fathom the French mind. I do not know whether it is the time (1970s) or the French thing, since I had no problem watching Ozon. Anyway.
It occurs to me that almost all literary scholars aspire to (or like to be thought so) French Art, for reasons I do not quite understand – perhaps it is just this incomprehensibility of the French that makes it look sophisticated. For a dull head like mine, I would rather resort to something more comprehensible and yet no less sophisticated. In many ways I prefer the British, though their rigidity drives many people mad. My boss seems to be just this sort who has something against the British which made her behave in a certain manner against a certain British client in a certain occasion, and which made me feel quite uneasy as well.
I do not know. I owe much from the British through history (from Chaucer to Joyce), and I still delight in claiming myself a sister of Jane Austen/Virginia Woolf. Perhaps I will have more French in my blood if I begin to read some French literature…like Les Miserable?