French an der Weinstrasse

Lots of fun stuff has been afoot of late.

To start with, the first weekend after the vernal equinox is the cue for Hansel Fingerhut to emerge. Remember the tar-faced rogue from Forst who plants smudgy black kisses on all the women in town, before everyone gathers around to torch a stack of straw, representing the ceremonial burning down of winter? It's a very cool spring festival that certainly would never fly in the States. People stand around an inferno of hay, hooting as flaming pieces detach themselves and blow off unpredictably toward their heads, while nearby stands sell copious amounts of wine. Ahhh, Europe!

Then this weekend, I hope the neighbors got their fill of watching us through binoculars, 'cause Bert and I finally hung up vertical blinds. (They look great! We're such grownups!)

And last week, we started a French class! I'm so stoked to learn some French. Not only did my maternal grandfather speak it as his first language -- so it's kind of in the blood, you could say! -- I just love learning new languages. And it doesn't look so hard, either: when Mom and I were in Paris, I could understand a whole bunch of written words, but probably would have been publicly stoned had I attempted to pronounce them. This was supremely frustrating, as if it were barely out of reach -- like smelling a banquet but not being able to see it. The language of Jules Verne and Victor Hugo was suddenly so alive, and I decided I wanted to be able to clear away the cobwebs and make it mine. Plus, hey, we live so close to the border -- I'm determined to go explore that country a few miles west without being intimidated by the notorious language barrier.

So I was practically quivering with glee as Bert and I sat down for our first lesson and were taken through all the nasal exercises. Exciting!!!

Speaking of nasals... now is when I feel compelled to admit something that will certainly get me stoned, after all. Let me first reiterate what a cool sound the language has. And it certainly summons images of delicious cooking, fashionable women, illustrious history, classic literature, and gorgeous countryside. Neat, neat, neat. But is it, you know... pretty? I mean, does it really sound melodious? I know everyone says so. Hey, it's certainly sexy. And for hundreds of years, it was the European lingua franca (ha! get it?), therefore closely associated with nobility and education. So French is inarguably connected to sex, rank, and prestige -- all quite enough to recommend it. But does this also automatically make it aesthetic?

Frankly (and here come the missiles!), I don't think so. I hear a monotone cadence of gargled r's and honking nasals, punctuated by the expectoration of gutteral vowels at the end of the sentence. I mean, this is cool! Of course it is! But come on, it's not pretty. Pretty is Italian: l'italiano e la lingua piu bella nel mondo. (Melt.)

On the few occasions, however, when I've timidly put forth this suggestion, I have met with nothing short of anger. Anger! People -- especially those with a working knowledge of French and apparently quite proud of this ability -- take it personally. Which confirms my suspicion that the appeal of French has more to do with association and social status, because why else should they be so offended? As if a language's entire merit is based on its perceived prettiness. I mean, I love German. German is warm, familiar, earthy, friendly. It can also be intriguingly logical and agglutinating in a way that I don't see in other languages. Yet few people would argue that it's beautiful. And why should it be? Yet unfailingly, if I dare to suggest that French is comparable, I'm met with the same hissed retort: "Well, English is not a pretty language!" Wow. I didn't say anything about English. But it's like people need to lash out at my blasphemy by commenting on my language. Whew, I've learned to simply not express this viewpoint!

Well, it's Sunday evening and I'm abandoning my lovely-voiced German to write in the blog. Better get going! Besides, we have some vocabulary to practice! Bon soir!