She who shirks her work and plays
Must work harder other days.
She who shirks her work and plays
Must work harder other days.
I have had this song stuck in my head for days. It is an art song by Claude Debussy, called “Beau Soir,” the lyrics of which come from a poem by Paul Bourget.
Lorsque au soleil couchant les rivières sont roses
Et qu’un tiède frisson court sur les champs de blé,
Un conseil d’être heureux semble sortir des choses
Et monter vers le coeur troublé.Un conseil de goûter le charme d’être au monde
Ce pendant qu’on est jeune et que le soir est beau,
Car nous nous en allons, comme s’en va cette onde:
Elle à la mer, nous au tombeau.
The song is pretty, but it’s creepy, too. The setting is sunset and the rivers have turned rose-colored. How lovely! But then the creepiness comes in with “frisson,” which in English is so often used to describe a shiver of fear. Its definition in French is pretty much the same. This shiver is in the wheat fields (or corn fields), which is even creepier. Creepiest of all, the poem ends with “we’re going to the grave.”
I didn’t realize it until I sat down and really thought about the lyrics, but the theme of the poem is “Be happy. Life is short,” or something along those lines. That’s clearly some kind of birthday message. My mind has gotten so desperate that it’s using French songs to send me messages.
That’s sad.
Or should I say, “C’est triste?”
In Other Words by Jhumpa Lahiri
Grade: B+
Jhumpa Lahiri was born in London, but moved with her parents to America when she was just two years old. Her parents spoke Bengali at home, and she learned that language to an extent, but English ultimately became her everyday language. Now, when visiting India, everyone assumes she can’t speak Bengali, and they treat her like a foreigner. In America, she speaks American English fluently, but because she looks Indian, people always assume she’s a foreigner. Consequently she never feels quite at home in either language.
But Lahiri had a talent for language and a desire to express herself, so she wrote books in English, and wow! She won a Pulitzer Prize. Fantastic.
Still something was missing in her life. Then she fell hard in love with the Italian language. She struggled fruitlessly to learn it through study. Finally, she decided to immerse herself in it fully, moved to Rome with her family, and even began to write exclusively in Italian.
This struggle to learn Italian and to be accepted as a user of that language is what In Other Words is about. It is a collection of short essays and two very short stories. She wrote them all in Italian, but the English-language version of the book is bilingual, with Italian on the left-hand pages and the English translations on the right.
Writing in a foreign language is, I would imagine, somewhat like the exercise of writing in monosyllabic words only. Have you ever tried that? I have. It’s a terrible strain to say exactly what you want to say with only a limited vocabulary, but it also forces you to be creative, to take different linguistic paths. About writing in Italian, Lahiri said,
In learning Italian I learned, again, to write. I had to adopt a different approach. At every step the language confronted me, constrained me. At the same time it allowed me to rebel, to go beyond.
I can see the appeal such a constraint would have for an accomplished writer, especially given her love for this new language. Success, if it came, would be doubly sweet.
Whether or not it was a success, well, that’s up for debate. Looking through the reviews, it seems that some readers genuinely disliked the book, calling it “self-absorbed” and “narcissistic.” Some even picked on the Italian (which they said is clunky and full of errors). I don’t speak Italian, so I have no idea how good or bad it was in that language. I read some of it, just for fun, pronouncing the words as I imagined they would be pronounced (and probably getting it all wrong). Sometimes I tried to understand it on its own, and sometimes I compared it with the English. Those are the kinds of things I like to do. For that reason, I don’t regret the pages “lost” to the Italian (though I suppose certain monolingual readers could feel cheated that only half the book is in a language they can read). I thought having the Italian to look at was cool.
As for content, the book had a strong start in an essay using the metaphor of literal immersion in water, but by the end of the book Lahiri lost her focus. The writing degenerated into more of a diary in which she poured her insecurities, which is not the kind of stuff other people really need to read. I wish she had cut those parts out and picked a few more related subjects on which to write more formally.
Still, I enjoyed the book overall. It was interesting, and I do not regret a moment of the time I spent on it. So I give it a B+, meaning that it’s a good read, though not necessarily a book I would keep. I would recommend it for fans of Lahiri’s other works who want to learn more about the author, and also for people who are interested generally in languages and/or the craft of writing.
On a much more personal note, In Other Words is one of those books that makes me wonder why some books pass beneath my eye and catch my attention, while thousands upon thousands of others do not. I had never read anything by Jhumpa Lahiri before, and if I were going to start reading her work, shouldn’t I have started with the one for which she won the Pulitzer? Yes! But that’s not the book that fell under my eye when I was walking through the library looking for subjects to use for puzzles.
Some days it makes me happy to play the game of guessing what reason some Higher Power, if there were indeed one, might have for throwing a book my way. Today is one of those days. What, then, would be the reason for In Other Words to cross my path? Does Jhumpa Lahiri have something to teach me?
Perhaps. Jhumpa Lahiri grew up in Rhode Island (the state in which I now live). She earned several advanced degrees from Boston University, which is where I got my bachelor’s degree, and it’s possible we were at the school at the same time. Those are our most obvious granfaloons. I know they’re meaningless, but they still generate an aura of meaningfulness that I like.
Less than 100 pages into the book I found something that she and I truly have in common. She wrote,
If I want to understand what moves me, what confuses, me, what pains me—everything that makes me react, in short—-I have to put it into words. Writing is my only way of absorbing and organizing life. Otherwise it would terrify me, it would upset me too much.
Me, too. So if I were to believe there was a reason for me to read this book, I would say it was this—a reminder of why it is that I need to write. When I do not write, I feel adrift, cycling through periods of confused numbness and confused fear and confused anger. I don’t know what to think, or what to feel, until I write it all down and force the words to make sense. Then I understand what is going on around me, and within me. Then I understand myself. So this is the message I will take from the book: write!
P.S. In case you’re wondering how I transformed my experience with this book into a puzzle, I chose English words with Italian roots (e.g., ARCHIPELAGO, PAPARAZZI, PIZZA, etc.). Most of the words in the list ended with A, I, or O. In some cases, this would be a bad thing, but for the puzzle type I chose, it created a satisfyingly tricky puzzle. Thank you, Jhumpa Lahiri, for the inspiration!
Dear Kids,
You kept the Tooth Fairy busy this year. You lost a lot of teeth, and you lost them often. Livia once lost two teeth in the same week. There was even one night in April when you each lost a tooth. What were the odds of that happening? Not high! But it did happen, and we have pictures of you standing together, showing off your brand-new, gappy smiles.
On vacation Livia lost a tooth, and then she really lost the tooth (dropped it down the sink drain!). There was no hope of rescuing the tooth, which meant that she couldn’t put it under her pillow. She wrote a note to the Tooth Fairy instead. The Tooth Fairy replied, and even left a gift. What a nice Tooth Fairy!
One time, Marshall really wanted to lose a tooth before his field trip. He was afraid that he would lose it on the trip, and then he wouldn’t get a special tooth holder for it. The tooth was super loose the night before, so we convinced him to yank it out. He got $7 from the Tooth Fairy that night, which had seemed like a random amount (perhaps the amount that was in someone’s wallet?). But, as Marshall informed us, it was because he was 7 years old. Duh.
Actually, Marshall wanted to keep his teeth. Every time he lost a new one, he debated whether or not to leave it for the Tooth Fairy. Ultimately he gave most of them to her, but he did keep a few for himself. I asked him where those teeth are. He has no idea. I hope he finds them. After all, those things are worth money, maybe as much as $8 each, now!
Love,
Mom
How to cook delicious soup in three easy steps:
I first tried this method Sunday morning, and by evening I had delicious beef and barley soup to eat. This morning I handed my husband the recipe and ingredients for lentil soup. Now I am eating delicious lentil soup.
Best cooking method ever!
My kids come home from school before I’m done with work. They don’t understand that I need to keep working. They ask me for things, and I keep telling them they’re going to have to wait. Even after I’ve finished work, it’s hard to instantly switch mindsets. I need a few minutes to breathe. I tried to explain this to Livia one day last week, but she wasn’t buying it.
Livia: Can I have a snack?
Me: You’re going to have to wait a few minutes. I’ve been working since you left this morning, and my mind is still in Work Land.
Livia: Well, can you go to Snack Land for a sec and get me a snack?
One day last week the school’s secretary called me up at about 10:30 a.m. to ask why my son was absent. “No,” I said, instantly terrified. “He went to school!” The secretary immediately put me on hold and started looking for my son. I tried to stay calm, but all I could think of was how awful the last couple of weeks had been but that I would gladly accept a bedbug infestation as long as my son was safe. The secretary was back on the line within a few minutes. Marshall was in gym class, sorry for the mistake, blah blah blah. No matter how apologetic she was, she couldn’t take back those minutes of terror.
I just got word that the father of my closest childhood friend died earlier this week. He was a good man and a good father. I’m crushed by the news. I can’t even begin to imagine how his very large, close-knit family is managing right now.
Things I’ve learned about bedbugs:
Our vacation was officially ruined. It’s not just that being eaten by bedbugs is unpleasant. It is, and we got little sleep as a result. The biggest problem is that bedbugs love to travel, and you don’t want to spread them around, particularly not to your own home.
The first thing we needed to do was avoid contaminating our cars. If anyone wanted to go out, they needed to first treat their clothes, shoes, and anything else they wanted to bring with them. It was complicated enough that we basically only left to get necessities, such as drinking water. We had to sleep in the house at night and allow ourselves to be eaten. Ew.
But here is one way in which we got lucky. The owner decided to heat-treat the cottage. Heat treatment involves heating the structure up to 130-140 degrees and leaving it at that temperature long enough to kill everything inside. This process would treat everything in the cottage, including our luggage, computers, games, etc., all of which would have been difficult to treat otherwise. We are grateful that the owner decided to go that route. It was expensive (around $3,000!). He could have chosen something cheaper that would have left us high-and-dry, but he didn’t. He turned out to be a real stand-up guy.
There were two downsides for us, though. One is that treating large amounts of fabric items that way is not efficient, so we had to treat all of our clothing, towels, etc. by running them through the dryer on high heat, putting them in trash bags, and removing them from the premises. That’s how we spent all of Tuesday. We kept the cottage’s dryer running almost nonstop from early morning into the late night.
The other downside is that you can’t be in the structure while it’s cooking. So we had to plan to be out all day on Wednesday. Anything we wanted to bring with us had to be heat-treated in the dryer or saturated with rubbing alcohol. My memories of Tuesday are mostly of going up and down the stairs with laundry and the lingering smell of rubbing alcohol.
Wednesday morning, we each put on a fresh set of heat-treated clothing, and left the cottage. Once out, we were not allowed to go back in lest we recontaminate ourselves. Now all we had to do was keep ourselves busy until the pest control people were done with the heat treatment and the cottage had had a chance to cool off.
© 2007-2025 Author of Blue-Footed Musings All Rights Reserved