Je vous presenté
Amy la protagoniste du livre : The Paris Effect. She lives in Phoenix and she is a domestic goddess. She cooks tortellini with the pasta
she makes from scratch, she irons napkins and she sews, knits, crochets and
even macramé. But she is restless. Her best friend, Kat has recently died from
cancer. Her marriage is at a standstill and she wants normalcy, a solid life
that would stick all the raggedy bits and pieces of her together and keep her
brain and her soul from flying apart in one big messy gooey bang.
Here are some
fast and fun facts about Amy:
(1) Amy is wary
of excess weight as she has been fat once when “everything is puffed—knees, ankles,
wrists, elbows, fingers, toes." Thus she is on a perpetual diet. She has many rules about dieting. Rule number one : Fidget as much as possible as fidgeting burns calories. Rule number two: 'Nothing tastes as good as feeling skinny feels' and the list goes on to include rules such as ‘Abstention is easier
than moderation’ ' Feast your eyes first' et cetera et cetera.
(2) She is 29 years old and married to William who
is addicted to jigsaw puzzles, a math whiz, a gourmet cook, an aeronautical
engineer and a planner. It was a short gun marriage. William is a numbers nerd
while Amy is a word nerd and she likes lovely tangible objects, art , clothes,
architecture and furniture.
(4) Since her
layoff , she has asked for ten dollars cash back at the grocery store and five
dollars cash back at the dry cleaners every week and she stashes them away.
William is OCD about keeping tabs on finances and she cannot explain about the
cash that she stashes away. She has to either spend them or burn them.
(5) Books and
words are her obsession and she likes to make stuff. Paris is where she dreams
of going.
There is The
Plan. Before Kat died from cancer, she and Kat had hatched a plan to travel to
Paris without William. It sounds totally insane, hiding from her husband her
secret plan. Amy has been hoarding fives and tens in a Tupperware container behind
the cookbooks and that is the money she is going to use for her escape to
Paris.
The Plan
provided amusement, diversion , release and comfort throughout Kat’s illness
when she went through with Kat her first and then second mastectomy and the rounds of chemo and radiation. Kat is dead and she leaves Kat a video asking
her not to put things off and she must go to Paris as this is some place Kat has always wanted to visit.
While Amy can
sneak away when William is away for a work trip, the only snag with Amy’s plan
is William’s phone calls. When away on business, William tends to call Amy numerous times a day. So she needs
to find a way to control the telephone calls. Before Kat died, they guffawed
loudly when they talked about The Plan. Armed with two hundred tens and one
hundred ninety-six fives, which comes to two thousand nine hundred eighty
dollars ,will Amy make it to Paris
when William is on a work trip in New Jersey? The French is
known for their cuisines, how is Amy going to enjoy
Paris when she is on a perpetual diet ? It is an escapade. What is Amy running from?
The Paris Effect is
written in Amy’s voice. I can resonate with the passage:
‘My favourite
way to begin a book is to let the
book decide, to let the book say, Here is where you need to be , here is where
you belong. Because books can always be depended on . Books are more reliable
than people. Don’t shake your head. You know it’s true.’
Excerpt from the book The Paris Effect
“Something to drink for you, madame?”
The flight attendant smiles even though I am easily the two‐
The flight attendant smiles even though I am easily the two‐
hundredth person she’s said this to.
“Um. Sparkling water, please,” I say.
I am on an airplane.
I am being addressed as madame.
I am implementing The Plan. Without Kat. Without William. With only myself. Because this morning after watching Kat’s video four more times I went to the spare bedroom that William calls a nursery, unzipped the outside pocket of Kat’s still‐packed carry‐on, the one that smells like lemon verbena, and found an envelope with two blue plastic cards inside. “Okay,” read the enclosed note. “It’s not a fancy presentation. But these are airline gift cards. One should get you to Paris. One should get you back. Now you have no excuse. Go! Hugs, Kat.”
“Um. Sparkling water, please,” I say.
I am on an airplane.
I am being addressed as madame.
I am implementing The Plan. Without Kat. Without William. With only myself. Because this morning after watching Kat’s video four more times I went to the spare bedroom that William calls a nursery, unzipped the outside pocket of Kat’s still‐packed carry‐on, the one that smells like lemon verbena, and found an envelope with two blue plastic cards inside. “Okay,” read the enclosed note. “It’s not a fancy presentation. But these are airline gift cards. One should get you to Paris. One should get you back. Now you have no excuse. Go! Hugs, Kat.”
The next hour went by like a bag of M&Ms. It took only twenty minutes to locate a flight on Air France, LA to Paris, and to redeem the cards. Fifteen to reserve a spot on Alaska from Phoenix to LA. The hardest part was writing a three‐line email to the Hôtel du Cheval Blanc, chosen long ago as a not‐too‐expensive‐yet‐ideally‐located place to stay. Finally I clicked on Send, grabbed my wallet, hopped in the Honda, and vroomed off to Costco for the ribs. A reply from the Hôtel du Cheval Blanc was waiting when I got back. “You have chance, madame,” it said. “We happily have a cancellation for the nights you name. We would be pleased to welcome you on Monday next.”
And now I am on my way. I take a deep breath through my mouth, because my nose is still completely plugged up, and survey my realm. My carry‐on is stowed in an overhead compartment across the aisle, my tote bag is stuffed under the seat in front of me, and my money belt is strapped under my brand new skinny jeans, which are way too tight. But the skinny jeans are mandatory. They are part of The Plan.
Just twenty‐four hours ago William and I barbecued ribs together on the patio. He ate heartily but said little. I too was mostly silent, unable to think about anything other than my reservation on Air France and my packed suitcase and the fact that oh‐wow‐oh‐God‐I’m‐actually‐ doing‐this.