Book Review: 'The Paris Wife' by Paula McLain. (Which could also be 'The Autun Girl' by StarrySeven)

I don’t know if it’s a good kind of ironic or a bad kind that, after having just moved to France and being in the process of discovering that living alone in a foreign country can be very lonely at weekends in a small town when every single last shop and café is closed and the locals seem to disappear altogether as of 11pm Friday night until 6am Monday morning (probably to some secret, really cool, really fun party), I am reading The Paris Wife by Paula McLain.  Ironic because it is told from the perspective of the wife of Ernest Hemmingway, affectionately called Hadley, and follows the story of their romance, marriage and the life, or rather separate lives, they live as a couple.  The story really begins following their move to Paris when, with Ernest shutting himself away with his work in an effort to forge his career in writing, Hadley is daily left to her own devises in the big, beautiful and unfamiliar city, becoming ever-more lonely as Ernest becomes increasingly consumed by his work.  Owing to their lack of money, they live in a dingy, small flat in a dirty building, in the 5^th arrondissement, which in the book is described as being quite down-market and where no-one who is anyone would choose to live (it’s pretty nice now, isn’t it? I dunno...).  I’m just very much connecting with this character at the moment, she’s cut off from her family and friends, disgusted by the rats at the market to the point where she wants to drop her bags in the middle of the street and run in the opposite direction but doesn’t because she feels it would be ridiculously dramatic (I feel exactly the same except for it’s not rats at the market but cockroaches in my house (ils sont petits, mais ils sont là quand même) and it’s making me become paranoid and hyperaware of all bugs.  I’m even losing my patience with spiders, which is unlike me because I really like spiders. This is how bad it has gotten.  I’m normally not in the least bit bothered by insects (except ladybirds) but now I’m practically unable to put my feet on the floor because I think a cockroach will scurry up my trouser leg.  It’s making me feel physically sick and I’m losing my appetite bit by bit every day), and she’s just feeling lonely and nostalgic for home.  I don’t miss home (yet, I’m sure it will come closer to Christmas) I’m just craving people.  I know hardly anyone, and those people I do know are not yet the kind of friends where I would feel at ease going shopping with them, or whatever.  I mean, I’ve not even been here two weeks yet, people are still getting to know me and I them – which is fine – but at the same time being cut off from everyone else in the world because of this town’s lack of internet in houses and public places (in this day and age), is just getting to be tiresome and difficult.

I mean, I’m not someone who has to be with people all the time (in fact, a lot of the time, I’m quite happy to be on my own), I love France and I really love my little town, I just kind of wish I could share it with someone.  This is going to sound so, so cheesy but I’ve been thinking recently, it’s true what they say; it really is other people that make life worth the ride.