France Through a Grain of Sand

Elevator to the Top of the Eiffel TowerI had been saving Adam Gopnik’s Paris to the Moon for my arrival in Paris for the past year- ever since I read Through the Children’s Gate. The latter title is a collection of essays written by Gopnik about the daily life of a New Yorker living in New York. Paris to the Moon is a collection of Gopnik’s essays about la vie quotidienne of a New Yorker living in Paris. Interestingly, our very own Alain De Botton commented on Gopnik’s work, and perfectly encapsulated what I love about his writing:

“The distinctive brilliance of Gopnik’s essays lies in his ability to pick up a subject one would never have imagined it possible to think deeply about and then cover it in thoughts… He is truly able to see the whole world in a grain of sand.”

Gopnik is able to find meaning in the mundane, narrating poignant little scenes in which he attempts to light his Christmas tree “the French way,” or he futilely quests to join a French gym (they don’t exist), or he experiences the solidarity of the public for a French workers’ strike (of which there are many). Together, Gopnik’s little commentaries form a larger picture about French society and French culture. As a whole, his essays speak to what it means to be a foreigner living in a strange city and the experiences to which the foreigner is confined.

In July, Gopnik writes, Paris is full of tourists. Tourist destination numéro un: La Tour Eiffel. At the Eiffel Tower, one must buy an elevator pass corresponding to the level at which one wishes to get off. Apparently, one day a lady tourist got on the “up” elevator with a ticket to the second platform and then decided to get off at the first platform (“because she felt dizzy or because she didn’t, or just because she was exercising her fundamental right to get on and off an elevator whenever she felt like it”). Mme Tourist was kept from getting off the elevator by a French elevator operator, who may-or-may-not have handled her too roughly. An angry Mme Tourist complained to the company that runs the tower and M. Elevator Operator was fired.

If this had happened in the States either the case would be closed, or M. Elevator Operator would sue the company. But because this happened in France, the rest of the tower employees went on strike in solidarity, and the tower closed down (for how long Gopnik doesn’t say), “leaving a lot of indignant American and British tourists on the ground, furious at being denied their chance to be manhandled by the elevator operators.”

To Gopnik, “The Eiffel Tower Incident of the Summer of ‘97” represents, as many things do, a “temperamental and intellectual difference” between French and American cultures. “Most Americans draw their identities from the things they buy, while the French draw theirs from the jobs they do.” He calls the French phenomenon of the desperate need to practice one’s trade in a pure, unadulterated fashion, “Métier Mania.” To the French, the elevator operator was justified in that he was “only doing his job,” practicing his trade.

This paradigm shift between a consumer-focused society and a worker-focused society was one of the first, striking differences I noticed between the two countries.

In the States, where “most Americans draw their identities from the things they buy,” when people find out that you’re a college student, they immediately ask what college you go to. They draw your identity from what you chose to “buy”- which college you chose to attend, as well as what you could “afford”- which college accepted you as a student.

In France, “the French draw their identities from the jobs they do.” When French people find out that I’m a student, the following question, without exception, is always “What do you study?” As a Gallatin student, I cringe when I get that question at home. In France, it’s like trying to tell someone you don’t have a name.

I try anyway, “In the US, one doesn’t have to choose a specialization until the end. Graduate school is when your specialization actually starts to matter, until then it’s very broad and general. I have a few more years to go before graduate school.” I am returned with frowns, skeptical looks, and the occasional benefit-of-the-doubt nod.

To them, I just said: “No, I don’t have a name yet. In the US, we don’t have to choose one until we’re 21 or 22, because we just can’t decide what name we like best until that age. Until then we’re just called vague, general terms that represent broad philosophical ideas and literary concepts. I might try on a few names; just to be sure I picked the right one for me. Right now, I’m leaning towards Maggie or Carla, with a minor in Susan.”

In the interest of simplicity, I have given up on accurately representing myself: “Politics. I am studying Politics.” They smile, they nod, “oh, that’s interesting.” The Gallatonian inside me winces.