La seduction: To the French, a way of life

How the French Play
the Game of Life

nolead begins By Elaine Sciolino

Times Books. 338 pp. $27 nolead ends

nolead begins

Reviewed by Susan Balée

Long ago, I lived for a year in France. The country and its people seduced me, and I've been going back for visits ever since. Who could fail to love wonderful food, wine, and conversation? Not to mention the landscape, language, architecture, monuments, museums, fashions, gardens, and shops.

All of these are simply the visible, and edible, manifestations of something Elaine Sciolino, former New York Times Paris bureau chief, sees as the essence of the Gallic approach to life. The French people "imbue everything they do with a deep affection for sensuality, subtlety, mystery, and play." Life for the citizens, she notes, is a "centuries-old game called seduction," and the French do not mean this as Americans would, in a primarily sexual way.

Sciolino, who has spent most of her career covering politics, adds that seduction is also "an essential strategy for France's survival as a country of influence." This angle makes her book very different from, say, Adam Gopnik's Paris to the Moon. While Gopnik focused on his own idiosyncratic experiences living in Paris, Sciolino regards her adopted country from the perspective of a politically savvy journalist. She has had her hand kissed by Jacques Chirac and her opinion dissed by Nicolas Sarkozy. She has learned something essential about French politics: Leaders who cannot project an aura of virility as the lovers-in-chief of their nation do not last long in this country.

Au contraire, American prudery surprises the French. I happened to be visiting friends in Dijon when the Gary Hart scandal broke in 1987. The married Hart, who twice ran for president, saw his ambitions dashed when he was photographed aboard the yacht Monkey Business with his mistress. One of my French friends said, "Mon dieu, Suzanne, we would elect him for that!" A decade later, their only problem with Monica Lewinsky was that they found her unattractive and lacking in any attribute that might induce an American president to waste his intimacy on her.

Which brings us to the case of Dominique Strauss-Kahn, only recently released from charges that he assaulted a hotel maid in New York this summer. This powerful politico, who has presidential ambitions of his own, is known as a womanizer in his own country. Sciolino says that if a Parisian dinner party is beginning to flag, one need only bring up his name to get the conversation going again. To be sure, the French don't perceive loyalty and monogamy as synonyms, but still, S-K's apparent voracity has crossed the boundaries of good taste. One Frenchman told Sciolino that sexually vigorous men appeal to French voters, but with a caveat: " 'This is not a question of nature; it's a question of degree. Between one and five [affairs], no difference; between five and a thousand, there is a difference.' "

In France, the chase, the game itself, has always been the most important thing. In romance, it begins with le regard, the look, but it does not have to end with sexual consummation to be a success. Gazing is good, smiling is frowned upon (too American), and winking is a big mistake in France because "it disfigures your face," as a Parisienne explained to Sciolino. Appearance matters, as do manners.

Verbal sparring adds to the delight of foreplay in any relationship. Indeed, the poetry of language is much loved by the French, and the citizen who can speak well on the spur of the moment is revered. When Sciolino severed her hamstring and needed an MRI, even the radiologist tried to soften the blow with well-chosen words:

"You really did this beautifully, madame." Pausing for effect, he added, "The tendon. It floats. In a sea of blood."

Sciolino uses her journalistic skills and credentials to interview famous writers, philosophers, models, chefs, parfumeurs, and politicians about the role of seduction in French life. Her own amusing experiences spice the narrative and make it a fun read rather than just informative.

In one of the best moments, she and her lovely young research assistant visit a former president of France, Valéry Giscard d'Estaing, to talk to him about his 2009 novel, La princesse et le president, which depicts a passionate affair between a French head of state and an unhappily married British princess. Giscard, now in his 80s, pooh-poohs the idea that the novel was a true story of his relationship with Princess Diana, though his sexual conquests are a source of national pride (he is the most revered French president since Charles de Gaulle).

As Sciolino and her assistant are leaving, "his hand seemed to rest for a second on the derriere of my young researcher. It was not aggressive. Perhaps it was accidental. Perhaps it never happened. Then it seemed to happen a second time."