Paris to the Moon

I read Paris to the Moon before I came to France, but I started reading it again recently. Since I first read it, I've seen Gopnik's name in a lot of unexpected places. For example, although I like to visit New York, I have never really been interested in the myth and lore of it, and generally find New Yorkers (except you, mom!!!) too overbearing, and for that reason never felt compelled to read the New Yorker... That is, until recently, when my parents started sending me issues of it. And as most people who have lived abroad for long periods of time can tell you, gifts in your native language are some of the most precious gifts. As a result, I tore into these New Yorkers because were written in my own simple and melifluous English, but soon found to my surprise that I really liked them. This brings me back to Gopnik, who writes for the New Yorker, which was the first surprise. The second surprise came when I read a story by him about a football team that Kirk Varnedoe had coached. Kirk Varnedoe was (he died much too young last year) somewhat of a legend in art circles, and although I never met him, felt a connection to him because of a late spring day in 1994 at Williams College. It was on this day that he gave the best graduation speech I have ever heard. I've tried to find the text of it many times, but havent succeded. I just remember feeling inspired, and thankful that there was no talk of "reaching" or "climbing" or "pushing" or "aiming": just earnest advice, beautifully written, delivered in deadpan. And then I felt cheated because it wasn't MY graduation, but my girlfriends. I don't even remember who delivered my own graduation speech the next year. And now I return to Adam Gopnik, who it turns out was a protégé of Kirks. Kirk was also the godfather of Adams son, who plays a prominent role in Paris to the Moon.

Paris to the Moon is something I'll definitely come back to. Its wonderfully written, and my only complaint is that he's not very careful about equating Paris with France and Parisians with the French. Of course, its understood what hes talking about in the title, but I still find it a little vexing. My second complaint (ok, so there are two) is with the sneaky way in which literary theory pervades his essays. I get the uncomfortable feeling that I am being "educated" when I see Benjamin and Baudrillard used to discuss weather forecasting.