I’ve had a couple of high school flashbacks on our WEM journey so far. For instance, when we read Gulliver’s Travels at dear ol’ AHS Mr. Fong made write our own satire as an accompanying project. I just didn’t get it. It seemed that just when things were starting to get satirical that I was saying the opposite of what I really meant, which was the point, or was it? It was just a few too many turns around the reverse psychology carousel for this dizzy rider.
Jane Eyre has been giving me a real doozy of a flashback. That sweet little Adèle is from Paris. France. Where they speak French. A lot. I suppose Brontë would expect that most of her readers would be well educated enough to traverse the simple conversations of a Parisian seven-year-old. But obviously Miss Brontë did not attend the same high school as me.
I took French. In fact, I took two years of French. I had the sweetest teacher. He was very kind. He taught us many things. He taught us how to make crêpes, and croque-monsieur. In French 2 I learned advanced lessons about first degree burns, but those were taught by one of my classmates after setting her hands on fire with rubber cement while our teacher was down chatting with the librarian.
What I did not learn was French. Not even enough to translate childhood prattle. So, could someone please tell me if anything Adèle says is of importance. In the time being I’m just going to take my husbands attitude to heart, “Oh look – another paragraph I don’t have to read!”