Japanese Influence on French Gardens

I didn’t intend for a Japanese theme to my long weekend in France. For vacation my daughter asked to visit her old buddy from Maine who had moved to the Parisian suburbs. I’ve always wanted to see Monet’s gardens in Giverny, and our host, Elizabeth Webb, suggested the Albert-Kahn Gardens (above) in the outskirts of Paris.

In the 1880’s Claude Monet and his family settled in Giverny. It was there that he painted his famous lily pads. Although Monet never visited Japan, he collected beautiful Japanese woodblock prints which are displayed in his house and well worth a visit on their own. Local carpenters recreated the Japanese bridge.

The flower beds were as cheerful as Monet’s green-shuttered pink house. The formal grid design of the upper gardens were distinctly French. The bulbs were planted by color type and carefully balanced. The blocks of bright color were reminiscent of the multicolored rooms inside: a sun yellow dining room with 56 Japanese prints, a pastel blue parlor and an azure blue tiled kitchen and many others. It felt more like an artist’s palette than a decorating scheme. I loved it.

The daffodils were fading, but the tulips were out in full force with the blooming fruit trees. The bright colors softened the regimented symmetry.

The lower garden with its serpentine of water, arched bridge, weeping willows and thick groves of waving bamboo felt understated and Japanese. All it seemed to miss was a teahouse to view the splendor. My favorite gardens are in Kyoto where every blossom or stone is carefully chosen, all working together in asymmetric harmony.

But even in Monet’s Japanese-style garden, the colorful plantings, blooming in reckless abandon, felt more extravagantly western . The pansies glowed in the sunlight as did the azaleas. In pockets of peaceful contemplation, I could appreciate how this garden became Monet’s muse.

I was sorry to miss the irises, roses and lilies pads but not the crowds that accompany them. Over a half million visitors come annually to the Giverny gardens that are only open April to October.

We had lunch at the Museum of American Art’s Terra Café. We ordered crostinis with an interesting fruit and vegetable salad and an excellent raspberry tart for dessert. My ten-year-old daughter enjoyed the American style kid’s menu. The service was fast, and the dining room, open to the gardens, was very pleasant.

If Monet’s Giverny is one of the most famous French gardens, the Albert-Kahn Gardens are the most obscure. Albert Kahn was a wealthy banker who dreamt of world peace. The museum houses his early photography collection, but it was closed for renovation. The gardens were designed to reflect his vision of internationalism. Kahn had traveled to Japan in 1909 on business.

The Japanese garden was too busy with layered stones, thick plantings and multi-level vistas to be Asian. There was a gaudy hill of solid azaleas with a spiraling path. It had an almost Disney theme park feel to it, but of course that made it all the more appealing to the children, who raced up the paths and skipped along the stepping stones. There was a delightful, playful quality to the garden.


The huge carp were genuinely Japanese. My daughter and I shared a Zen moment watching scattered rain drops falling on the pond, creating concentric rings. I’d love to return for a tea ceremony in the teahouse.

By the time we made it to the English garden, it was (appropriately enough) raining quite hard. It wasn’t the best example of English gardening, but daffodils blooming along a stream did bring to mind London parks.


We loved the rough, hilly paths winding through a conifer forest. The pines smelled fragrant in the rain and reminded us of hikes in Maine, although it was meant to invoke the Vosges Mountains of Kahn’s childhood. There was even an American meadow but not much was blooming.

It was a bit of a shock to come upon the traditional French garden after the wild forest. Early in the season, one could see how the crab apple trees were twisted and bent into geometric shapes and pinned like torture victims on a rack. Although all the gardens were artificial, it was only in the French garden that one felt keenly aware of man’s hand in shaping nature to his design.

The Albert-Kahn Museum and Gardens
14, rue du Port
92100 Boulogne-Billancourt
Tel: 01 55 19 28 00
Open Tuesday-Sunday 11am-7 or 8pm
Metro: Boulogne-Pont de Saint-Cloud (ligne 10)
€1.5 (free for under 12)

For dinner we continued the japonais theme. Elizabeth’s friend Akiko claims that Kunitoraya is the most authentic Japanese restaurant in Paris. It’s a simple noodle shop, and it did indeed feel like I was back in Tokyo.

In Japan restaurants tend to specialize in only one type of food so there are noodle shops, sushi restaurants, yakitori grills, Buddhist vegetarian restaurants and even restaurants serving just breaded fried pork cutlets. There are no “Japanese restaurants” in Japan – that’s a western export. As are large servings of meat or deeply battered tempura. Real Japanese tempura comes lightly battered and isn’t greasy so you can really taste the fresh vegetables.

Kunitoraya sells only noodles and a few rice dishes. My daughter ordered plain noodles in broth, and the rest of us had Kamaten-Udon (€15). We watched them prepare our meal from the noodle bar. All the staff appeared to be Japanese as were half of the clients – always a good sign.

I explained to our friends that you have to slurp the long, slippery noodles, the louder the more polite. The thick wheat noodles (udon) were the best I’ve had outside Japan as was the tempura. They came with a warm dipping sauce to which you add fresh ginger, toasted sesame seeds, chopped scallions and a raw quail’s egg (that had to be a French addition – it usually would be a raw chicken’s egg.)

Kunitoraya was in the Asian district that included many Japanese, Chinese and Korean restaurants. It was at 39 Rue Ste. Anne near Rue des Petits Champs and is open every day from 11:30am to 10:00pm. Great place for an early, inexpensive dinner with kids. You can sit at the bar or in the cave like basement at a table.

I rounded off the evening with a French motif: fine wine and cheese back home with my friends. It was a fun weekend of dual cultures. Like quails eggs on udon, France and Japan are a good pairing.

This post was part of Garden Bloggers’ Bloom Day. Click on the link to see what else was blooming around the world on April 15th.

Oxford Literary Festival 2008

It was not without irony that Lionel Shriver announced that she would be the first to read “smut” aloud in Christ Church Library. At The Oxford Literary Festival Shriver read two sexually explicit but intellectually charged passages from her latest novel, The Post-Birthday World. Shriver takes a bold stab at what people really think about when making love. As she said, there is a limit to the number of physical combinations of which part goes where. Lionel didn’t blush once, her enunciation was as faultless and subtly nuanced as the most seasoned actress. The stage was set with leather-bound books housed in oak below ornate moldings, an ivory tower out the window.


It made me want to go back and reread her book; I blogged about PBW last May. A review in the Guardian (spoiler alert) claimed this work was her most autobiographical. Shriver left a long term relationship for the love of a jazz musician. Like her heroine and like me, Shriver is an expat American living in England. We were both dressed in black t-shirts and jeans, unlike anyone else in the silver-haired, tweedy audience. I confess to feeling comfort at hearing an American accent again, like finding an old friend.

The PBW has been called chick lit although it tackles deep issues such as the inspiration for creativity and even the conflict in Northern Ireland. It is still quite a change from the disturbing We Need to Talk About Kevin. Her Orange Prize winner was about a school shooter. A hand count showed that I was one of the few that had read her latest; most were Kevin fans and women.

I asked how she managed to defy genre typing and what her next project would be. Shriver was wary of “the women’s fiction pigeon hole” as she cherishes her male readers too. Her claim was that women read more books then men and are just as happy to read broadly. She did admit that her agent was nervous about her next novel: a reflection on the American healthcare system written in a male voice. As long as Shriver continues to write beautifully and honestly about controversial subjects, I believe her audience will only grow.

The Oxford Literary Festival lasts an entire week and is housed in Christ Church which many may recognize from Brideshead Revisited. The events were well worth the £7.50 admission just for the venue alone. I attended one where I sat at high table in Hall. If the space looks familiar, it was the model for the Hogwart’s dining hall in Harry Potter.

Even the entrance to the Hall and other conference rooms was beyond grand.

Of course nothing at the venerable college was accessible, so the panel I attended on "Disability in Writing" was housed across the street. The chair was the academic Tom Shakespeare. Susan Clow, manager of In the Picture spoke first about the importance of including disabled children in mainstream children’s picture books. It’s a more representational vision of reality, and inclusion sends the important message that the disabled are not invisible. Her website has many good tips for illustrators.

Susan Clow, Tom Shakespeare, Mark Haddon and Lois Keith

Novelist Lois Keith listed 3 approaches to avoid when writing about the disabled:

1. “I wouldn’t wish disability on my worst enemy.”
2. “He threw his wheelchair out the window to walk again.” (eg Colin in The Secret Garden)
3. "Show the disabled character watching passively in the corner." (eg sweet Beth in Little Women)

The main draw of the panel was author Mark Haddon. A sharp-eyed reader will note that the chapters in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time are all in prime numbers. Not once in the narrative is it spelled out that the engaging narrator with a number fixation has Asperger’s Syndrome. Haddon’s only regret was that the publisher added that information to the jacket blurb. His novel invites you to see the world through autistic eyes, but it is not a book about disability per se.

The Curious Incident is one of the best young adult books I’ve read; my son at age twelve loved it too. Encouraged by Haddon, I have included a disabled character in my novel S.A.D..

I attended the panel on Japanese Historical Fiction just for fun. I’ve always enjoyed reading novels about Japan. One of my favorite authors is Haruki Murakami. My husband teaches Japanese Politics, and my sister-in-law is Japanese.

Ellis Avery was worried that a 21st century American couldn’t understand what it felt like to be a 19th century Japanese girl. I applaud her choice of narrator: an American orphan, adopted by a Japanese family as a servant. The Teahouse Fire is as beautifully choreographed and unrushed as a tea ceremony. What drives the narrative is the complex relationship between the fictional maid, Aurelia, and a real historical figure, her mistress. Shin Yukako rescued the tea ceremony from obscurity in a rapidly modernizing Meiji Japan, just opening to the west.

What is striking about Avery’s story is that it reads like a Japanese novel. It reminds me of Mori Ogai’s The Wild Geese which is set in the same time period and is one my favorite novels. In both we see the attention to detail, the importance of family tradition, the theme of unrequited love and even the slow pace. What enlivens the narrative in Teahouse is a distinctly American feminist perspective, including a lesbian romance. It’s an unusual mix, but it works. I’m missing her voice since finishing the book.

I don’t have as much to say about Lesley Downer’s The Last Concubine because I haven’t read it. Like Avery's novel, it is set in 19th century Japan. Although Downer lived in Japan for 15 years, the only Japanese women she said she could relate to were geisha. She characterized the rest as married at 24, had kids, were gossipy, didn’t know men (even their husbands) and didn’t work. That isn’t the Japan that I know.

At the end of the readings, Avery delighted the audience by passing out Japanese sweets and conducting a tea ceremony. Avery has studied the art of Japanese tea for years. She held her arms as if wearing a kimono and moved with measured grace. Downer was an obliging guest, her role as ritualized.

On Avery’s website I discovered that we share the same literary agent, Jean Naggar. I introduced myself to Avery and her partner, Sharon Marcus; both teach at Columbia University. Oddly enough, they already knew me. They had googled “best tea in Oxford,” found my blog and enjoyed a decent cup of tea and lunch at The Rose. Professor Marcus studies 19th century women journals and said my blog reminded her of the travel journals from that time. Isn’t cyberspace a small world?

Another panel I attended was “Blogging the Classics” which debated book review blogging vs. newspaper literary criticism.

John Carey, John Mullan, Lynne Hatwell and Mark Thwaite

Mark Thwaite, founder of ReadySteadyBook.com and a librarian by profession, spoke on the value of book blogging as giving recognition to good but unusual titles. He listed 7 words that should be avoided when reviewing:

1. poignant
2. compelling
3. intriguing
4. astute
5. craft
6. muse
7. lyrical

Uh oh, have I used them all? Thwaite posts a list of about 80 English book bloggers on his website at BritLitBlogs. Too bad there isn’t an American equivalent of this directory. Thwaite pointed out that there are a lot of blogs out there - well over 100 million tracked by Technorati alone. Diversity is a given.

Lynne Hatwell from dovegreyreader was an engaging speaker: modest, funny and forthright. Blogging about books is the way to share her passion. Her blog is a bit like mine, a mixture of reading and personal narrative. It’s more about how she feels about the books than a critical review. She lives in Devon and is a healthcare visitor who did a literature degree in her free time.

The panel’s literary critic was Professor John Mullan. Mullan said his academic training allows him to understand literature better than a layperson. He may know books, but it didn’t sound like the professor was that familiar with blogs. He spoke of people raving, hostility and chaos in cyberspace. The moderator and Sunday Times chief reviewer, John Carey praised the diversity in blogging, but Mullan didn’t recognize its value beyond entertainment.

Near the close of the festival, came the biggest surprise: 3 inches of snow! My kids made a snowman with grape hyacinth hair. Port Meadow looked like a holiday card complete with swans. I felt like I had conjured the storm as I was writing a new cross-country skiing scene for S.A.D. and was having a hard time remembering a Maine winter. I actually got the idea under a flurry of cherry blossoms. My revisions are well inspired thanks to the literary festival and the April snow.

Lads in Scotland

Apologies, regular readers! This is Henry, Sarah’s husband, guest-blogging about the rail trip to Scotland I just made with our 13-year old son. Don’t expect the usual standards of writing, photography or insight, but please bear with me, I’ll do my best!

The West Highlands Railway from Glasgow to Mallaig is simply spectacular. Past Ben Nevis, along the banks of Loch Lomond, through stunning mountain passes until you reach the sea, with the Western Isles of Skye and Mull just across the Sound of Sleat. You might recognise the beaches from Local Hero and the mighty Glenfinnan Viaduct from the Harry Potter movies: this is the view you get from the viaduct. Truly magical.

Mallaig is great, a small, hard-working fishing port and ferry terminus.

We stayed at the Western Highland Hotel. That’s it in the center of the photo above, with Skye in the background. It’s warm, clean and unpretentious with good food, genuinely friendly staff and fantastic views from our bedroom. This is the Isle of Rum.

There are great walks around Mallaig - we circled Loch an Nostarie and the surrounding hills in about 3 hours. As usual, the Lad marched on ahead while I grumbled behind, demanding snacks and constantly asking if we were nearly there yet.

Reward for our climbing was absolutely superb seafood at the Cornerstone Restaurant. Fresh straight from the sea, and then simply prepared, as it should be. Highlights were the the half-pint of steamed prawns and the pan-fried Scallops. We asked where the scallops came from, and were surprised to hear that the chef didn’t know. She’d been onto a lot of the boats that afternoon, she apologised, and forgotten which of the divers had sold her that particular batch.

Next, a daytrip to the tiny village of Inverie on the isolated Knoydart peninsula (silent “k” as in ‘knob’).

The mailboat takes about 45 minutes, then returns 4 hours later to pick you up. We saw a couple of seals (or maybe one energetic seal twice) and a few birds. Slim pickings on the wildlife front.

The locals meet the boat to pick up mail, supplies and, by the looks of things, strangers. (That handsome, rugged-looking dude is me, by the way)

Landed, we hiked through the mist and pouring rain to this centuries-old Christian monument, meeting only deer.

You haven’t lived until you’ve sat in The Old Forge Pub eating a home-made venision burger, drying-out after a soaking hike, and watching the rain lash down outside. It boasts of being Britain’s Most Remote Pub (motto: “Up a Mountain, Down a Beer”), but the homemade veggie soup and hot chocolate were out-of-this-world as well as out-of-the-way. Not to mention the 80-Shilling Ale, which I was obliged to neck by way of pure research. Sorted!

Back then to Edinburgh, where, boys that we are, we headed to the Castle for some History and plenty of Violent Death.

Near the main gate is a plaque commemorating the AD 600 exploits of King Mynyddog’s men as they headed out to defend Din Eidyn (now Edinburgh) from the Angle invaders:

“Buoyed by strong drink, they pledged themselves to die for their lord. And die most of them did...”

Yup, that seems to sum up an awful lot of Scottish history.

My favourite exhibit, though, is this model of Private McBain of the Royal Scots Regiment in action at the Battle of Malplaquet in 1709. His wife, not unreasonably, had left France for Scotland on the eve of the battle, leaving him with their baby. Childcare facilities not being all that they could be in the British Army back then, he stuck the kid in his knapsack and proceeded with the bayoneting. Happily, both survived this early “Take Your Daughter to Work” day.

With us to add cultural and literary insight was my great friend Peter Coviello, professor of English at Bowdoin College and keen ice-fisherman.

The three of us explored Edinburgh’s vibrant artistic heritage, (by way, Pete explained, of antidote to all the slaughtering) which took us to The King’s Theatre to see Alan Bennett’s “Single Spies” starring Nigel Havers. (You might remember him as the champagne-quaffing hurdler in Chariots of Fire.) The two one-act plays explore Britishness through the perspective of the Cambridge-educated, pillars-of-the-establishment aristocrats who were unveiled as soviet spies in the 1960s.

“Britishness” is a tricky and topical subject these days, especially in Scotland. Prime Minister Gordon Brown, from nearby Kilcady, declares himself “Proud to be Scottish and British” but many Scots are calling for independence. Scottish history, like that of any nation, is a confused tangle of conflicts, not only with England but also amongst themselves. Our travels had taken us past many landmarks in that complicated history.

The Act of Union in 1707 merged the two independent countries, soon to be ruled by a German King, and we arrived in Edinburgh 301 years to the day after Scotland’s Parliament dissolved itself. It reconvened in 1999 - picking up exactly where it had left off - in this notoriously expensive building, designed not by a Scot but a Spaniard and looking, to my admittedly untrained eyes, like a cross between a car-park and a cheap beach-resort bar.

Meanwhile Glenfinnan (pictured above) was where Charles Edward Stuart - “Bonny Prince Charlie” - raised his battle-standard in an attempt to reinstate the Stuart monarchy over England, Scotland and Ireland in 1745. But the Divine Right of Kings was no longer a winning campaign platform, and the idea of a Catholic monarchy backed by the French King (Louis XV) was vehemently opposed by Scottish Presbyterians as well as English Protestants.

The Prince’s invasion of England ended in retreat and ultimately disaster. He fled towards Mallaig and was borne “Over the Sea to Skye” and thence to safety. Many of his captured Jacobite supporters were taken to London and executed, “taking the low road” back to the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

The songs, happily, are still beautiful today, long after the bloody politics are (largely) forgotten. And we were cheered to note that there is now a bridge over Loch Alsh, so it is now possible to drive "Over the A87 Bridge to Skye." Not quite so romantic though, eh?

Lest I end on a downer, here are a couple of photos of the garden of my wonderful Scottish brother-in-law’s equally wonderful parents (what’s that: my in-law-in-laws? I never know) with whom we stayed in Edinburgh. They live in a gorgeous A-listed 1850 house, now turned to flats, and their garden is a sunspot formerly used for drying laundry. The yellow Lenten Roses are blooming right now, and the Red Camilia tree is about to burst. Absolutely lovely.

Thanks for reading, and normal service with Sarah will be resumed next week.