by Jeanne Harris
ages: adult
First sentence: “We came on the wind of the carnival.”

I finished this a couple of days ago, but put off writing a review because I wanted to watch the movie again, mostly so I could compare the two. But, alas, the planets/stars/karma aligned against me, and I wasn’t able to get a copy. Not willing to wait another week until I could get one (that whole bad memory thing), I’ll just have to write my impressions of the book, and save the whole comparison thing for later.

Vianne Rocher and her daughter Anouk move into tiny, drab, sober, religious Lansquenet on Mardi Gras. Vianne decides that her services are needed in this village, and sets up a chocolate shop, La Praline. Because the world that Harris has set up is a magical one, Vianne is possessed with the ability to know each of the villiagers Favorites, and fairly quickly wins not only customers, but loyal friends. This rankles the villiage priest, Pere Reynaud, who is hell-bent on keeping his flock in what he determines is a straight line.

It sounds like a greater conflict than it really is. The chapters alternate between Vianne and Reynaud narrating, and by the end of the book, I didn’t trust either as a narrator. Reynaud is despicable as a priest, more set on his right way rather than actually being a Christian. Vianne, on the other hand, is more set on finding the path of happiness through indulgence and freedom of desire. The book sets the Church up as wrong and oppressive, and Vianne as right and the way to True Happiness. Which isn’t entirely bad, since Vianne does some admirable things — things that a priest should have — while in town. However, I got to the point where I felt that because she was actively working against Reynaud, fool that he was, she provoked him in ways that were unnecessary. I felt like the “true” story, as well as the moral center, was somewhere in between the two narrators. (Then there’s the whole deal with Roux, the riverboat gypsy, but since I think I need to see the movie to fully formulate my thoughts on him, I think I’ll have to give him a pass.)

While the writing was captivating at times, I suffered from the same problem I did in Dear Julia: too many French names, not enough lush description. Please, please, describe the smells, the textures, the tastes of the chocolate, not just the names. Harris is better at this, for she does delve into that at times, but not enough for my taste. I do have to admit that at times I was reminded of Isak Dineson’s story” Babette’s Feast”, but there are quite a few stories about a woman’s ability to work magic, and therefore change, through food.

That’s not to say that the book is bad; I did enjoy it, for the most part. A friend of mine, when I told her I was reading this one, said that while she liked the book, she thought the movie was better. Perhaps this is just really one of “those” books.