Francofile

Quebec and the French Language

I always love underrated, unspoiled places.  There are certain uncelebrated places I like to visit that I hesitate to recommend to others, for fear that they will be destroyed by their own success.  Most are already aware of the cosmopolitan pleasures to be found in Quebec City and Montreal.  But almost every other place I have visited in Quebec falls into the category of "underrated places."  I grew up learning about France and the French language, but, despite my relative proximity, knew virtually nothing about Quebec.  I have not had the pleasure of a long enough stay in Quebec to speak with any authority, but after three short visits and a lot of reading, viewing and listening, I find Quebec inviting and intriguing. 

The artistic output of Quebec frequently contains regional elements.  Another commonality is that Quebeckers often seem to be rebelling against something.  In the 1960's it was the pervasive authority of the Catholic church, the economic domination of the anglophone Canadians, and the frigid winters.  The frigid winters are still there, but the first two have been largely vanquished.  This economic struggle can be seen in films like Mon Oncle Antoine, in novels like Roy's Bonheur d'occasion (The Tin Flute) and in poems like Lalonde's Speak White.  Mon Oncle Antoine shows the hardships endured by French speakers in the agrarian society that preceeded the Quiet Revolution in the 60's.  Lalonde equates the travails of the economically-disadvantaged francophone majority in Quebec with a civil rights struggle in this bilingual poem, which has been made into a video with an accompanying photo-montage to reinforce the connection. 

Singers like Vignault and Gauthier celebrate the French language and their Quebecois identity.  In Le Plus Beau Voyage, Gauthier describes that identity and declares Je suis Quebec mort ou vivant (I am Quebec dead or alive).  He seems to imply that he would give his life to the cause if necessary.  This attachment to the French language is reflected in the politics of the province during the 1970's and 80's when landmark language laws were being enacted in Canada.   

The diminished role of the church is shown in a scene of Arcand's 2003 Barbarian Invasions.  A church official tries (without success) to interest an art and antiques dealer in dozens of pieces of religious statuary that have been in storage for years, symbolizing the secularization of post-revolution Quebec.

The 1995 referendum for a sovereign state failed.  It looks like De Gaulle's envisioned "Quebec libre" will not come to pass.  In the ten intervening years, the province seems to have grown more bilingual and less divided.  But younger artists have not forgotten the activism of their parents' generation and do not take their sacrifices for granted.  After dispensing with the obstacles of oppressive church authority and economic marginalization by anglophones, Quebeckers still voice opposition to certain aspects of their world.

Groups like French B, Les Cowboys Fringuants, and Loco Locass sing about the globalization, war, and the politics of language.  In the tongue-in-cheek Cowboys Fringuants song Quebecois de souche, the refrain is: Chu un colon anglicise (Je suis un colon anglicise; I have been colonized by the English)  It is sung in a French idiom shot through with anglicisms and conveys a bizarrely schizophrenic bi-culturalism.  On Loco Locass's CD Amour oral (referring to love of the French language), songs of opposition and resistance are sung in a rap style infused at times with rai or reggae influences. Their targets range from Canadian politicians, to liberals, to George Bush.  They call the US a peuple imperieux  (an imperious people) and continue on ne peut pas etre le Maitre du Monde sans mepriser le monde (one cannot be the Masters of the World without being contemptuous of the world).  Their song W Roi (King W) is based on Jarry's Ubu Roi, a play satirizing an ineffectual and grotesque mythical Polish king.  (Although I don't listen to rap, I must say this Loco Locass CD is a rippin' good listen with some interesting lyrics.)  I don't want to give the impression that all arts and entertainment produced in Quebec are tinged with politics, because they also sing, write and make films about love and death and other universal themes.  I just happen to find these works compelling due to my own interest in language.  Cultures that have had to contest their status are always interesting to me.

Quebeckers enjoy great topography, high-quality artisanal products from their terroir, a rich cultural output, and a civilized lifestyle.  The cuisine there is a lot like French cuisine, but uses local ingredients.  Monastery cheeses rival their French counterparts.  Poutine, the province's iconic comfort-food dish, (French fries smothered in cheese curds and brown gravy) sticks to your ribs on a cold winter evening. 

The more I learn about French-speaking Canada, the more I admire the francophones there and the effort they have made in order to defend (without resorting bloodshed) their linguistic and cultural heritage.  Another theme that appears is Quebec's relationship to France.  In Godbout's 1967 novel Salut Galarneau!, the Quebecois protagonist humorously expresses feelings of inferiority vis-a-vis France.  At one moment he is filled with pride that his stationary is of superior quality to French stationary (since Quebec surpasses France at least in one area--wood pulp products). I sometimes wonder if citizens of the mother country appreciate the extent of the commitment of their cousins in North America to remain true to their cultural roots, despite so many pressures and obstacles.   

Excursions in the Universe of Language

Linguistics experts will tell you that any idea can be expressed in any language and that no language has a monopoly on a certain concept that is uniquely untranslatable. At some crude level this is true. But my experience has taught me to believe that each language, in its nuances, constitutes its own unique universe of consciousness. I began to sense this in the ninth grade in Madame Vatter’s French class. As I began to learn French, I understood that I was not only learning to use new words, but I was using words as vehicles to express new thoughts that were impossible for me to formulate before.

Despite being bilingual and having a great love for spoken and written language, I would be a rotten translator. I often object to the translations seen in movie subtitles, but admit that I would be hard pressed to do a better job myself. I cannot bring myself to teach French poetry in translation. Even if it’s true that anything that can be said in any language can be translated to any other language, at least for utilitarian purposes, I maintain an almost mystical belief in the unique essence of certain words and phrases.

Flaubert, the groundbreaking 19^th century Realist novelist, was obsessed with finding "le mot juste" for every description, every utterance, every narrative passage. But I refer to something different--a cult of words for their own sake and apart form any context. Like many people, I can love a word purely for its sonorities, for its connotations, for the history it reveals, for its economy of means, the image it conjures, for the fact that it unveils a new concept. Words themselves can teach and delight us if we pay close attention.

I like the French word "invraisemblable" ("lacking the appearance of truth or authenticity") because it is fun to say, concise, and useful. The sound of the word "bouillabaisse" evokes something much more appetizing than the English translation: "fish soup." In French, peas are fancifully called "petits pois" or "little dots." Toes can be called "doigts de pied" or "fingers of the feet." An undertaker is a "croque-mort," or "biter of the dead" recalling the days when cadavers were bitten to make sure that they really were deceased.

Sometimes a cognate or easily recognizable word has a meaning different than expected. This may cause humor at times, or it may simply show that a word from a common root evolved differently in different languages. A man’s suit is called a "costume." My husband was delighted to learn this French word, as he must wear a suit and tie to work and a business suit had always seemed to him like a costume (in the anglophone sense of "clown suit" or "Halloween costume"). In French one asks a stranger "Excusez-moi de vous déranger," before asking for directions. "Deranged," from the same root, means to be completely unhinged in English, and we can see that the French version is much milder, meaning simply "to bother." And any language instructor would be happy to regale you with a litany of false cognate stories that range from the absurd to the (unintentionally) obscene.

Many French expressions, while translatable, are so awkward or complicated in translation that we simply borrow the French word. "Savoir vivre," which means something like "knowing how to live well" is a such an expression. (A French person might say that the reason we have no word for this in English is that anglophone cultures do not possess the notion of "living well" in the French sense, but that’s another post.) The French sometimes excuse a difficult person by saying "Il est mal dans sa peau," roughly: "He is not at ease in his skin." It captures more that my inadequate literal translation, and includes the notion that "You should not take his behavior personally, because he is an unhappy person, perhaps even suffering from a personality disorder, and who takes his misery out on everyone, and is therefore to be pitied." Conversely, one can be "bien dans sa peau," or "at ease in one’s skin", which is equally unwieldy to render in English in a few words.

In German, "Durchfall" (diarrhea) means literally "fall through." How is that for a concrete image?  There are German words whose syllables pile up cacophonously like a chain-reaction collision on a highway.   They can fascinate me or make me laugh out loud.  There are Spanish words like "alcachofa" (artichoke), and "calcetines" (socks) and Italian words like "per piacere" (please) I am fond of for no reason other than their music, rhythm, and sounds.  Each language, while possessing universal elements, reflects its own unique charms and a singular consciousness of reality. Wouldn’t we be better off if our society encouraged everyone to experience the richness of more than one language?