From Reporter Issue 103

You wouldn't think that Peter Mayle had much to grumble about. Certainly he comes over as a man who's bien dans sa peau and so he should be with his books selling worldwide in two dozen languages. But there is, he told me, something that rankles. "I've been on the receiving end of a lot of crap. That doesn't help to sell books." I wonder about this as I look at the queue of readers on the pavement waiting to pick up their signed copies of Mayle's latest at the Cannes English Bookshop. Of course, I know that in the early days - following the initial success of A Year in Provence - there was a lot of carping criticism. Across France (including in the Var) balding Brits with cravats were sure they could have written the same book, indeed something much better, and so made the same money. Mayle, they seemed to be saying, had pulled off a kind of literary confidence trick and didn't really merit his success. But is this still going on? "I'm afraid so. These guys never actually write anything that makes the grade but they still like to talk me down."

"The pleasure of sharing the pleasure of the French"

He must have been encouraged by the enthusiasm and openly expressed gratitude of those lining up at Wally Storer's shop. "Well, yes. You're right. I can't really grumble. To start with I'm living in this country. You've quoted back at me what I told you the last time we met - that France for me was 'a viral infection' and that's true. As you know, we went off to America for three years where my four children live but it just wasn't the place for us. I have to say there's no substitute for France." How would he explain this? "No mystery. It comes down to the lifestyle, doesn't it? The food, the wine - my last book Bon Appétit was a celebration of all that - and while enjoying those things there's the pleasure of sharing the pleasure of the French themselves. You just can't get the equivalent experience anywhere else."

Is there a downside? "Of course, the bureaucracy which is horrendous and which you have to learn to live with as the French do and standards of service aren't always too good and that's made worse by that 35-hours business." How does he get along with other British expats some of whom have been lured here by his writings? "I've got good expat friends who know how to behave. They learn the language, appreciate the people and, well, just fit in. There are two sorts of expat I can't stomach. First, those who come here for the weather and the wine and make no effort to adapt - you come across quite a lot of them - and then you've got those sad characters who try to turn themselves into French peasants and rightly get laughed at by everybody." Peter and Jennie Mayle are, I suggested, model expats and maybe he should do a "how to" book for newcomers.

Admittedly, he isn't typical. He's turned an affinity with France which many people might share into a goldmine. Following his early books on settling in Provence, he's produced a variety of work over recent years, including four novels set in the South of France. What attracted him to fiction? "I suppose above all the freedom you have to make things up even if a certain amount of research is usually necessary." Does he have a favourite fiction writer? "No argument there - Patrick O'Brian." I've never been drawn to the rum and rigging school of nautical narrative that O'Brian represents though I promised to give him a try. I can't yet judge if he's had a stylistic influence on Mayle. One thing that has to be said, when the language of so much fiction is pretentious or sloppy, is that a pleasure offered by his books is the limpid grace of his writing which carries the reader effortlessly along from the first page to the last. A case, I suspect, of easy reading that's hard writing.

"A well-told tale"

So what were they queuing for at Wally Storer's? Mayle has made himself a master of a brand of light fiction which must give him a high place among literary entertainers. A Good Year (U.K., Time Warner), his latest, doesn't disappoint. Briefly, it follows the adventures of a disabused young city gent Max Skinner. Eased out of his job round the corner from Threadneedle Street he finds an uncle has just left him a house and vineyard in the Luberon. His situation soon turns out to be less simple than it first appears. The vignoble is the focus of a complicated scam which Max finally unravels, emerging unscathed, with the help of his old school and city chum Charlie. Both Max and Charlie also get their girls. It's a well-told tale which keeps the reader turning the page. There are also things to learn. Do you know why rosebushes are sometimes planted among vines? No, not for decoration. Read this book and find the answer - A Good Year is available at local English bookshops.

© Patrick Middleton 

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