Back to Blog Home

So on Friday night we went to watch Teenager #2 receive his International Baccalaureate. Oh, me is teh proud mommy!. Teenager #2 studied really hard for his exams, I was thrilled for him when he received his diploma, the ceremony was lovely, it brought a tear to my eye!

Anyway.

Thinking of how hard Teenager #2 had worked, I remembered something really embarrassing that happened to me when I was studying for my A Levels (kind of like the US equivalent of AP exams, and kind of like the International Baccalaureate equivalent. Except not).

For French A level we were required to study several works of literature by French authors, and we were encouraged to read other books by the same authors as background material (we could score more points on our final exams if we could quote phrases and meanings from other works, too).

One of the required books was La bete Humaine (The Human Beast) by Emile Zola. It was a pretty violent tale of murder and passion, and on another level it reflected France’s rush to the future like a locomotive train out of control (and, I seem to remember, about France’s rush toward the Franco Prussian war in 1870).

I really didn’t like this book. Perhaps it was because reading it in French made it slower and harder to understand Zola’s more nuanced phrases, but let me tell you it nearly turned me into a bete humaine, myself. I wanted to fling that book at the wall, repeatedly. So as you can imagine, I wasn’t really looking forward to reading anything else by him.

I put it off, and put it off, and put it off, and finally, I was in the video rental store one day (the dark ages before DVD) and spotted a movie entitled Nana - based on the book by Emile Zola. It was a sign!

Although I knew that movies quite often depart from the original books I thought I’d give it a try to see what Nana was about, then find the CliffNotes and get all the pertinent info I’d need to tie it in with La bete Humaine. Owkey, mebbe that was cheating just a little bit. If I liked the movie I’d get the actual novel, too.

My grandfather lived with us back then, and, because he was always keen to help me with school work (he was a lovely old gent) I invited him to watch it with me. Of course, he accepted. I put the movie on. It featured a young poor woman in Paris, and seemed to be about how she was going to make good on the stage.

Then I went to make a cup of tea for us both before the movie really got going; I told Granddad not to bother pausing the video, I could always rewind if I missed an important bit.

Anyway, five minutes later I come back into the living room and. . .

Teh nekkid peeples. Doing naughty things in teh woodlands!

Yes, I had chosen a porno movie and invited my grandfather to watch it with me.

“Sorry, Granddad, this can’t be Zola’s Nana - I must have made a mistake in the video library,” I gabbled, as I frantically pulled the video out of the machine. I couldn’t even look at my granddad, so red was my face.

“It’s not really our kind of thing, is it?” he asked me in a comforting voice. Then, “How about a nice chocolate digestive biscuit to go with this cup of tea?”

He was so sweet to try to make me feel better!

Anyway, I got over the embarrassment, as you do. But I did buy a copy of the book, and guess what?

*Spoiler alert, spoiler alert, please scroll down.*

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

Nana is about a poor woman from Paris who becomes an actress-slash-high-class prostitute, destroys all the men she gets involved with, then she dies a really nasty, horrible death from smallpox. I didn’t like that book much, either.

PS. All of these years later with a better knowledge of French history I feel I should give Zola another go. Maybe his work improves with age?