Джонатан Коу - Middle England

The event had been organized jointly by the French and English departments. Sohan was now one of the youngest members of the latter, still a mere lecturer, but the fact that he already wrote for the New Statesman and the TLS made him the natural choice for an occasion like this, which was intended for the general public as well as for the staff and students.

‘A little,’ he admitted, and held up his glass. ‘This is my third.’

‘I don’t really understand your title,’ Sophie said, looking at the flier which was lying between them on the table. It announced that the theme under discussion tonight was to be ‘Fictionalizing Life; Living in Fiction’ . ‘What does it mean?’

‘How should I know? You’ve got two writers here who have nothing in common except their colossal opinion of themselves. I had to call it something . They both write fiction. They both write about “life” – or their version of it, anyway. I don’t really see how I can go wrong with a title like that.’

‘I suppose not …’

‘Well, look, it will all be over by nine, so I’ve booked a table for nine thirty. Just the two of us.’

‘Aren’t you expected to go to dinner with everybody else?’

‘I’ll make some excuse. It’s you I want to see. It’s been ages. And you’re looking so pale!’

*

The lecture theatre was almost full: there must have been an audience of almost two hundred. A few students seemed to have come along, but most of the patient, anticipatory faces Sophie saw around her seemed to belong to people in their fifties or over. From her position in one of the top rows, she found herself looking out towards the stage across a sea of white hair and bald patches.

Ranged on the stage were four speakers: Sohan, the two distinguished novelists and a lecturer from the French department, who was there to translate M. Aldebert’s answers into English for the audience, and to whisper a French translation of Sohan’s questions into his ear. The chair and the translator looked anxious: the two writers beamed at the audience expectantly. After some interminable opening remarks from the vice-chancellor, battle commenced.

Whether it was the disjointedness imposed by the translator’s presence, or Sohan’s obvious nervous tension, the discussion didn’t get off to a smooth start. The questions posed to each writer were long and rambling, while the answers came in the form of speeches rather than the intimate and free-flowing conversation Sohan had been hoping for. After about fifteen minutes, during the latest monologue from Lionel Hampshire, which found him making confident generalizations about the difference between French and British attitudes towards literature, Sohan could be seen to retreat behind his page of notes, which he seemed to be scanning frantically. A few seconds later Sophie felt her phone vibrate and realized that he was in fact sending her a text message.

Help I’ve already run out of questions what next?

She glanced to the left and right of her, but neither of the people in the adjacent seats seemed to have noticed who the message had come from, or even that it had come at all. After thinking for a moment, she wrote back:

Ask PA if he agrees that the French take books more seriously.

Sohan’s reply – a thumbs-up emoji – came very quickly, and a few seconds later, after Lionel Hampshire’s latest address finally slowed to a halt, he could be heard saying to M. Aldebert:

‘I wonder how you would respond to that? Is that just another typical British stereotype about the French – that we think you’re more respectful towards writers than we are?’

After a translation of the question had been whispered into his ear, M. Aldebert paused, pursed his lips and seemed to cogitate deeply. ‘ Les stéréotypes peuvent nous apprendre beaucoup de choses ,’ he answered at last.

‘Stereotypes can be very meaningful,’ the translator translated.

‘ Qu’est-ce qu’un stéréotype, après tout, si ce n’est une remarque profonde dont la vérité essentielle s’est émoussée à force de répétition ?’

‘What is a stereotype, after all, except a profound observation whose essential truth has been dulled by repetition?’

‘ Si les Français vénèrent la littérature davantage que les Britanniques, c’est peut-être seulement le reflet de leur snobisme viscéral qui place l’art élitiste au-dessus de formes plus populaires. ’

‘If the French revere literature more than the British do, perhaps this is merely a reflection of their essential snobbery, which prioritizes elitist art over forms which are more popular.’

‘ Les Français sont des gens intolérants, toujours prêts à critiquer les autres. Contrairement aux Britanniques, me semble-t-il. ’

‘The French are an intolerant, judgemental people. Not like the British, I think.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Sohan asked.

‘ Qu’est-ce qui vous fait dire ça? ’ whispered the translator.

‘ Eh bien, observons le monde politique. Chez nous, le Front National est soutenu par environ 25 pour cent des Français. ’

‘Well, let’s look at the political world. Our National Front commands the support of about twenty-five per cent of the French people.’

‘ En France, quand on regarde les Britanniques, on est frappé de constater que contrairement à d’autres pays européens, vous êtes épargnés par ce phénomène, le phénomène du parti populaire d’extrême droite. ’

‘In France, we look at the British and we are impressed that, unlike most other European countries, you don’t have this phenomenon – a popular party of the far right.’

‘ Vous avez le UKIP, bien sûr, mais d’après ce que je comprends, c’est un parti qui cible un seul problème et qui n’est pas pris au sérieux en tant que force politique. ’

‘You have UKIP, of course, but my understanding is that they are a single-issue party, who are not taken seriously as a political force.’

Sohan waited for him to elaborate further, and when he didn’t, turned to Lionel Hampshire and asked him rather desperately:

‘Would you care to comment on that?’

‘Well,’ said the eminent novelist, ‘as a rule I’m wary of these broad generalizations about national character. But I think Philippe has probably put his finger on something here. I’m not an uncritically patriotic person. Far from it. But there is something in the English character that I admire, and Philippe is right about it – I mean our love of moderation. Our immoderate love of moderation, if you like.’ (This choice phrase plopped into the reverent silence of the room and set off a ripple of laughter.) ‘We’re a pragmatic nation, politically. Extremes of left and right don’t appeal to us. And we’re also essentially tolerant. That’s why the multicultural experiment in Britain has by and large been successful, with one or two minor blips. I wouldn’t presume to compare us to the French, in this regard, of course, but certainly, speaking personally, these are the things I most admire about the British: our moderation, and our tolerance.’

‘What a load of self-satisfied bullshit,’ said Sohan. But, regrettably, he did not say it on stage.

*

‘Do you think so?’ Sophie asked.

They were sitting in the Gilbert Scott restaurant at St Pancras station, conducting a post-mortem on the event. It was an expensive choice of restaurant, but they had decided that, since their meetings were going to be so few and far between from now on, each one should be treated as a special occasion. Sophie had ordered a green pea risotto, while Sohan was experimenting with prawn and rabbit pie, which turned out to be delicious.