Book 23: Sarah's Key

Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay

For some odd reason, I've read quite a few intersecting stories lately. Sarah's Key shifts back and forth between 2002, the 60th anniversary of the Velodrome d'Hiver roundup in Paris, and 1942, when the round up actually happened. Julia Jarmond, a journalist and American living in Paris, narrates the modern day part of the story. Her magazine/paper assigns her to write a story about the round up, and its upcoming memorial celebration. The first half of the novel shifts back and forth between Julia and Sarah, a ten year old Jewish girl who was gathered up along with her parents as part of the round up. Not knowing what would happen, Sarah hides her four year old brother in a cupboard and locks him in, believing the French police will only have them in custody temporarily.

As Julia does research for her story, she becomes more and more obsessed with the events, and shocked that she knew nothing about them despite having lived in Paris for 25 years. Her French husband is less than happy about her interest, believing that the past is best left in peace. In the beginning of the novel, Julia and Bertrand are planning on moving into his grandmother's old apartment, and naturally, this new apartment becomes a link to the past since it turns out that Bertrand's grandparents moved into this apartment in the end of July, only weeks after Sarah's family had been arrested from the same apartment. As the novel progresses, Julia learns more about Paris and her family's past, and her interest helps some of her relationships develop in unpredicted new ways. She also finally begins really questioning her husband's behavior and treatment of her.

As Sarah experiences the horror of the round up, and then the French labor camp which holds her family before the trains take them to Auschwitz, her one obsession is her brother. Through it all, she still believes she can return to the apartment and save him while also struggling with the guilt of having left him behind, locked up in the cupboard.

While I thought the story sounded interesting when I ordered it, I was also a little doubtful since the back cover states that "Julia stumbles onto a trail of secrets that link her to Sarah, and to questions about her own romantic future." The description almost makes it sound like the author was using the backdrop of the Holocaust to write a romance novel or love story, and this certainly is not the case. Overall, I liked hearing Sarah's side of the story best, but I also liked Julia, though I kept wondering why she was with her husband to begin with. While I of course knew about the French involvement with the Nazis after the occupation I wasn't familiar with this specific event. When I was in France, I actually went to the Memorial for the unknown Jewish martyr, but since I was too close to closing time, they only let me see the memorial itself and not the display inside with all the history. There is also a memorial for the Velodrome d'Hiver, but since I didn't know about it, I obviously didn't go to see it.

I Knew I Should Have Taken That History of Language Class

St. Genevieve in the Jardin du Luxembourg

St. Etienne du Mont

St. Etienne Du Mont

Shrine of St. Genevieve

According to the guide book I had, St. Genevieve is the patron saint of Paris. The church, St. Etienne du Mont, is dedicated to her and contains her remains. Now, one of the reasons I took quite as many pictures of things related to St. Genevieve as I did is my lack of knowledge of linguistics.

My name is actually derived from or has the same root as Guinevere. Seeing the name Genevieve, I thought maybe that was a variation of Guinevere, and actually got kind of excited about the whole patron saint/ name day thing. It's not. Guinevere and Genevieve are two completely separate names. The "r" apparently makes a difference. It's actually kind of funny that I got so excited about possibly finding a saint with my name. Despite my lack of religion now, certain parts of my childhood still occasionally take over. Whenever I walk into a Catholic church, even just as a tourist, I still put my hand in the holy water and cross myself. In Notre Dame and St. Etienne Du Mont alike, I put money in the collection box so I could light a candle.

When I was a kid in German school, we read lots of stories of the saints, and most of the kids in class knew exactly who their namesake was and what the story behind him/her was. It was impossible to find a St. Jennifer in a German-speaking country. I think they finally just either gave up or told me to go with Joan. It wasn't until much later when the internet was more prevalent that I was able to find sites with the meaning of my name and the root of it.

My grandmother actually always made a huge deal out of her name day, and expected to be called every Dec 4 and congratulated because of St. Barbara. And the funny thing is that Barbara was her middle name. I guess she had a better story than St. Bettina.

Parisian Cat

This cat was hanging out in a garden area above the Les Halles subway stop/ shopping center. I wonder if he just happened to be in the area or if he was specifically put there along with a few other black cats as a Parisian image (after all, they keep crows at the Tower in England):

Art and Fashion

Portrait de Maidemoiselle Chanel

Monet is probably my favorite artist ever, but I always like to include the caveat that I don't much about art along with that statement. There are just a lot of artists I don't know anything about. Overall though, I tend to have a certain fondness for the Impressionist movement (I'm not a big fan of anything more recent). This portrait of Coco Chanel was in the basement of the Musee de L'Orangerie, and I really liked it. It was even cooler to discover that it was painted by a woman artist (go feminism!), Marie Laurencin, whom I'd never heard of before.

I also stopped by the Chanel store on Avenue Montaigne, and my god, that place makes the other couture stores look cheap. I saw a beautiful pair of boots at Christian Dior for 798 Euro and another pair at Prada for 750 (so pretty!) but the one pair I just happened to look at in Chanel were 10,000 - unless I read the label wrong (and I didn't even like them as much as the Prada ones). I don't think so, though. I wish I were rich (not that I could wear the clothes, because I don't think couture comes in anything above a 4, but I do like the accessories).

Steeple Seeking Church

This is Tour St. Jaques, a Gothic tower that is all that remains of an old church. The travel book described it as closed for renovations so I'm not sure if that means you can usually go up it or what, not that I would. I have a strong dislike of old, narrow spiral staircases.

I'm going to be out and about this weekend, so expect even shorter updates if that's possible.

The Pantheon

I saw the Pantheon on my second day in France. Overall, I think I enjoyed that Saturday the most since it had a nice balance of everything. While Sunday had the Rodin Museum and the Water Lilies, it also had the Louvre which was way to overrun with tourists and slightly overwhelming. On Saturday, I managed to see quite a few sites, such as the Cluny, the Pantheon, Notre Dame and a few couture stores (Armani sun glasses!), all within walking distance of each other, and after a quick metro ride, I was at the Arc de Triomphe, and Avenue Champs Elysees (while I didn't buy much of anything, I got to see all the stores). I saw a lot while also having time to shop and enjoy myself. Sunday, I was definitely doing the annoying tourist thing of running from place to place just to be able to say I saw it and make sure I didn't miss anything. Anyway, this section of town was nice because right next to the Pantheon, there was also a beautiful church, but I'll show that later in the month.

Stereotypical Paris Pictures

Look, other countries have giant phallic symbols, too! It's not just us.

Moulin Rouge

I love to watch movies, and I really liked Moulin Rouge (I really wish I were back in the States in the next month or two for all the new movies coming out, including Baz Luhrman's Australia). As a result, I decided to at least walk by the Moulin Rouge, so I could say I saw it even if I didn't go at night or see a show.

As I was walking there, I was really amused by the street it's located on:

As you can see, the entire street is clustered with sex shops, none of which looked very open at 9:30 in the morning.

Hands

I took this picture in the Rodin museum in Paris. It's not exactly one of those stereotypically Parisian images or sites, but some of my favorite parts of my weekend actually included the Rodin museum, the Cluny (or the museum formerly known as the Cluny), and the Musee de l'Orangerie (Impressionist paintings, including Monet's Waterlilies). I really like sculpture, what can I say. About half the pictures I took at the Louvre were of various sculptures.

One of the reasons that this particular piece, Hands, appealed to me as much as it did has to do with my great-grandmother. When I was young, we only lived in the United States until I was five years old, and until our final and permanent return when I was 13, we only visited once when I was about 8. As a result, I didn't actually get to know my great-grandmother very well - I don't remember anything from before I was 5, I met her again when I was 8, and she died when I was in 5th or 6th grade.

Despite that, from the stories my dad tells of her and his childhood, she always sounded like a warm and caring person, a true grandparent. I was the first person in the family to be named after her (my middle name is Pauline), and depending on how one interprets the story of my younger cousin Paul, possibly the only (his mother really wanted a son she could nickname PJ, so whether Paul is due to our great-grandmother or because it was a P-name isn't exactly clear to me). After she died, my grandmother asked if there was anything my parents wanted as a keepsake to remember her by. Of course, at this point we were in Germany and really had no clue what was in my great-grandmother's room at the home, so my dad requested a picture/wall hanging that we had given her for Christmas a few years before. It's hung in my room ever since, and displays two hands linked in prayer. As a result, seeing a sculpture of two hands kind of reminded me of her.

I was actually thinking about getting a picture of this to hang on my bedroom wall, but for some reason, the prices on AllPosters.com are showing up in Euro. It would also be slightly more fitting for me than praying hands given my lack of religious beliefs.

Speaking of grandparents, my grandfather kicked me out of his apartment on Friday. Yeah. I don't know.