Ploucs and Poucaves

Effusive and heartfelt thanks to those of you who pre-ordered my book, “They Stole a City: Wilmington’s White Supremacist Coup and the Families Who Live With Its Memory,” coming July 14th from The Penguin Press. I would be pleased to send a handwritten, personalized dedication on a stick-on bookplate to anyone who forwards me a screenshot of their receipt before April 30th. The fact that La Poste has stopped delivering mail—even letters—to the United States somewhat complicates this project, but, don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.1 Email me at laurenzcollins@gmail.com. Book tour news coming soon!

Meanwhile, I’ve been enjoying Chiara Barzini’s “Acqua,” which follows the water trail through the ruins of Roman and American empires, and Catherine Ostler’s “The Renoir Girls,” which uses Renoir’s 1881 portrait of Elisabeth and Alice Cahen d’Anvers to tell the story of France during the Belle Époque and the horrors that antisemitism soon unleashed. We have just made it to January 5th, 1895, and the “ceremony of degradation” to which the French army subjects Alfred Dreyfus after he is found guilty of spying for the Germans. “It is cruelly, even camply theatrical,” Ostler writes. “In the night, his uniform has been taken away, the trimmings pulled off and sewn back loosely; the sword broken, and smelted back together, for ease of public breakage.”

I read less fiction than nonfiction and might not have picked up Susan Choi’s “Flashlight” had I not agreed to interview her at the American Library of Paris. Big mistake! It’s the kind of book that made me want to ignore all the usual concerns of genesis, structure, and intention and just talk about the characters like they were real live people. When our hour was up, I realized I hadn’t even asked Choi to explain the metaphor of the flashlight. That’s how good it is. Also: this compendium of Spanish napkins! And a new book from the photographer behind one of my favorite Instagram accounts, J’habite une ville fantôme.

The French journalist Nassira El Moaddem spent six years investigating the massively shady right-wing mayor of Blanc-Mesnil, and he vowed to kill her—outright, in public, telling Le Monde, “I’m going to whip her. I’ll go all the way, she’ll die. I’ll kill her.” Crickets from Macron and his entire government. (It bears remembering that Macron spent forty-five minutes on the phone with Éric Zemmour after someone spat on him in the street.) I also recommend taking some time to contemplate the white South Africans who are migrating to the Mississippi Delta, distinguished by “their extraordinarily short shorts” and “a feeling that they are escaping anti-white sentiment.” The mysterious man knocking on the shutters of elderly women in a Breton village. The way that DOGE weaponized Chat GPT to gut the humanities. The fact that Chat GPT is in extremely dubious hands. I went to see a guillotine in Marseille and wrote about the comeback of capital punishment with tech thugs such as Joe Lonsdale (Palantir) and Elon Musk.

It’s time for some vocabulary. Where did the word “plouc” come from? People moving to Paris from Breton villages like Ploudaniel and Plougonvelin. (The suffix “plou-” means “parish.”) How about “poucave,” which les jeunes—mine included—use to mean “tattletale” or “snitch.” Apparently it comes from “in or around Montreuil” via the Romani language. Now would probably be a good time to know that “le détroit d’Ormuz” is “the strait of Hormuz.” (Yes, that makes the city Detroit the city Strait.) What is the point of Israel’s attacks on Lebanon?

This newsletter is a French football fan newsletter. Congratulations to les Bleus for “outdressing” their N.B.A. counterparts. (Nothing will ever beat Ousmane Dembélé wearing an Agnès B. hat at Roland Garros.) I have acquired a Statue-of-Liberty-inspired vert-de-gris away jersey for the eight-year-old in my life, and am considering one for myself. Take a journey inside the team’s equipment room, where supervisors have basically created a Dewey Decimal system of maillots. Have you heard the French team’s unofficial World Cup anthem? Turns out it’s A.I.-generated, but you have to admit it’s a catchy tune. (Dembélé! Cherki!) When PSG plays Liverpool Tuesday night, don’t forget to say a prayer at Paris’s no. 1 sports church.

Remember Les Grands Buffets? As if too much wasn’t enough, they’re getting a makeover by the maximalist designer Jacques Garcia. While I dream of Narbonne, there’s Paris: last night I met a friend in Montmartre and we had an excellent time people-watching at Le Relais de la Butte.2 (An American guy just chilling on the terrace in white tube socks, sneakers at his side; a policeman chasing a presumptive bag-snatcher while yelling “voleur.” Old-school!) Can’t remember where, but I recently read something where someone mentioned that she liked going to La Mascotte because her parents “used to day-drink there.” Intriguing, no? I can confirm that it’s the ideal destination for seafood platters and moules frites. And the Art Deco interior! Can’t prove it, but I highly suspect that the alluring people drinking at the bar were members of a microscene—I dunno, cabaret groupies?

Stay with me below the paywall for another perfect restaurant, two superb dishes, exhibition picks, and a smattering of spring fashion.