French Elections, BHL, and a Bit About Alice Munro

Bedrock is Not Just the Home of the Flintstones

I’m not going to write about all the craziness going on with our neighbours. It is so fluid and wild - though I am not certain it is unusual. For all we tend to think the times we live in are the most divided/scary/insert adjective here, I imagine my parents were saying the same in the 1960s and 1970s, not to mention during the actual war they lived through. And whatever you think about Trump, if you are not grateful that he was not killed, hang your head in shame. And say prayers for Corey Comperatore, the firefighter who died shielding his family, and for the audience members who were hurt and are still in hospital. That is all.

My mind has been on France these days and the elections there and what might happen in future. If you are a regular reader here and at my other website, you know that I lived in France for about five years when I was in my twenties and that I visit as often as I can (which is not as often as I would wish) and keep up, as best as possible, with events and culture there. Some of my posts about France here, and here.

After the first round of the recent French Assembly elections, the far right coalition was in the lead. This - understandably - sent people into paroxysms of panic. I am not a fan of the RN - the Rassemblement National - and people can say till the camembert gets super runny that they are a kindler incarnation of their parent party (the FN, or Front National) from years ago, but I remain dubious. When I was living in Paris, Jean-Marie Le Pen (father of Marine and long-time leader of the FN) said, among other things, that the gas chambers were a “detail” of history and that people with AIDS should be put in “sidatoriums” - SIDA is the French acronym for aids. Nor was he a fan of Muslims. The current RN has a young, handsome and seemingly reasonable leader in Jordan Bardella, but as noted above, I am a sceptic. In the second round, the left coalition came in first, though they did not win sufficient seats to have a parliamentary majority, which is good, for they are no better. The French moderates - the Macron coalition - failed to win either round, unfortunately.

What is so bad about the French left-wing coalition? It’s kind of a pumped-up Euro-version of what we see occurring in American and Canadian left-wing circles: a splintering between sane people and, frankly, “progressives,” (the latter in scare quotes, as I think they are anything but) wokesters and antisemites. And sometimes, an overlap of all three. This also manifested in the UK election results. There is a fracturing of the left over Israel and the beginning, tragically, of actual Islamist and pro-Hamas politics. La France Insoumise - one of the leading leftist parties - has not only never condemned Hamas for October 7th, they have made support for Hamas in this war a policy point. The party’s leader, Jean-Luc Mélenchon, what-abouted October 7th to kingdom come and is a big fan of Jeremy Corbyn. (FYI, support for Ukraine is lacking from both extremes in France, as well. Not good.)

I find it interesting that Macron has not appointed a prime minister yet. In theory, he is supposed to pick someone from the party that won the most votes. I gather he will select carefully.

Digression, though related: I have long thought the antisemitism on the left is of a more insidious variety, simply because people fail to recognize it for what it is. When you see buffoons with torches and swastikas screaming about Jews, you can identify that as odious with no hesitation. When you get into the pretend, “oh I’m just criticizing Israel” territory and the geyser of lunacy we have witnessed since October 7th, it is another matter. Though honestly, how anyone can fail to see it for what it is boggles the mind.

It is all very disturbing, but as a history prof of mine once said, “there’s a reason the Holocaust happened in Europe.” This past week marked the 82nd anniversary of the Vel D’Hiv round-up of Jews in Paris, which I wrote about here. Eighty-two years is not so far from us. And neither is thirty-five years: I was in Paris then and I had a friend who, like me, was an au pair. She was British and Jewish. She told me that the family she worked for, once they found out she was Jewish, started taking cheap shots at her and made her life increasingly unpleasant. At the time, I was shocked. I don’t think I would be these days. You can scrape away all the gravel and dust you want, and try to find a clear path, but more often than not, you are walking on bedrock.

But I’m not just a downer today! I come with a book recommendation!

First, a wee back-story. Years ago, I had a job where I transcribed lectures given by fancy speakers visiting Toronto. One of those fancy speakers was Bernard-Henri Lévy, or BHL. Some love him, some hate him. I think he’s terrific - the last great liberal interventionist. And truly the ultimate Frenchman - intellectual, elegant, suave, well-dressed (always the same white shirt) and a great big flirt. He gave this talk - it must have been in 2008 or 2009 - and there was a Q & A and every time a woman asked a question, he would say something like, “Well, you are not only beautiful, but brilliant!” or, “Please move closer so I can see more of your charm!” One woman prefaced her question by saying she had met him years earlier and he insisted she could not have been more than 20, so how was that possible? Another also said she had met him before and he said he could not believe he would forget a woman like her. I found it delightful, though officially I was offended.

Anyway, BHL has a book out called Solitude d’Israël. Currently, it is only available in French though I think an English translation will be out in the fall. I read it and learned so much. I also appreciated that BHL, devastated by October 7th and its aftermath, decided to act. He has been the same way with Ukraine - not just words. Your BHL mileage may vary, but his is a progressive (truly progressive) voice for Israel and a leftist who challenges the madness in his own circles (read his Left in Dark Times for proof of that).

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I am going to pivot here and talk about Alice Munro. I am not a Munro expert. I read one short story by her when I was in high school (thank you, Mrs. Christensen, best English teacher ever!) and I remember liking it. It was called How I Met My Husband. I still recall the unexpected ending - a happy one. Obviously, recent revelations about her - that she went back to her husband after discovering he had abused her daughter from a previous marriage - are disturbing. Apparently, they are not really revelations, either. It was out there, but many in media, including Munro’s biographer, chose not to write or talk about it. Why? I mean, seriously, why? Are we so desperate for idols in Canada?

What I am struggling with here are the number of people, if not exactly making excuses for Munro, then asking us to think about “nuance” or the fact that she was born in 1931. So? She was not born in 931. She had full rights, could vote, could get a divorce, could walk away. In fact, she did get a divorce and walk away and then she walked right back to a serial molester (we know he did this to other girls). She had also divorced her first husband. She had choices and chose to make morally objectionable ones. And yes, there was blame to go around - this story is full of villains. The daughter’s actual father and his wife knew about the abuse and did nothing. But the presence of other players does not give Munro a pass.

Further, please knock off the “we don’t judge male artists this harshly” nonsense. Yes, we do. In fact, we sometimes judge them unfairly (see: Allen, Woody). What we do, and what we should do with all art, is separate that art from the artist. Heck, Caravaggio literally killed a guy, but I would go see an exhibit of his work any old time. Of course, it’s a choice. I don’t know that I would ever want to watch Susan Sarandon or Cynthia Nixon again, knowing how vile they are. So there’s that.

A couple of final thoughts: we would do well to remember that there are reasons some family members become estranged from others; and, I was glad when Munro was awarded the Nobel Prize - not for any love of her work or particular patriotism - but because I figured that would prevent Margaret Atwood from getting one. I’m guessing Atwood is now back in the running. Sigh.