Rhone Alpes Book

I believe author Edith Wharton (1862-1937) published as many as forty-eight books during her life, and among them were several travel tomes, including A Motor-Flight through France. It is based on tours she made of France in 1906-1907. She was delighted to be able to drive what we today would consider a primitive automobile instead of having to depend on trains and local forms of transportation to reach the sights or sites she wished to see. But I think the book is for a very special audience.

One, Wharton is a great student of architecture. In fact, her first few published books are about architecture. She visits many sites of ruins as well as churches and cathedrals about which she shows demonstrates great curiosity. Readers who have a common base with the author on these subjects are more likely to enjoy or make use of the book. If not, they may be doing a lot of research as they read. Also, if readers care for literary biography, they will enjoy Wharton's two stops at the former home of George Sand.

In all, however, the book leaves out a lot. Wharton does not comment much on the scenery except in cursory (or "architectural" terms). She doesn't pause to reflect much on local color provided through dining or local customs. Her trip seems indeed to be a flight through the countryside at the highest speed her car allows. I note the following exception:

"It is for this reason, perhaps, that after a morning among the hills and valleys of the Morvan, in sight, almost continuously, of that astonishing Burgundian canal, with its long lines of symmetrical poplars, its massive masonry, its charming lock-houses, all repeating themselves like successive states of a precious etching'that after such a morning I seek, and seem to find, its culminating astonishment in the luncheon which crowned it in the grimy dining-room of the auberge at Précy-sous-Thil. But was it an auberge [inn], even, and not rather a gargote [greasy spoon], this sandy onion-scented 'public,' with waggoners and soldiers grouped cheerfully about the petit vin bleu [ordinary and mediocre wine], while a flushed hand-maid, in repeated dashes from the kitchen, lad before us a succession of the most sophisticated dishes'the tenderest filet, the airiest pommes soufflées [sliced potatoes fried twice], the plumpest artichokes that ever bloomed on the buffet of a Parisian restaurant?" (157). Wharton's dinner knife seems to slice both ways.

The main reason that this book was reissued was because Mary Suzanne Schriber and companion chose to retrace Wharton's steps in 1980, and enjoyed their trip so much that they felt that others should have the chance. Indeed, if anyone has the opportunity and l'argent ($ or €) to do that, more power to you, and be sure and take your copy of this book with you! BTW I bought my copy at Wharton's home, The Mount, near Lennox, Massachusetts. The house and grounds are lovely.