Anna and the French Kiss

Anna and the French Kiss - Stephanie Perkins I just couldn’t get through this book. Anna is a fucking annoying, dumb, and ignorant character.

I hate to say it, but people like Anna Oliphant are the reason I avoid speaking English whenever I’m on vacation somewhere, so as not to be taken for an American.

Or as Lisa Simpson would say.
The Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, although I have no idea what the function of either actually is. Napoleon, Marie Antoinette, and a lot of kings named Louis. I’m not sure what they did either, but I think it has something to do with the French Revolution, which has something to do with Bastille Day.
This is tragic. I weep for the American education system.
And there are cafés or bistros or whatever they call them on every street corner. And mimes. The food is supposed to be good, and the people drink a lot of wine and smoke a lot of cigarettes.
Is this really all she knows about Paris? And she wants to be a fucking film critique? The best of the entire country? Well then there is absolutely no reason that she would ever show any interest in Paris, it’s not as if it’s the birthplace of film or anything. Oh wait. Right.
The only French word I know is oui, which means “yes”, and only recently did I learn it’s spelled o-u-i and not w-e-e.

I’m going to vomit that weird eggplant tapenade I had for dinner, and everyone will hear, and no one will invite me to watch the mimes escape from their invisible boxes, or whatever it is people do here in their spare time.
I can’t quit figure out if this is supposed to be a comedy on Americans or if this is actually meant to be taken serious. I don't know, is she supposed to be fucking cute or something?
What if there are bacterial microbes in the water? Is French water even safe to drink?
I don’t know Anna. I mean France is a pretty backwoods country. Better boil the water to kill of all those Third World bacteria just to be on the safe side.
“I cried the first night, too.” She tilts her head, thinks for a moment, and then nods. “Come on. Chocolat chaud.”
“A chocolate show?” Why would I want to see a chocolate show?
I fucking can’t deal with such a dumb character, I mean there is this thing called common sense. Fucking use it. Maybe some people think she’s cute, but I don’t think being dumb and ignorant is an adorable character trait.
I don’t know its [the Panthéon's] purpose, but I assume someone will tell me soon.
Or hey, here is a groundbreaking idea: Why don’t you find out yourself? If you plan on going through life assuming that someone will always be there to give you the answers served up on a silver platter, you won’t get anywhere in life.
I point dumbly at my room while my mind whirs: French name, English accent, American school. Anna confused.
Oh Anna, Anna. I hate to break it to you, but life won’t get better for you, it just won't.

Speaking of the love interest, Étienne St. Clair whose name is so French it’s almost racist, it’s like the author couldn’t make a decision and stick with it. I can almost envision her pondering: “Well, English accent is a must, but French is so, well, French, but he has to be an American so they have the same culture and stuff…Hmmm. How can he be everything at once?”

Whatever, I hate Anna so much I just don’t give a fuck. DNF

Reading this book actually brings to mind this group of American college girls I saw a couple of years back in Paris.
My Mom and I visited Paris around March, and as it was Paris, and March, it was very cold. So there we were, on top of the Eiffel Tower, huddling together, trying to keep warm from the icy wind, and doing our best to avoid becoming human icicles, all the while trying to enjoy the view for which we had walked up like a gazillion steps, and wondering if we were ever going to be warm again, when this group of American college girls stepped out of the elevator (we could tell they were college students from their matching college sweatshirts) wearing shorts – and their college sweatshirts – in fucking winter!
Standing there, bundled up in our winter jackets, hats, gloves, and scarfs, with our faces gone numb from the cold, we got even colder just looking at their bare legs and definitely-not-winter-appropriate attire, and thought to ourselves: “Aren’t they cold? Why in the world are they wearing shorts in this weather? Didn’t they know that it’s cold out fucking freezing?”.

Needless to say, I have not forgotten such a memorable sight. Reading this book now, I can just envision Anna up there, in her shorts, wondering why she’s so cold.