david sedaris essay about learning french

Me Talk Pretty One Day

At the age of forty-one, I am returning to school and having to think of myself as what my French textbook calls "a true debutant." After paying my tuition, I was issued a student ID, which allows me a discounted entry fee at movie theaters, puppet shows, and Festyland, a far-flung amusement park that advertises with billboards picturing a cartoon stegosaurus sitting in a canoe and eating what appears to be a ham sandwich.

I've moved to Paris in order to learn the language. My school is the Alliance Française, and on the first day of class, I arrived early, watching as the returning students greeted one another in the school lobby. Vacations were recounted, and questions were raised concerning mutual friends with names like Kang and Vlatnya. Regardless of their nationalities, everyone spoke what sounded to me like excellent French. Some accents were better than others, but the students exhibited an ease and confidence I found intimidating. As an added discomfort, they were all young, attractive, and well dressed, causing me to feel not unlike Pa Kettle trapped backstage after a fashion show.

I remind myself that I am now a full-grown man. No one will ever again card me for a drink or demand that I weave a floor mat out of newspapers. At my age, a reasonable person should have completed his sentence in the prison of the nervous and the insecure--isn't that the great promise of adulthood? I can't help but think that, somewhere along the way, I made a wrong turn. My fears have not vanished. Rather, they have seasoned and multiplied with age. I am now twice as frightened as I was when, at the age of twenty, I allowed a failed nursing student to inject me with a horse tranquilizer, and eight times more anxious than I was the day my kindergarten teacher pried my fingers off my mother's ankle and led me screaming toward my desk. "You'll get used to it," the woman had said.

I'm still waiting.

The first day of class was nerve-racking, because I knew I'd be expected to perform. That's the way they do it here--everyone into the language pool, sink or swim. The teacher marched in, deeply tanned from a recent vacation, and rattled off a series of administrative announcements. I've spent some time in Normandy, and I took a monthlong French class last summer in New York. I'm not completely in the dark, yet I understood only half of what this teacher was saying.

"If you have not meismslsxp by this time, you should not be in this room. Has everybody apzkiubjxow ? Everyone? Good, we shall proceed." She spread out her lesson plan and sighed, saying, "All right, then, who knows the alphabet?"

It was startling, because a) I hadn't been asked that question in a while, and b) I realized, while laughing, that I myself did not know the alphabet. They're the same letters, but they're pronounced differently.

"Ahh." The teacher went to the board and sketched the letter a. "Do we have anyone in the room whose first name commences with an ahh?"

Two Polish Annas raised their hands, and the teacher instructed them to present themselves, giving their names, nationalities, occupations, and a list of things they liked and disliked in this world. The first Anna hailed from an industrial town outside of Warsaw and had front teeth the size of tombstones. She worked as a seamstress, enjoyed quiet times with friends, and hated the mosquito.

"Oh, really," the teacher said. "How very interesting. I thought that everyone loved the mosquito, but here, in front of all the world, you claim to detest him. How is it that we've been blessed with someone as unique and original as you? Tell us, please."

The seamstress did not understand what was being said, but she knew that this was an occasion for shame. Her rabbity mouth huffed for breath, and she stared down at her lap as though the appropriate comeback were stitched somewhere alongside the zipper of her slacks.

The second Anna learned from the first and claimed to love sunshine and detest lies. It sounded like a translation of one of those Playmate of the Month data sheets, the answers always written in the same loopy handwriting: "Turn-ons: Mom's famous five-alarm chili! Turnoffs: Insincerity and guys who come on too strong!!!"

The two Polish women surely had clear notions of what they liked and disliked, but, like the rest of us, they were limited in terms of vocabulary, and this made them appear less than sophisticated. The teacher forged on, and we learned that Carlos, the Argentine bandonion player, loved wine, music, and, in his words, "Making sex with the women of the world." Next came a beautiful young Yugoslavian who identified herself as an optimist, saying that she loved everything life had to offer.

The teacher licked her lips, revealing a hint of the sadist we would later come to know. She crouched low for her attack, placed her hands on the young woman's desk, and said, "Oh, yeah? And do you love your little war?"

While the optimist struggled to defend herself, I scrambled to think of an answer to what had obviously become a trick question. How often are you asked what you love in this world? More important, how often are you asked and then publicly ridiculed for your answer? I recalled my mother, flushed with wine, pounding the table late one night, saying, "Love? I love a good steak cooked rare. I love my cat, and I love . . ." My sisters and I leaned forward, waiting to hear our names. "Tums," our mother said. "I love Tums."

The teacher killed some time accusing the Yugoslavian girl of masterminding a program of genocide, and I jotted frantic notes in the margins of my pad. While I can honestly say that I love leafing through medical textbooks devoted to severe dermatological conditions, it is beyond the reach of my French vocabulary, and acting it out would only have invited unwanted attention.

When called upon, I delivered an effortless list of things I detest: blood sausage, intestinal pâté, brain pudding. I'd learned these words the hard way. Having given it some thought, I then declared my love for IBM typewriters, the French word for "bruise," and my electric floor waxer. It was a short list, but still I managed to mispronounce IBM and afford the wrong gender to both the floor waxer and the typewriter. Her reaction led me to believe that these mistakes were capital crimes in the country of France.

"Were you always this palicmkrexjs ?" she asked. "Even a fiuscrzsws tociwegixp knows that a typewriter is feminine."

I absorbed as much of her abuse as I could understand, thinking, but not saying, that I find it ridiculous to assign a gender to an inanimate object incapable of disrobing and making an occasional fool of itself. Why refer to Lady Flesh Wound or Good Sir Dishrag when these things could never deliver in the sack?

The teacher proceeded to belittle everyone from German Eva, who hated laziness, to Japanese Yukari, who loved paintbrushes and soap. Italian, Thai, Dutch, Korean, Chinese--we all left class foolishly believing that the worst was over. We didn't know it then, but the coming months would teach us what it is like to spend time in the presence of a wild animal. We soon learned to dodge chalk and to cover our heads and stomachs whenever she approached us with a question. She hadn't yet punched anyone, but it seemed wise to prepare ourselves against the inevitable.

Though we were forbidden to speak anything but French, the teacher would occasionally use us to practice any of her five fluent languages.

"I hate you," she said to me one afternoon. Her English was flawless. "I really, really hate you." Call me sensitive, but I couldn't help taking it personally.

Learning French is a lot like joining a gang in that it involves a long and intensive period of hazing. And it wasn't just my teacher; the entire population seemed to be in on it. Following brutal encounters with my local butcher and the concierge of my building, I'd head off to class, where the teacher would hold my corrected paperwork high above her head, shouting, "Here's proof that David is an ignorant and uninspired ensigiejsokhjx ."

Refusing to stand convicted on the teacher's charges of laziness, I'd spend four hours a night on my homework, working even longer whenever we were assigned an essay. I suppose I could have gotten by with less, but I was determined to create some sort of an identity for myself. We'd have one of those "complete the sentence" exercises, and I'd fool with the thing for hours, invariably settling on something like, "A quick run around the lake? I'd love to. Just give me a minute to strap on my wooden leg." The teacher, through word and action, conveyed the message that, if this was my idea of an identity, she wanted nothing to do with it.

My fear and discomfort crept beyond the borders of my classroom and accompanied me out onto the wide boulevards, where, no matter how hard I tried, there was no escaping the feeling of terror I felt whenever anyone asked me a question. I was safe in any kind of a store, as, at least in my neighborhood, one can stand beside the cash register for hours on end without being asked something so trivial as, "May I help you?" or "How would you like to pay for that?"

My only comfort was the knowledge that I was not alone. Huddled in the smoky hallways and making the most of our pathetic French, my fellow students and I engaged in the sort of conversation commonly overheard in refugee camps.

"Sometimes me cry alone at night."

"That is common for me also, but be more strong, you. Much work, and someday you talk pretty. People stop hate you soon. Maybe tomorrow, okay?"

Unlike other classes I have taken, here there was no sense of competition. When the teacher poked a shy Korean woman in the eyelid with a freshly sharpened pencil, we took no comfort in the fact that, unlike Hyeyoon Cho, we all knew the irregular past tense of the verb "to defeat." In all fairness, the teacher hadn't meant to hurt the woman, but neither did she spend much time apologizing, saying only, "Well, you should have been paying more attention."

Over time, it became impossible to believe that any of us would ever improve. Fall arrived, and it rained every day. It was mid-October when the teacher singled me out, saying, "Every day spent with you is like having a cesarean section." And it struck me that, for the first time since arriving in France, I could understand every word that someone was saying.

Understanding doesn't mean that you can suddenly speak the language. Far from it. It's a small step, nothing more, yet its rewards are intoxicating and deceptive. The teacher continued her diatribe, and I settled back, bathing in the subtle beauty of each new curse and insult.

"You exhaust me with your foolishness and reward my efforts with nothing but pain, do you understand me?"

The world opened up, and it was with great joy that I responded, "I know the thing what you speak exact now. Talk me more, plus, please, plus."

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Home — Essay Samples — Literature — Me Talk Pretty One Day — Learning Motivation In Me Talk Pretty One Day By David Sedaris

Learning Motivation in Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris

• Categories: Me Talk Pretty One Day

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Words: 1083 |

Published: May 14, 2021

Words: 1083 | Pages: 2 | 6 min read

Works Cited

• Sedaris, David. “Me Talk Pretty One Day.” 50 Essays: A Portable Anthology 5th Edition. Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2017. Pp. 333-337.

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    Experience France beyond the cliché

David Sedaris and the Paris he called home

As a widely published author, editor and contributor to both ‘ The New Yorker ’ and ‘ This American Life ’, Sedaris is not short of skills in spinning a sentence.

Combine this with Sedaris’ (over)sea(s) change to France; first for summer getaways to Normandy, then finally to Paris, and you have yourself a collision, that is both entertaining and incredibly enlightening about everyday Parisian life.

Sedaris, like so many expats before him, fell for Paris despite all its despites. And just like Hemingway, Stein and Fitzgerald; Sedaris, being a writer, did not resist the urge to document his vie en rose . The difference being that Sedaris is not afraid to break from tradition and to wax anything but lyrical about his adopted home.

Favouring the food court underneath the Louvre to the Michelin-starred restaurants, and opting to frequent dentists and doctors rather than Les Deux Magots or Café de Flore to gain inspiration for his articles, you can be sure that Sedaris’ work offers a unique Parisian perspective.

As Sedaris discovered after spending many summers in Normandy, there is a certain charm about France that keeps expats such as him coming back for more, despite the hardships that one must endure as an étranger .

Initially moving to Paris with partner Hugh for a one-year trial, his decade in the city illustrates the unassailable lure that keeps us coming back to those can-be cold, Parisian streets for more.

Remaining a frequent contributor to ‘The New Yorker’ during this decade in the city, Sedaris became the American voice on Parisian life and culture for his fellow Americans… Many who were too timid to step foot in a country whose reputation for hospitality is synonymous with the guillotines they invented.

Yet Sedaris manages to charm and be charmed in the city, remaining indifferent in the face of much of this infamous hospitality . Such as his Parisian French teacher who once told him: “Every day spent with you is like having a cesarean section.”¹ Sedaris chooses to remember the occasion as the first in which he understood every part of a French sentence.

This immunity in the face of French pride, tradition and lustre is perhaps what sustained Sedaris for so many years.

His writing manages to weave his playful Parisian anecdotes into articles weighted in memory and nostalgia, all seasoned with his signature peppering of comedy.

We are taken along on his page-turning tales about Parisian dental procedures, cultural differences in plumbing, and tourist spats outside his apartment window, all the while falling for the country by laughing with and at the dear French.

The writer now lives in London, but it is clear in his work that he will always be an expat-Parisian at heart.

You can read Sedaris’ Paris musings in his books, particularly ‘Me Talk Pretty One Day’, and in his ‘ The New Yorker ’ articles archived here online, or listen to him on his various ‘ This American Life ’ pod casts.

What is the thing that you love least about Paris or France, but which endears it to you nonetheless?  Tell us in the comments box below!

Read more about French books: Food in Paris , D-Day history , fiction  and more! 

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One comment.

Great article. I’m going to look up those New Yorker articles that I missed out on first time round, thanks.

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“Me Talk Pretty One Day” Article by David Sedaris Essay

Introduction.

“Me talk pretty one day” is an article by David Sedaris about him learning French as an adult, presented in a humorous manner. The name of this work relates to Sedaris’ life in France while he could not speak French fluently. Hence, in this article, the reader can witness the French lessons that Sedaris took, and all the mistakes he made, and the issues he faced along the way. The goal of David Sedaris in “Me talk pretty one day” is to create a narrative that a reader can relate to by using humor and informal language.

Sedaris uses humor to illustrate his life Sedaris’ intent is to show that people struggle with similar things in life. He shows that while trying to learn French, he felt out of place. At the first meeting of his class, their supervisor talked in French only, and he could not understand half of what she said (Sedaris, 2007). While reading this, one can recall a similar event and relate to the author’s experience. Sedaris (2007) is forty years old, yet with his knowledge of French, he is “a true debutant” (para. 1). Hence, by writing about situations where Sedaris felt out of place in a humorous manner, the author is able to communicate with a reader better.

The informal descriptions that Sedaris uses to add a unique style to his writing. He is telling a story about himself but inserts jokes or humorous recollections. Sedaris (2007) writes, “I am now twice as frightened as I was when, at the age of twenty, I allowed a failed nursing student to inject me with a horse tranquilizer” (para. 3). Here, he uses humor to show the audience that he, as a human being, gets nervous and anxious. In other instances, he writes about making mistakes, which is also an experience most people can relate to. For example, Sedaris (2007) reports that during his French lesson, he “managed to mispronounce IBM and afford the wrong gender to both the floor waxer and the typewriter” (para. 14). Similarly, the readers may recall situations when they felt the same way and use humor to overcome their anxiety.

Despite Sedaris using humor in his writing, the themes he discusses are serious. One example is the labels attached to people by society, such as a forty years old man who decides to learn something new being viewed as unusual. Another example is shown at one of the French lessons, where Sedaris (2007) recalls the teacher asking a Yugoslavian girl if she liked the war. During this paragraph, the humor is mixed with some serious issues, for example, the style of teaching their French professor has selected.

Later on, Sedaris refers to this teacher as a “presence of a wild animal” yet, because he uses humor throughout, the reader can understand that this experience is not, in fact, terrifying or threatening to the students (Sedaris, 2007, para. 17). It is more likely that Sedaris tries to argue that although their French teacher was despicable at times, they still managed to learn.

Moreover, the type of writing Sedaris (2017) uses is mostly informal, which also helps connect with the audience. He describes his experience from his viewpoint, and this choice of perspective is also an essential element of delivering this story. The goal here is to create a sense of Sedaris talking to a friend as if he was sharing his experience of learning French in France and the anxiety and fears he had during this process. The choice of language and writing style Sedaris uses is ideal for creating this atmosphere, and although this is not a one on one conversation, the reader can forget that they are holding a book and not talking to Sedaris.

Sedaris’ choice of style is appropriate for the audience who will be reading this article. This is a nonfiction, nonscientific piece published in Esquire, and later on, presented as a full-length book. The name of this article also hints at the type of style and writing strategies Sedaris applies, since the title is “Me talk pretty one day,” which is grammatically incorrect. However, if Sedaris was to name his work, “I will talk nicely in French one day,” the audiences’ expectations would differ.

Since there is no humor in the title, one would expect an article based on the author’s experience of learning French, written in a professional manner. Perhaps, the audience would expect some useful advice on how to learn French from such a title. Hence, Sedaris masterfully applies his unique writing style even in the title of this article to prepare the reader and communicate the general purpose of this writing piece.

In summary, in this paper, the author argues that Sedaris applies his unique writing style to create a humorous article that a reader can easily relate to because similar things might have happened to them as well. This experience of analyzing an essay by Sedaris (2007) has shown me that a choice of writing style is crucial. It allows communicating the purpose of the work and allows creating a connection with the reader.

Sedaris, D. (2007). Me talk pretty one day . Esquire. Web.

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IvyPanda. (2023, November 2). "Me Talk Pretty One Day" Article by David Sedaris. https://ivypanda.com/essays/me-talk-pretty-one-day-article-by-david-sedaris/

""Me Talk Pretty One Day" Article by David Sedaris." IvyPanda , 2 Nov. 2023, ivypanda.com/essays/me-talk-pretty-one-day-article-by-david-sedaris/.

IvyPanda . (2023) '"Me Talk Pretty One Day" Article by David Sedaris'. 2 November.

IvyPanda . 2023. ""Me Talk Pretty One Day" Article by David Sedaris." November 2, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/me-talk-pretty-one-day-article-by-david-sedaris/.

1. IvyPanda . ""Me Talk Pretty One Day" Article by David Sedaris." November 2, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/me-talk-pretty-one-day-article-by-david-sedaris/.

Bibliography

IvyPanda . ""Me Talk Pretty One Day" Article by David Sedaris." November 2, 2023. https://ivypanda.com/essays/me-talk-pretty-one-day-article-by-david-sedaris/.

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20 Free Essays & Stories by David Sedaris: A Sampling of His Inimitable Humor

in Comedy , Literature | September 15th, 2014 6 Comments

My first expo­sure to the writ­ing of David Sedaris came fif­teen years ago, at a read­ing he gave in Seat­tle. I could­n’t remem­ber laugh­ing at any­thing before quite so hard as I laughed at the sto­ries of the author and his fel­low French-learn­ers strug­gling for a grasp on the lan­guage. I fought hard­est for oxy­gen when he got to the part about his class­mates, a ver­i­ta­ble Unit­ed Nations of a group, strain­ing in this non-native lan­guage of theirs to dis­cuss var­i­ous hol­i­days. One par­tic­u­lar line has always stuck with me, after a Moroc­can stu­dent demands an expla­na­tion of East­er:

The Poles led the charge to the best of their abil­i­ty. “It is,” said one, “a par­ty for the lit­tle boy of God who call his self Jesus and… oh, shit.” She fal­tered, and her fel­low coun­try­man came to her aid. “He call his self Jesus, and then he be die one day on two… morsels of… lum­ber.”

The scene even­tu­al­ly end­ed up in print in “Jesus Shaves,” a sto­ry in Sedaris’ third col­lec­tion,  Me Talk Pret­ty One Day . You can read it free online in a selec­tion of three of his pieces round­ed up by  Esquire . Sedaris’ obser­va­tion­al humor does tend to come out in full force on hol­i­days (see also his read­ing of the Saint Nicholas-themed sto­ry “Six to Eight Black Men” on Dutch tele­vi­sion above), and indeed the hol­i­days pro­vid­ed him the mate­r­i­al that first launched him into the main­stream.

When Ira Glass, the soon-to-be mas­ter­mind of  This Amer­i­can Life , hap­pened to hear him read­ing his diary aloud at a Chica­go club, Glass knew he sim­ply had to put this man on the radio. This led up to the big break of a Nation­al Pub­lic Radio broad­cast of “The San­ta­land Diaries,” Sedaris’ rich account of a sea­son spent as a Macy’s elf. You can still hear  This Amer­i­can Life ’s full broad­cast of it on the show’s site .

True Sedar­i­ans, of course, know him for not just his inim­itably askew per­spec­tive on the hol­i­days, but for his accounts of life in New York, Paris (the rea­son he enrolled in those French class­es in the first place), Nor­mandy, Lon­don, the Eng­lish coun­try­side, and grow­ing up amid his large Greek-Amer­i­can fam­i­ly. Many of Sedaris’ sto­ries — 20 in fact — have been col­lect­ed at the web site,  The Elec­tric Type­writer , giv­ing you an overview of Sedaris’ world: his time in the elfin trench­es, his rare moments of ease among sib­lings and par­ents, his futile father-man­dat­ed gui­tar lessons, his less futile lan­guage lessons, his relin­quish­ment of his sig­na­ture smok­ing habit (the easy indul­gence of which took him, so he’d said at that Seat­tle read­ing, to France in the first place). Among the col­lect­ed sto­ries, you will find:

• “The San­ta­land Diaries” (audio)
• “The Youth in Asia,” “Jesus Shaves,” and “Giant Dreams, Midget Abil­i­ties”
• “Our Per­fect Sum­mer”
• “Let­ting Go”
• “Now We Are Five”

For the com­plete list, vis­it:  20 Great Essays and Short Sto­ries by David Sedaris . And, just to be clear, you can read these sto­ries, for free, online.

Note: If you would like to down­load a free audio­book nar­rat­ed by David Sedaris , you might want to check out Audi­ble’s 30 Day Free Tri­al. We have details on the pro­gram here . If you click this link , you will see the books nar­rat­ed by Sedaris. If one intrigues, click on the “Learn how to get this Free” link next to each book. 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Be His Guest: David Sedaris at Home in Rur­al West Sus­sex, Eng­land

David Sedaris Reads You a Sto­ry By Miran­da July

David Sedaris and Ian Fal­con­er Intro­duce “Squir­rel Seeks Chip­munk”

David Sedaris Sings the Oscar May­er Theme Song in the Voice of Bil­lie Hol­i­day

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer . Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book .

by Colin Marshall | Permalink | Comments (6) |

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Comments (6), 6 comments so far.

When­ev­er we are down and out, there is David to lift our spir­its. I hope he knows just how muh joy he brings to the life of the aver­age read­er. David, the world loves you.

I just rec­om­mend­ed your site to my grand­son. He is 40 and I am 80 but we like the same Kinds of read­ing. Thanks

Love David Sedaris’s work. I enjoy read­ing his work aloud & can laugh myself into a fren­zy , which is very fun. He is the anti­dote to what­ev­er ails me. Much respect. Please nev­er stop writ­ing for us :-)

I had already trad­ed my Amer­i­can Life for an Ital­ian one when David rose to suc­cess and I was in the dark until, while on a vis­it back to the States, my sis­ter intro­duced me to his work. I bought sev­er­al of his books to take back with me.

The build­ing I lived in was a restored 16th Cen­tu­ry sta­ble and sound trav­eled in odd ways. One night, as I lay on my cot which could have sub­sti­tut­ed for a board in a masochis­tic clois­tered con­vent, the young cou­ple upstairs had final­ly got­ten their frac­tious, col­icky baby to sleep, I could final­ly read. Silence was of the essence.

I opened my first David Sedaris book, the one that begins with him try­ing to drown a mouse out­side his home in Nor­mandy when he is inter­rupt­ed in his mur­der­ous act by some­one seek­ing direc­tions. That was hilar­i­ous enough, but I man­aged to con­trol myself on behalf of the sleep deprived trio who slum­bered above me.

Then I got to French Lessons and par­tic­u­lar­ly to “are thems the brains of young cows?” as David attempts to order calves brains in his local butch­er shop.

I had a near death expe­ri­ence that late night, oblig­ed as I was to turn over and bury my face in my pil­low in order to muf­fle my shrieks of laugh­ter. I could­n’t stop. I was learn­ing Ital­ian at the time and had recent­ly told a room­ful a peo­ple that once, I had found my lost infant sis­ter lying beneath a squid.

The word for hedge is siepe, which is the thing she was in fact lying under fast asleep and not a squid which is sep­pia.

I can’t recall now exact­ly how much time I was com­pelled to remain face down on that pil­low, but it was long enough to begin run­ning out of oxy­gen and yet each time I thought I was safe to regain a sem­blance of san­i­ty and lift­ed my head I was again assailed by incon­trol­lable laugh­ter.

I now live in a 13th Cen­tu­ry build­ing where sound bounces around in even weird­er ways. The Labrador pup­py upstairs,left to his soli­tary devices dur­ing the day, whacks his heavy chew toy on the floor above my head while I try to write, result­ing in the explo­sive sound of a stack of heavy books being repeat­ed­ly slammed down on the floor.

And that is when I look to David, free as I am to sub­mit to venge­ful aban­doned laugh­ter. After all, the pup­py can’t call the land­lord to com­plain.

Your link to the San­ta­land audio at This Amer­i­can­Life seems to be bro­ken: looks like they’ve reor­gan­ised their site.

Here’s a new, work­ing link: https://www.thisamericanlife.org/47/christmas-and-commerce/act-two‑5

Struc­tur­ing your essay accord­ing to the log­ic of the read­er means study­ing your the­sis and antic­i­pat­ing what the read­er needs to know and in what sequence in order to under­stand and con­vince your argu­ments as they devel­op.

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The Funny Side Of France As Told By David Sedaris

If you’ve got a long journey planned while in France, how will you spend your time? Staring out at the landscape? Talking to your travel partner for hours? Reading? You could do something more studious and listen to French language lessons or French radio. Personally I would much rather hear about the funny side of France as told by David Sedaris. And I don’t care if the French think I’m nuts when they see (and hear) me laugh out loud.

David Sedaris is the very popular American author and humorist whose writing is quite frankly, “laugh out loud” funny and it’s not just because of his writing. When you listen to him read, his stories come to life and he makes the scenarios that he describes so hilarious and at times so unreal, that you just want to listen to more.

David lived in France for many years (and now resides in England) and while many of his stories are about life in the U.S., there are others about France and these are my favourites because he shares his opinions and perspectives on the French and everyday life in France—a life that is not always perfect, but certainly funny. If you’re going to travel in France, listen to a David Sedaris audiobook or interview. It’ll be worth your time.

Author, Humorist, and Comedian David Sedaris

Sedaris was born in Johnson City, New York, and was one of six children growing up in Raleigh, North Carolina. In the 1990s he started taking vacations in Normandy and then in 1998 he moved to Paris with his partner, Hugh.

His career really took off when he appeared on National Public Radio reading his essay, “The SantaLand Diaries,” which told of Sedaris’ experience being a Christmas elf at Macy’s. Who knew that there were so many roles to play? Cashier elf. Entrance elf. Magic window elf. Photo elf. Maze elf. Emergency exit elf. Usher elf. And exit elf. It’s one thing to read about his experience, but to listen to him describe it is priceless.

Essays and Books By David Sedaris

David has written many essays for the New Yorker magazine and authored 10 books, selling over 10 million copies. Time Magazine called him “Humorist of the Year” in 2001. His self-deprecating humour is sharp and witty. Some of his popular books include:

• Me Talk Pretty One Day
• When You Are Engulfed In Flames
• Let’s Explore Diabetes With Owls
• Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Beastiary
• Theft By Finding Diaries 1977-2002

These books have collections of essays and stories and most are in audiobook format. In one of his latest books, “Theft By Finding Diaries” he has entries describing his experience taking French classes and living in Normandy and Paris. What makes his stories about France and speaking French so funny is that he lacks the French vocabulary so his sentences come out so odd that they are funny.

Excerpts from the 1998 Chapter (“Theft By Finding Diaries 1977-2002”)

September 25, 1998.

“The teacher threw a lot of chalk and said to me at one point, ‘Teaching you is like having a cesarean section every day of the week’.”

October 13, 1998

“Today the teacher called me a sadist. I tried to say that was like the pot calling the kettle black but it came out with something closer to ‘That is like a pan saying to a dark pan, ‘You are a pan.’”

Calypso Book Talk And Signing

In June, David published his book, “Calypso”, which has over 20 essays including ones about his family vacations at his North Carolina beach house.  It recently became the #1 New York Times bestseller. He is on tour and I was fortunate enough to attend one of his book talks where he read from his recent two books as well as excerpts from a forthcoming sequel to his “Theft By Finding Diaries” book. He had the audience in stitches with his anecdotes.

I got to talk to Mr. Sedaris after the Q and A and told him that I too had attended Alliance Francaise in Paris and perhaps had the same teacher who threw chalk at the students. He asked me if she threw chalk and I said no, however, she wasn’t too pleasant.  He signed my copy of “Me Talk Pretty One Day”, with the following inscription:

David Sedaris Reading His Stories: Audiobooks

The only person who could read David Sedaris’ stories is David Sedaris himself, not just because he’s the author, but his intonations and the way he does the voices of other characters and says certain words make the listening experience pure enjoyment. I can listen to David read a story over and over because he does it in such a funny manner.

“David Sedaris Live At Carnegie Hall” is probably my favourite audiobook. Think of it as the best of all of David’s stories, read by the author. His book, “Me Talk Pretty One Day” was one of his most successful books and in it, he shares more about his time at the French school in Paris. In the audiobook, “When You Are Engulfed In Flames”, he shares his different (bizarre) experiences in Paris like going to the hospital. I will try not to give away the punch lines and funniest bits, but here are some storylines:

1. Who’s The Chef? (Live At Carnegie Hall):

David recounts the time that he told his dinner guests that he volunteered in the Paris subway guiding the blind through the metro stations. He emphatically states that it wasn’t his fault that no one showed up. He told them his boss, “le chef”, had a rubber hand. His dinner guests and his partner were skeptical, to say the least.

2. Chapter: Jesus Shaves (Me Talk Pretty One Day):

David recounts a time when he and his classmates tried to explain (in French) what Easter was to a Moroccan student who grew up in a Muslim country:

“He die one day and then he go above of my head to live with your father.” “He feared of himself the long hair and after he die, the first day he come back here for to say hello to the peoples.” “He nice, the Jesus”

3. In The Waiting Room (When You Are Engulfed In Flames):

David explains the consequences of responding with “D’accord” (okay) but not fully understanding what is being said to him…..in a French hospital.

Television Appearances and Podcast Interviews

If you’re not familiar with David Sedaris’ writing, you could start with his interviews on podcasts, go to one of his book signings, or catch him on talk shows. He’s been on “The Late Show With Stephen Colbert” and “The Tonight Show”. Here’s an interesting clip about Sedaris when he was on “CBS News Sunday Morning”: David Sedaris The Funniest Writer Alive?

You can also catch him on podcasts such as Travel With Rick Steves. He’s frequently on the National Public Radio shows, “This American Life” and “Fresh Air”, and he is as funny being interviewed as he is when he is reading one of his essays.

Americans In Paris

To give you a taste of Sedaris’ humour, have a listen to “This American Life” when Ira Glass interviewed him about living in Paris. It takes place IN Paris and Sedaris is heard conversing with French people and giving his take on the cultural differences between the French and Americans. This was recorded in the 2000 episode called, “ Americans in Paris ” and David shares what it’s really like to live in Paris, NOT through rose-coloured glasses.

Although there are many travel books that will help you learn more about France, when you listen to David Sedaris or read one of his books you really feel like you’re getting the inside scoop into what life is like—or might be like—in France.  It’s the funny side of France as told by David Sedaris. Are his stories true? We’ll never know.

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I've travelled to France over 35 times and love sharing my tips and unique experiences not always mentioned in travel guides. You can learn more about me by visiting my About Page . Subscribe to join my newsletter. Community members get access to free exclusive content and bonuses.

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One comment.

I heard him speak one day and yes, he’s hilarious. Me Talk Pretty One Day is one of the funniest books I’ve ever read.

Comments are closed.

Me Talk Pretty One Day

David sedaris, ask litcharts ai: the answer to your questions, david sedaris quotes in me talk pretty one day.

No one else had been called, so why me? I ran down a list of recent crimes, looking for a conviction that might stick. Setting fire to a reportedly flameproof Halloween costume, stealing a set of barbecue tongs from an unguarded patio, altering the word hit on a list of rules posted on the gymnasium door; never did it occur to me that I might be innocent.

The question of team preference was common in our part of North Carolina, and the answer supposedly spoke volumes about the kind of person you either were or hoped to become. I had no interest in football or basketball but had learned it was best to pretend otherwise. If a boy didn't care for barbecued chicken or potato chips, people would accept it as a matter of personal taste, saying, “Oh well, I guess it takes all kinds.” You could turn up your nose at the president or Coke or even God, but there were names for boys who didn't like sports. When the subject came up, I found it best to ask which team my questioner preferred. Then I’d say, “Really? Me, too!”

“One of these days I'm going to have to hang a sign on that door,” Agent Samson used to say. She was probably thinking along the lines of SPEECH THERAPY LAB, though a more appropriate marker would have read FUTURE HOMOSEXUALS OF AMERICA. We knocked ourselves out trying to fit in but were ultimately betrayed by our tongues. At the beginning of the school year, while we were congratulating ourselves on successfully passing for normal, Agent Samson was taking names as our assembled teachers raised their hands, saying, “I've got one in my homeroom,” and “There are two in my fourth-period math class.” Were they also able to spot the future drunks and depressives?

“Seriously, though, it helps if you give your instrument a name. What do you think you'll call yours?”

“Maybe I'll call it Oliver,” I said. That was the name of my hamster, and I was used to saying it.

Then again, maybe not.

“Oliver?” Mister Mancini set my guitar on the floor. “ Oliver ? What the hell kind of name is that? If you’re going to devote yourself to the guitar, you need to name it after a girl, not a guy.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “Joan. I’ll call it…Joan.”

“So tell me about this Joan,” he said. “Is she something pretty special?”

Joan was the name of one of my cousins, but it seemed unwise to share this information. “Oh yeah,” I said, “Joan’s really…great. She’s tall and…” I felt self-conscious using the word tall and struggled to take it back. “She’s small and has brown hair and everything.”

You certainly couldn’t accuse him of being unsupportive. His enthusiasm bordered on mania, yet still it failed to inspire us.

[…] I broadened my view and came to see him as a wee outsider, a misfit whose take-it-or-leave-it attitude had left him all alone. This was a persona I’d been tinkering with myself: the outcast, the rebel. It occurred to me that, with the exception of the guitar, he and I actually had quite a bit in common. We were each a man trapped inside a boy’s body. Each of us was talented in his own way, and we both hated twelve-year-old males, a demographic group second to none in terms of cruelty. All things considered, there was no reason I shouldn’t address him not as a teacher but as an artistic brother.

I knew then why I’d never before sung in front of anyone, and why I shouldn’t have done it in front of Mister Mancini. He'd used the word screwball , but I knew what he really meant. He meant I should have named my guitar Doug or Brian, or better yet, taken up the flute. He meant that if we’re defined by our desires, I was in for a lifetime of trouble.

Either one of these things is dangerous, but in combination they have the potential to destroy entire civilizations. The moment I took my first burning snootful, I understood that this was the drug for me. Speed eliminates all doubt. Am I smart enough? Will people like me? Do I really look all right in this plastic jumpsuit? These are questions for insecure potheads. A speed enthusiast knows that everything he says or does is brilliant.

Immediately following the performance a small crowd gathered around my father, congratulating him on his delivery and comic timing.

“Including your father was an excellent idea,” the curator said, handing me my check “The piece really came together once you loosened up and started making fun of yourself.”

Our parents discouraged us from using the titles “ma’am” or “sir” when addressing a teacher or shopkeeper. Tobacco was acceptable in the form of a cigarette, but should any of us experiment with plug or snuff, we would automatically be disinherited. Mountain Dew was forbidden, and our speech was monitored for the slightest hint of a Raleigh accent. Use the word “y’all,” and before you knew it, you'd find yourself in a haystack French-kissing an underage goat. […]

We might not have been the wealthiest people in town, but at least we weren’t one of them .

There was no electricity for close to a week. The yard was practically cleared of trees, and rain fell through the dozens of holes punched into the roof. It was a difficult time, but the two of them stuck it out, my brother placing his small, scarred hand on my father's shoulder to say, “Bitch, I'm here to tell you that it's going to be all right. We'll get through this shit, motherfucker, just you wait.”

I was given two weeks to prepare, a period I spent searching for a briefcase and standing before my full-length mirror, repeating the words “Hello, class, my name is Mr. Sedaris.” Sometimes I’d give myself an aggressive voice and firm, athletic timbre. This was the masculine Mr. Sedaris, who wrote knowingly of flesh wounds and tractor pulls. Then there was the ragged bark of the newspaper editor, a tone that coupled wisdom with an unlimited capacity for cruelty. I tried sounding businesslike and world-weary, but when the day eventually came, my nerves kicked in and the true Mr. Sedaris revealed himself. In a voice reflecting doubt, fear, and an unmistakable desire to be loved, I sounded not like a thoughtful college professor but, rather, like a high-strung twelve-year-old girl; someone name Brittany.

I jotted these names into my notebook alongside the word Troublemaker , and said I’d look into it. Because I was the writing teacher, it was automatically assumed that I had read every leather-bound volume in the Library of Classics. The truth was that I had read none of those books, nor did I intend to. I bluffed my way through most challenges with dim memories of the movie or miniseries based upon the book in question, but it was an exhausting exercise and eventually I learned it was easier to simply reply with a question, saying, “I know what Flaubert means to me, but what do you think of her?”

As Mr. Sedaris I lived in constant fear. There was the perfectly understandable fear of being exposed as a fraud, and then there was the deeper fear that my students might hate me.

“Who are you ,” she asked. “I mean, just who in the hell are you to tell me that my story has no ending?”

It was a worthwhile question that was bound to be raised sooner or later. I’d noticed that her story had ended in mid-sentence, but that aside, who was I to offer criticism to anyone, especially in regard to writing? I’d meant to give the issue some serious thought, but there had been shirts to iron and name tags to make and, between one thing and another, I managed to put it out of my mind.

One more flush and it was all over. The thing was gone and out of my life. […] And I was left thinking that the person who'd abandoned the huge turd had no problem with it, so why did I? Why the big deal? Had it been left there to teach me a lesson? Had a lesson been learned? Did it have anything to do with Easter? I resolved to put it all behind me, and then I stepped outside to begin examining the suspects.

In the evenings, lacking anything better to do, I used to head east and stare into the windows of the handsome, single-family town houses, wondering what went on in those well-appointed rooms. What would it be like to have not only your own apartment but an entire building in which you could do whatever you wanted? I’d watch a white-haired man slipping out of his back brace and ask myself what he'd done to deserve such a privileged life. Had I been able to swap places with him, I would have done so immediately.

Somewhere along the way she’d got the idea that broke people led richer lives than everybody else, that they were nobler or more intelligent. In an effort to keep me noble, she was paying me less than she’d paid her previous assistant. Half my paychecks bounced, and she refused to reimburse me for my penalty charges, claiming that it was my bank’s fault, not hers.

Moving people from one place to another made me feel as though I performed a valuable service, recognized and appreciated by the city at large. In the grand scheme of things, I finally had a role to play. My place was not with Valencia but here, riding in a bread truck with my friends.

I was mortified, but Bonnie was in a state of almost narcotic bliss, overjoyed to have discovered a New York without the New Yorkers. Here were out-of-town visitors from Omaha and Chattanooga, outraged over the price of their hot roasted chestnuts. […] The crowd was relentlessly, pathologically friendly, and their enthusiasm was deafening. Looking around her, Bonnie saw a glittering paradise filled with decent, like-minded people, sent by God to give the world a howdy. Encircled by her army of angels, she drifted across the avenue to photograph a juggler, while I hobbled off toward home, a clear outsider in a city I’d foolishly thought to call my own.

My father has always placed a great deal of importance on his daughters’ physical beauty. It is, to him, their greatest asset, and he monitors their appearance with the intensity of a pimp. What can I say? He was born a long time ago and is convinced that marriage is a woman’s only real shot at happiness.

Before beginning school, there’d been no shutting me up, but now I was convinced that everything I said was wrong. [...]

My only comfort was the knowledge that I was not alone. Huddled in the hallways and making the most of our pathetic French, my fellow students and I engaged in the sort of conversation commonly overheard in refugee camps.

“Sometime me cry alone at night.”

“That be common for I, also, but be more strong, you. Much work and someday you talk pretty. People start love you soon. Maybe tomorrow, okay.”

In communicating any religious belief, the operative word is faith , a concept illustrated by our very presence in that classroom. Why bother struggling with the grammar lessons of a six-year-old if each of us didn't believe that, against all reason, we might eventually improve? If I could hope to one day carry on a fluent conversation, it was a relatively short leap to believing that a rabbit might visit my home in the middle of the night, leaving behind a handful of chocolate kisses and a carton of menthol cigarettes. So why stop there? If I could believe in myself, why not give other improbabilities the benefit of the doubt? I told myself that despite her past behavior, my teacher was a kind and loving person who had only my best interests at heart. I accepted the idea that an omniscient God had cast me in his own image and that he watched over me and guided me from one place to the next. The Virgin Birth, the Resurrection, and the countless miracles—my heart expanded to encompass all the wonders and possibilities of the universe.

A bell, though—that’s fucked up.

I asked myself, Who wants to be handcuffed and covered in human feces? And then, without even opening my address book, I thought of three people right off the bat. This frightened me, but apparently it’s my own private phobia. I found no listing for those who fear they know too many masochists. Neither did I find an entry for those who fear the terrible truth that their self-worth is based entirely on the completion of a daily crossword puzzle. Because I can’t seem to find it anywhere, I’m guaranteed that such a word actually exists. It will undoubtedly pop up in some future puzzle, the clue being “You, honestly.”

People are often frightened of Parisians, but an American in Paris will find no harsher critic than another American. France isn’t even my country, but there I was, deciding that these people needed to be sent back home, preferably in chains. In disliking them, I was forced to recognize my own pretension, and that made me hate them even more.

My brain wants nothing to do with reason. It never has. If I was told to vacate my apartment by next week, I wouldn’t ask around or consult the real estate listings. Instead, I’d just imagine myself living in a moated sugar-cube castle, floating from room to room on a king-size magic carpet. If I have one saving grace, it’s that I’m lucky enough to have found someone willing to handle the ugly business of day-to-day living.

Hugh consoled me, saying, “Don’t let it get to you. There are plenty of things you’re good at.”

When asked for some examples, he listed vacuuming and naming stuffed animals. He says he can probably come up with a few more, but he’ll need some time to think.

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David Sedaris' Welcome to French Class Critical Analysis Essay

In this narration, David Sedaris returns to school at a late age and tell his experiences there with that oldness. Sedaris had since wanted to learn French and subsequently relocated to Paris, France to learn the language. The author takes his readers through his academic adventures in the foreign land. He narrates the challenges of being an older student and how he coped with the struggle in the new culture. He is bugged out by an arrogant professor who seemed to hate him a lot, abusing and belittling him at every instance. Eventually, after all the misery, Sedaris can understand French and equally speak some of it. The author uses a humorous and sarcastic narration that with no doubt makes the story enjoyable. On the same note, his nature of detailing experiences makes it possible for readers to understand what he is communicating quickly. In general, through the humorous narration, Sedaris informs readers that even older students can overcome a challenging situation in the foreign country and realize academic achievements.

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Sedaris story is exhilaratingly humorous from the first paragraph to the last. The author structures the narration with the intention to amuse. He does so through a blend of comedic tone and self-criticism to narrate the challenges he faced in his earlier days in France. For example, Sedaris introduces the first section with comic labeling. Sedaris (2010) calls it, "...Welcome to French class where you learn to juggle irregular verbs, flying chalks, and the constant threats of bodily harm" hinting at the humiliating encounters that the author is about to experience.

It is not much deep into the narration that the author makes his readers understand that going to school at the age of 41 is a challenging situation. He first of all humorously laughs at himself by saying he is "a true debutante" (Sedaris, 2010). Further, he shows how challenging the classroom situation was. Everyone in his class is "...young, well dressed and attractive." Also, all the students in the class speak what sounds like fluent French. These students display a different level of confidence. All these make him feel intimidated and out of place. Though his challenges are as a result of his age, Sedaris experience in his first days in the classroom is relatable. In joining college or high school, one will tend to feel that they are outcast especially before they have made friends. Without any doubt, there is usually the feeling that the students already in the classroom are way better than yourself. This is because people come from different background. When your classmates seem to know more and flow better with the teacher, one can think that they cannot achieve academically. However, this is usually just a matter of time before someone adapts.

Another challenge that made Sedaris feel like an outcast was the constant belittling that came from his professor. Even though no student was exempted from the professor's abuses, he thinks that he is abused more than others. This makes him fear the professor and would not seek clarification on what he doesn't grasp. The narration offers many exciting occurrences that prove Sedaris feared her. For example, his description of the professor is quite entertaining and surprising. Calling a professor, a sadist is not a typical way to refer to an educator. Whether or not this is her real nature, the challenges Sedaris experiences would not happen without the professor. There are specific statements the author makes on the harsh things his professor did to him. In an incident, contrary to his worries, his professor had him answer a question. Basing his answers on his love for IBM typewriters, he makes a mess of the pronunciation of many words. The teacher's reaction was not motivating at all and made him think that his mistakes were punishable by death. Sedaris (2010) say that; "you exhaust me with your foolishness and reward my efforts with nothing but pain..." However, in a melodramatic turn of things, the instructors' comments happen to make him realize that he can understand French, "I know the thing what you speak exactly now." The authors, ability to understand what his classmates and the teacher were saying makes him proud. He considers this a little victory and believes that someday he will be able to speak French fluently. He adds more efforts in his study and works extra hard to learn French. This challenge is compelling, and readers can relate to it.

Sedaris humorous narration in 'Welcome to the French class,' presents some challenges faced by students in the class setting. The two problems that have been established in this analysis educates on two crucial issues. The first one is that when learning, the surrounding has a lot of impact on students. What is important is to try and adjust fast and cope with the challenges presented in this new environment CITATION McE08 \l 1033 (McEachern, Aluede, & Kenny, 2008). In the case of the author, he had a monstrous professor who was out to demoralize students. While most students would succumb to such pressures, Sedaris positivity and his will to work with the challenge was an advantage. The other one is that age is nothing but a number especially when it comes to learning and trying different things. Despite his age, the author moved from to a foreign land to learn their language. Unquestionably, there is a significant disparity between the USA and other foreign nations. In the USA there is cultural diversity meaning that people are tolerant of each other despite their background. In the classroom setting, professors will try to be understanding on international students especially those who cannot speak fluent English. In Sedaris case, what happened is a total opposite of this. However, despite everything, he becomes victories and proves that even older students can overcome challenging situations in foreign countries.

In summary, older students can overcome challenging situations in foreign countries as well. Sedaris narration of his encounters in France is humorous and educative. From the experiences, in the French class, the author shows the struggles of international students and presents the primary goal that one should not give up no matter what happens. Even though they might be in a classroom where their mates are quite younger than them, this should not let them feel intimidated. Equally, abusive or belittling remarks from the teachers should not be demotivators but motivators. Or rather, students should seek to improvise and overcome such a challenge. Nothing in life is hard to crack, all that is required is the strong will to never get demoralized. Set your eyes on the price.

McEachern, A. G., Aluede, O., & Kenny, M. C. (2008). Emotional abuse in the classroom: Implications and interventions for counselors. Journal of Counseling & Development, 86(1), 3-10.

Sedaris, D. (2010). Me talk pretty one day. Hachette UK.

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