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Dans les pages culturelles de l'édition du Globe and Mail (un des principaux quotidiens canadiens, basé à Toronto) de ce samedi 4 décembre 2004, on peut lire:
French toast return of Petit Nicolas
Once upon a time in France - the 1950s, actually - a fictional schoolboy was suffering from the curse of algebra, parents and schoolmasters. Clutching a satchel in one hand and a few marbles in the other, France's most famous schoolboy, Petit Nicolas, submitted with benign weariness to the demands of the french 1950s school curriculum, which consisted for the most part of interminably long problems based on calculating the toatl number of eggs if six black chickens lay 12 eggs an hour and 12 white chickens lay six.
(...)
The extraordinary success of the book is a little mystifying. The world that Nicolas occupies is unmistakably french and yet has nothing in common with modern France. This is an indescribably dated universe where fathers go out to the office every morning to perform some ill-defined and never-discussed function, return in the early evening, unfold their newspapers, and wait for the arrival of dinner. Mothers wait behind at home all day, dusting, and cooking the occasional tarte aux pommes , and dreaming of the day their husbands will be generous enough to give them a fur coat.
The school Nicolas attends - made up entirely of boys, from what appears to be a quiet provincial suburb - is all chalk dust and inkwells and quite unlike any modern lycée . Pupils do not tip acid on each other nor do they sell drugs at the entrance; the worst they do is throw paper airplanes in class and thump each other in the playground....
Voici donc la France pourvue d'un nouvel ambassadeur Outre-Atlantique, sans béret basque ni camembert, mais avec des problèmes de robinets et une maman qui lui prépare de la tarte aux pommes ;-)
French toast return of Petit Nicolas
Once upon a time in France - the 1950s, actually - a fictional schoolboy was suffering from the curse of algebra, parents and schoolmasters. Clutching a satchel in one hand and a few marbles in the other, France's most famous schoolboy, Petit Nicolas, submitted with benign weariness to the demands of the french 1950s school curriculum, which consisted for the most part of interminably long problems based on calculating the toatl number of eggs if six black chickens lay 12 eggs an hour and 12 white chickens lay six.
(...)
The extraordinary success of the book is a little mystifying. The world that Nicolas occupies is unmistakably french and yet has nothing in common with modern France. This is an indescribably dated universe where fathers go out to the office every morning to perform some ill-defined and never-discussed function, return in the early evening, unfold their newspapers, and wait for the arrival of dinner. Mothers wait behind at home all day, dusting, and cooking the occasional tarte aux pommes , and dreaming of the day their husbands will be generous enough to give them a fur coat.
The school Nicolas attends - made up entirely of boys, from what appears to be a quiet provincial suburb - is all chalk dust and inkwells and quite unlike any modern lycée . Pupils do not tip acid on each other nor do they sell drugs at the entrance; the worst they do is throw paper airplanes in class and thump each other in the playground....
Voici donc la France pourvue d'un nouvel ambassadeur Outre-Atlantique, sans béret basque ni camembert, mais avec des problèmes de robinets et une maman qui lui prépare de la tarte aux pommes ;-)
Eh oui, Fée. Je rêve qu'un jour les petits Jack, Ahmed et Isaac du monde entier se rendront compte qu'ils sont tous des "petits Nicolas", qu'il y a plus de choses qui rapprochent les êtres que celles qui les séparent. Peut-être qu'alors, on comprendra que Goscinny était un grand humaniste.
Dans les pages culturelles de l'édition du Globe and Mail (un des principaux quotidiens canadiens, basé à Toronto) de ce samedi 4 décembre 2004, on peut lire:
French toast return of Petit Nicolas
Once upon a time in France - the 1950s, actually - a fictional schoolboy was suffering from the curse of algebra, parents and schoolmasters. Clutching a satchel in one hand and a few marbles in the other, France's most famous schoolboy, Petit Nicolas, submitted with benign weariness to the demands of the french 1950s school curriculum, which consisted for the most part of interminably long problems based on calculating the toatl number of eggs if six black chickens lay 12 eggs an hour and 12 white chickens lay six.
(...)
The extraordinary success of the book is a little mystifying. The world that Nicolas occupies is unmistakably french and yet has nothing in common with modern France. This is an indescribably dated universe where fathers go out to the office every morning to perform some ill-defined and never-discussed function, return in the early evening, unfold their newspapers, and wait for the arrival of dinner. Mothers wait behind at home all day, dusting, and cooking the occasional tarte aux pommes , and dreaming of the day their husbands will be generous enough to give them a fur coat.
The school Nicolas attends - made up entirely of boys, from what appears to be a quiet provincial suburb - is all chalk dust and inkwells and quite unlike any modern lycée . Pupils do not tip acid on each other nor do they sell drugs at the entrance; the worst they do is throw paper airplanes in class and thump each other in the playground....
Voici donc la France pourvue d'un nouvel ambassadeur Outre-Atlantique, sans béret basque ni camembert, mais avec des problèmes de robinets et une maman qui lui prépare de la tarte aux pommes ;-)
Salut Fée Winchester
Fun, ton truc ! Excellent article. Mais tu sais bien au fond que nos amis américains raffolent des foyers douillets où brasille un feu de bûches en plastique, où fume sur la table décorée d'une nappe à carreaux vichy la tarte aux pommes du dimanche et où le principal souci du jour consiste à évaluer le rendement mensuel d'une poule pondeuse aux humeurs imprévisibles. Quant aux robinets qui fuient et aux bassins qui débordent, celà peut prendre chez eux des proportions alarmantes. Comme en Louisiane, par exemple.
Autant dire que le petit Nicolas, c'est pour ainsi dire le rêve de l'amerloque quand il se regarde dans un miroir. C'est pour ça qu'il est universel.
Et c'est ainsi que Goscinny est grand.
Bye
Gobu
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