'Remedy' is an agile and endearing debut about a single girl in Paris, who works in fashion and calls upon the saints to help her find the perfect man.
- Paperback | 384 pages
- 128 x 194 x 30mm | 358.34g
- 23 May 2008
- GRANTA BOOKS
- Portobello Books Ltd
- London, United Kingdom
- b&w integrated line drawing illustrations
About Anne Marsella
Originally from California, Anne Marsella lives in Paris with her husband, a jazz musician, and their son. Her previous book, a story collection, The Lost and Found (NYU Press) won the Bobst Award in the mid-nineties and received a glowing full-page review in the New York Times.
Our customer reviews
I've read both Remedy and The Baby of Belleville and would like to say a word about Anne Marsella's work as I've understood it. As an anthropologist, one of the things I like about her writing is that it mixes - or plays around with the mixing of - what we call in anthropology Ã¢??binary pairsÃ¢??, sets of opposites or difference. In anthropology these pairs are interesting to us, in part, because we believe that the meaning or significance of an event, an object, a person and so on can be Ã¢??gotten toÃ¢?? by thinking through such pairs, in any number of ways (juxtaposing their elements, bridging them and so forth). And I feel like one of the things Marsella does in her writing is to play with and combine (in interesting ways) such opposed pairs, which she places inside one person, a couple, a place, a story, etc. She also plays around with the Ã¢??sacredÃ¢?? and the Ã¢??profaneÃ¢?? and I like the ways these two realms meet in her work. There are the saints, for example, and various kinds of prayers (to the saints) and magical incantations, objects etc., but she equally preoccupies herself with the everyday and the domestic (cafÃ?Â© meetings, shopping on the Rue Clare etc.). I like the way Marsella combines these two realms because, of course, they feed one another, the contain one another, they are Ã¢?? in short - dependent on one another. Her work always speaks to me of Ã¢??selfÃ¢?? and Ã¢??otherÃ¢??. Once again, this is my own anthropological reading and an angle that is deeply connected to the above ideas. So often people can only recognize in the other that which they already know in themselves or they are interested in the other in as much as it says something about themselves or serves a personal purpose or feeds a personal desire. I feel so often in American culture that you have a series of monologues walking around (which is why Facebook works so well) and togetherness is then about the assemblage of monologues. And I think one of the things Marsella explores in your work is Ã¢??dialogueÃ¢?? (not monologue); in other words, the meeting of difference (self and other) where difference can remain (where it may even speak) but where it does not need to be transformed, overcome, tamedÃ¢?Â¦ Lastly, I think Anne Marsella writes beautifully Ã¢?? her language is both singular and evocative.show moreby Christy Keil
Anne Marsella's Remedy is an exceedingly bizarre, extremely amusing and, in the end, exceptionally rewarding book, although its true worth may not be immediately obvious. Perhaps this is partially because the publicity blurb misrepresents the content. Remedy is not "one girl's adventures in love, faith, and hemlines" so much as everywoman's antidote to chick lit. On the face of it, the novel is a diary of sorts - each entry is dedicated to a (usually obscure) Catholic saint - written by one Remedy O'Riley de Vasca, a thirty-something American woman initially hailing from Florida, where her mother plays golf and invites the bishop over for highballs, but currently living in Paris, where she works for some sort of internet fashion magazine, diligently writing reports on unlikely fads and accessories and soaking up journalistic wisdom on alternative health and spirituality, feng shui and Adult Sex. She has a dope-smoking neighbour, Jeronimo, who calls round for the odd toilet roll, but also sends over his French cowboy-in-training brother. Her well-to-do American girlfriend introduces her to a Marquis, who unfortunately only likes white underpants, whereas Remedy usually favours colourful, skimpy rayon or polyester affairs. During lunchtime she attends Mass with a blind nun and her farting dog, whilst contemplating a pilgrimage to Rome. A couple of evenings a week she learns belly dancing, spending Saturday afternoons with the wife of the office janitor, a larger than life Algerian matron who teaches her sewing, cooking and unwittingly finds her the man of her dreams in the shape of a pizza delivery boy who also happens to be an Arabic scholar. The plot is a loose adaptation of Cinderella, culminating in a magical ball, complete with makeshift carriage and rushed exit. Behind the lush, crazy extravagance of the plot, there are a few pointers even early on that Remedy is not intended as a tale of love, fashion and singleton silliness. To start with, Remedy is surprisingly erudite in her choice of saints (as if it were not surprising enough that she should bother dedicating each day to one) and dogged in her pursuit of peculiar Catholic ritual and iconography. Her visit to the incorrupt body of Saint Catherine in a chapel underneath a Parisian department store suggests a rare enthusiasm for religious oddity and excess. Secondly, Remedy may read articles on Adult Sex by day, but she is just as likely to be found ensconced in Moby Dick, a great and resoundingly strange literary undertaking if ever there were one. Other signals between the lines, such as Remedy's ancestor bearing the name of a radical French feminist philosopher, suggest that while Marsella may be having a lot of fun, she also expects to be taken seriously. Anne Marsella is a Paris-based writer who teaches literature and has a university background in French literature and philosophy. As a writer, she first found acclaim with an award-winning volume of short stories described by the New York Times as erudite, incantatory, fanciful, sly and funny, all adjectives which could equally apply to Remedy. Unfortunately for Marsella, the most apt word may well be unclassifiable: it is difficult to think of any author, male or female, displaying her peculiarly light-hearted gusto for excess in its different guises - in religion, sex, romance, metaphor, social status, fashion, popular psychology, idÃ???Ã??Ã?Â©es reÃ???Ã??Ã?Â§ues... Her writing chuckles. Gently, knowingly, appreciatively, it chuckles. Marsella's gleeful amusement at everyday life, and at the linguistic and romantic clichÃ???Ã??Ã?Â©s which inhabit it, combines with a complete refusal to lay judgment. Remedy is happy to converse with aristocrats, delivery boys and janitors alike. Indiscriminately, she enjoys food, she enjoys Catholic ritual, she enjoys dancing, she enjoys lyricism and making love. Since she admires extremes, she has no reason to perceive bad taste. It is possible that what amuses Marsella most is the shock created when opposites collide. What happens when a belly dancing outfit is worn to a debutante ball? When a Parisian decides to become a cowboy? When the lyrical prose of, say, Joyce or Melville, turns its hand to journalese, and an amused, appreciative gaze on the absurdities of contemporary culture? Remedy is far from the chick lit narrative the blurb on the cover implies. Remedy is no forlorn, neurotic singleton yearning for satisfaction in the shape of consumer commodities and a lifelong sexual partner, fuelled by a hapless search for antidotes to her condition in the pages of women's magazines. Remedy is not really on a quest at all. On the contrary, she is herself the solution, as her name makes clear. No wonder she never goes on the pilgrimage to Rome: she has too much to give. To begin with, she has the whole of Paris, with its fickle nature and startling contrasts, to offer as an exuberant potlatch for us to enjoy. But more than that, while the rest of us are busy consuming indiscriminately or turning up our noses, Remedy has the gift of savouring what life offers, with delight, amusement and gleeful, Joycean affirmation. Yes! Yes! Yes!show moreby Sue Nicho
A fairy tale of sorts (at least on the surface) that subverts the stereotypes of the American in Paris as well as the lit-chick genre. There's something of The Dud Avocado here but Remedy, I found, is more surprising and unusual; it also takes us into the immigrant experience in Paris as lived out by North Africans and Americans alike. The heroine, Remedy, befriends Djamila (the wife her office's custodian) and is taken under her wing, taught cooking and the Koran in a harem-like setting. These passages, written with humor and inventiveness, were among my favorites. There is much in this strange and wonderful book to enjoy.show moreby Sandrine Demay