The best books on Provence France

This is a charming fish-out-of-water adventure. The author has a witty understated style. I enjoyed the tribulations and chaos as he found his way around rural France. The locals in this book felt authentic, which I certainly appreciated. Renovations are hard in a country you know, but this author found humor and understanding, as he floundered around trying to get things done. There’s quite a bit about food, which was entertaining, and is what I would expect in a book set in France. (Personally, I think Italy far outperforms the French when it comes to great food. Give me fresh pasta.) 

A healer and a matchmaker cross paths in 12th century France, and….zzzzzzz, right? Or so I thought, until I tried this Printz honor book, a piece of gorgeously written historical fiction that turned out to be a complete page-turner and attention-grabbing thriller. I’m a big TV watcher, so when I say that I was turning off the TV at night to spend more time with this book, you can take that as a 5+ star review. It’s one of my favorite YAs, and for what it’s worth, could just as easily have been shelved as an adult title. 

This story, primarily set in France, is about a guy who loses his job in Great Britain and inherits his uncle’s vineyard in Provence. There are quirky scenes in this book that make you laugh out loud, and scenes that tug at your heartstrings. Years ago, I spent a little time in France and remember looking longingly at French wine country—from the windows of a train, and wishing I could hop off and visit some of those beautiful places. Isn’t that why we love books? We can travel vicariously! 

No one wrote about the South of France with more affection and understanding than Marcel Pagnol. He was a novelist, playwright, director, and memoirist. Pagnol’s family had a small house in the hills near Marseille where they spent summers. His book, My Father’s Glory, is about those months Pagnol spent there as a child and about his family, mostly his father. (The companion book, My Mother’s Castle, concerns his mother more.) The story of his aunt’s sweet, delicate courtship with his eventual uncle is worth reading the book alone. If you’re like me, you will come away from reading this book wishing you’d been part of Pagnol’s kind and joyous family and his life in this little corner of France. The good news is that with this book, you very nearly are.

Provence has inspired hundreds of books, but Lawrence Durrell captures better than most what he calls its 'real nature'. His book is both personal response (he lived for many years at Sommières, north of Nimes) and historical reflection, particularly on the Roman legacy – a legacy that includes wine and olive oil, perennial staples of the Provençal table. Although Caesar occupied the whole of France, nowhere is the Roman imprint more omnipresent than in Provence; living near Carpentras, we daily dreamed of finding our fortune in an ancient Roman coin, shining through the dust of a lonely track. Durrell's language is poetic, his imagery evocative: the 'Socratic austerity' of a game of boules, the 'felicity and eloquence' of Provençal skies. As a companion to Provence, Durrell is my pick.

In December 1970, a group of acclaimed American culinary experts met in Provence, where Julia Child had a holiday house, planning to celebrate Christmas together. Joining them were food writer Richard Olney and novelists Sybille Bedford and Eda Lord, all living relatively close. Barr, Fisher's grandnephew relies on her journal and letters to recreate their sumptuous tables in delectable detail. Alas, hopes for a joyous gathering of friends soured as egos clashed and petty rivalries intervened; MFK left abruptly and spent Christmas alone in Avignon. What interests me is how these authorities on French cuisine engaged with the French, the relationship between the 'French' cooking they portrayed and the food of the French, and their response to the changes creeping into France post-1968.

Of that group of 1970 expats, only Richard Olney made France his home. Settling in Provence, he enjoyed Lulu's legendary hospitality at the Peyraud family vineyard Domaine Tempier, at nearby Bandol, and spent many hours in her kitchen recording her recipes and culinary tips ('lots of garlic'). To me, Lulu's recipes represent the heart and soul of gastronomic Provence, with direct lineage to the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, such as her Daube à la Provençale with its obligatory accompaniment of macaroni. Essentially simple, her cuisine revels in the robust accents of anchovies and garlic, thyme and savory as it celebrates seasonal and local—if not quite so local as her own backyard, like our landlady on the cherry orchard near Carpentras. 

Book 1 in Gill’s Troubadour series opens in Provence, in 1150. A young runaway wakes in a ditch protected by a huge white dog. The girl becomes the celebrated lutist Estela at the court of Alienor of Aquitaine. Her tutor, then lover, is the Queen’s finest troubadour, Dragonetz los Pros. Using Jewish money and Moorish expertise, Dragonetz builds a paper mill, bringing him into desperate conflict with the Christian Church. This is a compelling story woven into real events: the writing is captivating, the history fascinating. Jean Gill is one of those authors who can ‘take you there’. I was watching what was happening and fearing for the safety of the protagonists to the last page. History, action, and a not-too-treacly romance. A great read all round.

This is a pair of novels, French classics that were also made into two memorable movies. In a rural village in Provence, an old man and his only remaining relative cast a greedy eyes on some land. They need a hidden spring that is on the land to irrigate the flowers they intend to grow which they think will make them a fortune. But first, they need to drive out the owner and his family.The father of this family is a hunchback trying to succeed in a hostile world. An evil plot slowly unfolds and comes to tragic fruition. Ten years later, the daughter of the family returns to seek her revenge. A moral tale full of wonderful local detail, like my other choices it features a brave, invincible female protagonist battling overwhelming odds. 

Finally, a food book. But more than that, Mediterranean Seafood recounts a personal journey, as Alan Davidson learned to identify the diversity of Mediterranean catches and how best to use each species. It was an invaluable guide on my visits to the market at Sète, and as I pored over the displays I listened to conversations between sellers and buyers, exchanges of gossip and cooking tips, and marvelled at the ingenuity of these Mediterranean women in accommodating seafood in so many different ways when my palate knew only fried or grilled. Part catalogue and part cookbook, it combines the best of both. If only eighteenth-century travellers had the benefit of such a guide, they might have been more daring in their eating.