Parley Vous Murder? A guest post from Susan Shea

RHYS: Have you ever had any horrible language mix-ups when you are abroad? I've had my share. I think the funniest was when John had a bout of tourist tummy in France once. We were staying with his cousin and the doctor was called to the house. John prepared for this visit by checking with the dictionary and announced to the doctor that something was wrong with his stool. ONLY... the word he used meant the wooden, three-legged kind of stool, not the other one. The doctor was quite amused.

 My guest today is my good friend Susan Shea who is launching a new series set it Burgandy, France. Think wine, food, old chateaux and a body or two. Perfect combination, right? So welcome, Susan. 

SUSAN SHEA : Hi Jungle Reds…although that conjures up some of my favorite writers decked out in leopard skins and red wigs, so maybe it’s not the best way for a guest to greet you all.

Rhys and I were having lunch and laughing about the trouble you can get in when you know just a little bit of another language. She told me about going into an Italian butcher shop and proudly ordering “pollo.” When she unwrapped it at her vacation house, it was, indeed, a dead chicken, complete with head and feet! She found out later, if you want it dressed, you must say something different. My first foray to France a few decades ago was delightful as long as we wanted to eat “cent grams” of pâté every day. I had no idea how to order less. One hundred grams worth is nice for one full meal, but it doesn’t leave much room for any of the hundred cheeses at the shop next door, never mind the confections at the patisserie.

You might infer that since I’ve just written two novels about an American couple who have moved to a tiny French town and are learning to cope, my French is much better now. Don’t. After more years than I care to remember of school French, after six trips, after language tapes and short immersions, I am still struggling to communicate beyond ordering food, begging people’s pardon, and explaining in halting French that I am not at the Gendarmerie to report a murder, I am there to ask a question for my fictional story about murder. “J’ecris meutres et mysteres.” Of course I say this so s-l-o-w-l-y that the bright eyed woman at the desk shoots me looks that suggest I have already overstayed my welcome.

Language is such a tricky thing. That theme runs through Love & Death in Burgundy and the follow-up book that will come out next year. In real life, two things trip me up all the time. The French speak quickly, well, actually at warp speed. Even if I figure out the first part of the sentence, I’m playing catch-up for the rest and frequently miss the point. The French also, like everyone in every language, use idioms, so even if by some lucky chance I’m doing really well, I go off the rails when someone says she makes “les doights dans le nez.” I understand these simple words: fingers in the nose. Why would someone brag about that? Ah, because it’s one of several idioms that means whatever she was talking about was easy to do.

I was thinking about American English idioms that probably make as much sense as the nose reference does…

Easy as pie

Knock on wood

Twisting my arm

Fat chance

RHYS: You'll notice Susan used the expression "Off the rails!"

What language mix-ups and triumphs have you had? What languages have you mastered? There’s comfort in not being alone, so share, please!

And Susan has let me know that she has a signed copy of Love and Death in Burgundy to give away to one lucky commenter!