A review by liralen
We'll Always Have Paris: A Mother/Daughter Memoir by Jennifer Coburn
3.0
Seems like the thing that'll make a nostalgic read for Coburn's daughter, which seems like an extension of the point of their travels. When Coburn's daughter was still young, Coburn set out to make specific memories with her—memories of travelling through Europe. Paris and London and Amsterdam and so on and so forth...
I enjoyed the light feel of this, and Coburn's look back at her own upbringing, while it didn't always seem to fit into the present-day story, added some interesting texture to the story: her father in particular was not conventional, and understanding a bit about their relationship gives some context to some of her own tics. That said, I found that (as somebody who is a nervous traveller and just all-around generally anxious person) I didn't have all that much patience for reading about somebody else's travel anxiety. Not the travel anxiety itself—just reading about it. I guess I'm less interested in reading about somebody pushing through nerves to do normal touristy things than I am about reading about somebody pushing through nerves to do things that are more outside the box? I'm not sure that's quite what I mean.
Coburn's pretty self-aware about her quirks (sometimes personal, sometimes cultural), but I would have loved a bit more unpacking:
"Why you have such a big car?" he asked.
"My daughter plays soccer," I explained.
"One child?" I nodded to confirm.
"Mama mia," he said, scanning the length of the van. "You know how Italian children go to soccer game?" I raised my eyebrows to encourage an answer. "On Papa's motorcycle." (115)
But—to Coburn this seems self-explanatory, if a little excessive. To me (I'm not a parent; my siblings and I played sports, but my parents said hell no to a minivan) it is less self-explanatory. Why exactly does one sport-playing child necessitate a behemoth of a car...? This isn't a criticism of Coburn for having the car—just something that feels representative of a way in which she could have gone deeper, looked not only at her anxiety (especially travel anxiety) but at the more general picture.
I'm making no accusation here but poor phrasing. Like I said: nitpicky.
Still, for a light mother-daughter travel book, it's a nice read. I don't know how much difference this made in Coburn's everyday life, but at the very least this will be a lovely set of memories for her family.
I enjoyed the light feel of this, and Coburn's look back at her own upbringing, while it didn't always seem to fit into the present-day story, added some interesting texture to the story: her father in particular was not conventional, and understanding a bit about their relationship gives some context to some of her own tics. That said, I found that (as somebody who is a nervous traveller and just all-around generally anxious person) I didn't have all that much patience for reading about somebody else's travel anxiety. Not the travel anxiety itself—just reading about it. I guess I'm less interested in reading about somebody pushing through nerves to do normal touristy things than I am about reading about somebody pushing through nerves to do things that are more outside the box? I'm not sure that's quite what I mean.
Coburn's pretty self-aware about her quirks (sometimes personal, sometimes cultural), but I would have loved a bit more unpacking:
"Why you have such a big car?" he asked.
"My daughter plays soccer," I explained.
"One child?" I nodded to confirm.
"Mama mia," he said, scanning the length of the van. "You know how Italian children go to soccer game?" I raised my eyebrows to encourage an answer. "On Papa's motorcycle." (115)
But—to Coburn this seems self-explanatory, if a little excessive. To me (I'm not a parent; my siblings and I played sports, but my parents said hell no to a minivan) it is less self-explanatory. Why exactly does one sport-playing child necessitate a behemoth of a car...? This isn't a criticism of Coburn for having the car—just something that feels representative of a way in which she could have gone deeper, looked not only at her anxiety (especially travel anxiety) but at the more general picture.
Spoiler
Nitpicky note: Though 9/11 has been our generation's greatest tragedy on American soil, it has been relatively infrequent that terror has threatened our shores. But those who don't make their home in the United States live with the constant reality of bomb scares. The differences in our life experiences were pronounced in our reaction to the announcement [of a bomb threat] at the Musée d'Orsay. The Americans were immobilized; the others moved on (26). Wait wait wait. First, 'those who don't make their home in the United States' is waaaaaay too broad a statement. Makes it sound as though pretty much every other country faces bomb threats every two days while the U.S. sails blithely, and safely, on. Second, how about school shootings? They aren't generally talked about as terrorist acts, but it's not hard to make the comparison there, and there have been plenty of those 'on American soil'. What about violent crimes more generally? The U.S. has, per capita, a very high number of gun-related deaths. And third, there's definitely some unintentional classism going on here: the assumption that because in her white middle-class American life she has seen very little violence, that's the American norm.I'm making no accusation here but poor phrasing. Like I said: nitpicky.
Still, for a light mother-daughter travel book, it's a nice read. I don't know how much difference this made in Coburn's everyday life, but at the very least this will be a lovely set of memories for her family.