She came on the wind of the carnival. She and little Anouk. She will set up home here - one more time. She is Vianne Rocher.
He is the sheperd who tends to his flock. Leading them, guiding them, correcting them, forgiving them. He owns the soul of the town, and the town looks up to him. After all he represents god. He is Francis Reynaud.
She has been running all her life. Running with her poor mother in the past. Running with little Anouk today. Destined to a life of repentance and shame. Chased by the black man from everywhere. She is determined she will not run this time.
He has never had to run. He has never lost. She is just another obstacle in the path to God. He has defeated other hurdles. He is this town’s black man. He will chase her out and protect his innocent followers from her evil influence.
She has on her side the magic of her mother, her acceptance of people as they are and the tastes of her exotic chocolate. She also knows everyone’s favourite - yes, even the black man’s !!!!! She does not have to woo anyone. Her door ’’..slightly open, emits a hot scent of baking and sweetness...’’ - luring everyone to her.
He has god on his side. And the god given right to bring his straying sheep back into the fold. It frets his soul, to be leading ’’this languid procession of liars, cheats, gluttons and pathetic self- deceivers’’. But his resolve will not be broken. He will win as always.
’’Chocolat’’ is based on an age old theme of ’’good’’ and ’’evil’’ that has been convoluted by time into a battle between the church and man. It pits piety, self-denial, guilt and repentance as represented by Reynaud against indulgence, kindness, comfort and love as represented by Vianne. its a battle that comes to you through the inner thoughts of these people. And as the narrative, alternating between Vianne and Reynaud, developes - you stop reading and start listening.
Both the voices appeal to you in their own way - stern and severe in the case of Reynaud and seductive and sensuous in the case of Vianne. But you very soon find out who the sympathies of the author lie with. And god help you if you are on the other side, because Joanne Harris’s writing will melt all your defences and you will find your own sympathies change.
Harris knows her Chocolates, her English, her Magic, her characters and seems to know her France. And from this vantage position of an expert she writes a descriptive prose that effectively paints the picture of a little town in rural France and its people, to perfection.
’’One main street, a double row of dun-coloured half-timbered houses leaning secretively together, a few laterals running parallel like the tines of a fork.....headscarves and berets are the colour of the hair beneath, brown, black and grey..’’
Hers is a prose where the physical and the abstract blend seamlessly with the sole objective of communicating. In her words, the struggle between the burning curiosity and natural reserve of the village people becomes ’’a kind of seething, a whispering of speculation, a twitching of curtains, a gathering of resolve’’. A prose that is as smooth as the chocolat that she writes about.
And as you bite into this delicious feast you will encounter little nuts of thought provoking ideas - ’’Oh, I am not allowed chocolate.... or anything else that I may enjoy....first smoking, then alcohol, now this ..... God knows, if I gave up breathing perhaps I might live for ever.’’
Harris loves her chocolat. She writes about chocolate the way Enid Blyton writes about food. You may not know your pralines, Venus’s nipples, truffles, mendiants, candied fruits, hazelnut clusters, chocolate seashells, candied rose-petals, and sugared violets - but that will not stop your mouth water. And for a vegan like me, there is the added comfort that they are unlikely to turn out to be pigs and cows, like those very delicious sausages did.
Next time you got to the bookstore you may notice a purple and gold and silver book beckon you and seductively whisper
Try me... Test me... Taste me...
My advice - succumb to temptation.