opposite end of the politeness spectrum are the French, most of whom appear unapologetically rude—the result, I am sure, of the French Revolution, a resounding rejection of powdered manners and, to this day, the cause of the disdainful attitude of virtually every waiter in the country.
Unlike the Chinese, who systematically eliminated manners in the name of equity, the French after their revolution kept alive the memory of manners revered, as well as their unshakable sense of self. There is a unique relationship between the French and everything else, and hundreds of years of giving themselves disproportionate credit for simply being French hasmade them often unbearable, even to their own kind. I have seen this at close range.
At one point in my young parenthood, we lived a year in Paris. On Gilliam’s first day of grade school there, it was necessary for me to register him for a cafeteria pass. I had a good look at the other parents. They were well dressed, haughty, and without the slightest shame for cutting in front of me.
“All they do is crowd in and circle the registration table. What’s so difficult about forming a line?” I asked Gilliam.
“It’s difficult to form a line if everyone in it believes the line begins with them,” was the boy’s assessment of both the situation and the nature of being French.
The French might not know how to form an orderly queue, but no one would argue that they have style. That same year we lived in Paris was the first the city levied fines against those who neglected to pick up after their dogs. I watched from my apartment window as a beautifully dressed woman of a certain age, wearing leather gloves that matched the robin-blue color of her Hermès handbag, pulled out a plastic bag and, in a single graceful motion, swooped down on the digestive by-product of her little dog. With impeccable sangfroid, she placed the excrement in her handbag in order to avoid being seen carrying it to the garbage receptacle a short block away.
Well done—but maybe not as far as the Chinese are concerned, for they find it unbearable when a man blows his nose in a handkerchief and returns it to his pocket. Lesser infractions named by the Chinese include whistling, snapping one’s fingers, pointing, and insisting on discussing business during a first meal. The ultimate display of rudeness—one that will quickly end a relationship—is to force anyone to lose face.
Painful for the French to acknowledge but nonetheless true is that the history of correct behavior in China precedes anything French. At one time, all nations from the Yellow Sea to the Caspian were tributaries to China. In pursuit of a fuller understanding of the Chinese culture, I’ve read the translations of some of their classics, written before the Bible by several centuries. Contained in them are rules of behavior numberingno less than three thousand—convincing me that altruism in China is not so much expressions of mind and heart as it is ritualistic reenactment.
Since humanity has proved that consideration does not occur naturally I have to believe that anything that can inspire that admirable characteristic—or assigns responsibly when it goes missing—makes us better beings. As I contemplated this issue, it dawned on me that although China has not embraced the concept of religion in quite the same way as has the West, in bodying forth the spirit of their ancestries, the Chinese have created ceremonies and traditions that serve the same functional purpose as religious belief.
The editor had no interest in my free-floating thoughts on the immortal beliefs of the Chinese people. What he wanted were illustrations of Western rudeness. Making good on his request was simple enough. I needed only to reflect on the behavior of my friends for an inventory of what not to do.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A t three months, Gilliam was christened in an Episcopal church on upper Fifth Avenue in New York. This respectable event set off a
Unlike the Chinese, who systematically eliminated manners in the name of equity, the French after their revolution kept alive the memory of manners revered, as well as their unshakable sense of self. There is a unique relationship between the French and everything else, and hundreds of years of giving themselves disproportionate credit for simply being French hasmade them often unbearable, even to their own kind. I have seen this at close range.
At one point in my young parenthood, we lived a year in Paris. On Gilliam’s first day of grade school there, it was necessary for me to register him for a cafeteria pass. I had a good look at the other parents. They were well dressed, haughty, and without the slightest shame for cutting in front of me.
“All they do is crowd in and circle the registration table. What’s so difficult about forming a line?” I asked Gilliam.
“It’s difficult to form a line if everyone in it believes the line begins with them,” was the boy’s assessment of both the situation and the nature of being French.
The French might not know how to form an orderly queue, but no one would argue that they have style. That same year we lived in Paris was the first the city levied fines against those who neglected to pick up after their dogs. I watched from my apartment window as a beautifully dressed woman of a certain age, wearing leather gloves that matched the robin-blue color of her Hermès handbag, pulled out a plastic bag and, in a single graceful motion, swooped down on the digestive by-product of her little dog. With impeccable sangfroid, she placed the excrement in her handbag in order to avoid being seen carrying it to the garbage receptacle a short block away.
Well done—but maybe not as far as the Chinese are concerned, for they find it unbearable when a man blows his nose in a handkerchief and returns it to his pocket. Lesser infractions named by the Chinese include whistling, snapping one’s fingers, pointing, and insisting on discussing business during a first meal. The ultimate display of rudeness—one that will quickly end a relationship—is to force anyone to lose face.
Painful for the French to acknowledge but nonetheless true is that the history of correct behavior in China precedes anything French. At one time, all nations from the Yellow Sea to the Caspian were tributaries to China. In pursuit of a fuller understanding of the Chinese culture, I’ve read the translations of some of their classics, written before the Bible by several centuries. Contained in them are rules of behavior numberingno less than three thousand—convincing me that altruism in China is not so much expressions of mind and heart as it is ritualistic reenactment.
Since humanity has proved that consideration does not occur naturally I have to believe that anything that can inspire that admirable characteristic—or assigns responsibly when it goes missing—makes us better beings. As I contemplated this issue, it dawned on me that although China has not embraced the concept of religion in quite the same way as has the West, in bodying forth the spirit of their ancestries, the Chinese have created ceremonies and traditions that serve the same functional purpose as religious belief.
The editor had no interest in my free-floating thoughts on the immortal beliefs of the Chinese people. What he wanted were illustrations of Western rudeness. Making good on his request was simple enough. I needed only to reflect on the behavior of my friends for an inventory of what not to do.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A t three months, Gilliam was christened in an Episcopal church on upper Fifth Avenue in New York. This respectable event set off a
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