embracing the absurd


That long, skinny vegetable.

That colorful thing in the sea.

That thing that you close with a key.

These sound like lines from a fun board game, but are in fact desperate definitions I’ve uttered within the past week when the French term for leek or coral reef or lock escapes me.

I can speak quickly now, producing French at about the same speed as my native English, but that ability doesn’t always disguise knowledge gaps: simple nouns and verbs that I missed or forgot along the way. I compensate with long, looping definitions, often punctuated by you know.

“So we bought some…” My story grinds to a halt. “Tu sais, that long, skinny vegetable?” The listener squints. They don’t know.

“White and green, tu sais, makes a good soup?”

Over five years of dedicated language study and I’m liable to get tripped up on a leek. img_2368

Cooking with a friend really drives the point home. “Could you pass the board for cutting things? Where is the bowl with holes in it? I need the thing for scraping, made of plastic.” I sound weirdly literal, like an alien who has studied human life from afar. Either that or like someone who doesn’t get out much. How have I made it this far and missed colander?

Learning the French language has been a first-class study in the art of French absurdism. This school of thought, motivated by nationwide dejection in post-war France, claims that our very existence is absurd. Certainty is impossible. Does life have meaning? The answer is paradoxical: a definitive maybe. Existentialists sometimes bemoan this fact. Absurdists embrace it. It is by facing the void (and often, by laughing at it) that we can reconcile our absurd state. It is still possible, Absurdists maintain, to live bravely. To seek beauty.

I read playwright Eugène Ionesco’s “La Cantatrice chauve” senior year of college. This “anti play” employs language that does not result in communication. Thanks to the many missteps of my language-learning journey, this idea of language divorced from communication is an area in which I have lots of practice. img_7425

Set in a proper middle-class English interior, the play opens with a Mr. and Mrs. Smith in the midst of a strange conversation. They speak in clichés and then are suddenly cold and literal, as if narrating their own behavior. They make statements and then immediately contradict themselves with no change in expression. Stage directions include: bursts into laughter, then she bursts into tears. Then she smiles. 

Soon, dinner guests arrive. Mr. and Mrs. Martin sit facing each other, without speaking. They smile timidly at each other. The dialogue which follows must be spoken in voices that are drawling, monotonous, a little singsong, without nuances.

The dialogue which follows concerns how this married couple might know one another. Hmm, they wonder. Did we run into each other once, long ago? It seems we are both from Manchester. They deduce, finally, that they share a bedroom, and even a daughter! How curious it is, how strange! Finally, Mr. Martin announces in the same flat, monotonous voice, slightly singsong, that “dear lady, there can be no doubt about it, we have seen each other before and you are my own wife…Elizabeth, I have found you again!”

The play ends with the characters screaming out rhymes, sequences of letters, and one-syllable utterances, shrieking together as the light is extinguished.

But it has not yet ended. The stage lights come on again to show Mr. and Mrs. Martin, now seated as were the Smiths in the beginning. Thus the play begins again, with the Martins speaking the same lines as in the debut. The curtain falls.

I wasn’t expecting my French homework to send shivers down my spine. But this innocuous little play somewhere in the middle of my battered three-hundred page textbook did just that. I was early to class the next day to find out more. img_7390

Funny, creepy, and like nothing I have read before or since, I would certainly recommend it. Click here for the English text and here for French.

When you think about how much can go wrong, the delicate balance of semantics and pragmatics, it’s a wonder that we can even understand each other at all. La Cantatrice chauve takes this idea to an extreme, language’s every possible ambiguity exploited. The results are far from pretty.

Little did I know that I would be installing myself, post-grad, in the Smith’s living room. In France, effortless communication was a thing of the past, replaced by accidental non-sequiturs, wild hand gestures, and desperate expressions. It was only a matter of time, I felt, before I would resort to full-on absurdism, to screaming incoherently into the night.

It is difficult to exemplify the linguistic chaos that I have experienced, for I have tried to erase many of these gaffes from memory. I do have a few recent examples. You need only to imagine the complications that could result from mistaking cheville and chevreuil. These words, which sound fairly similar, mean “ankle” and “venison,” respectively.

Last week I asked for ankle pâté.

My first week in Cannes, thanks to a one-syllable mistake, I asked a woman in a boulangerie if she knew of a nearby store where I could go run a race.

It is moments like these when the absurd is felt fully. I look respectable, I speak confidently and fluently…and I produce a sentence so unintentionally strange that I have learned to recognize a distinctive expression on the faces of strangers. It is marked by a slight widening of the eyes, a furrow between the brows. There is perhaps a reevaluation of my mental state. Those few uncomfortable seconds are an eternity: the time it takes to cross the gulf between language and communication. My heartbeat seems to emanate from my eardrums.

These moments were once agonizing for me. I used to walk around thinking that everyone knew I was une étrangère: my non-native awkwardness surely as visceral as a bright bullseye painted on my back.

It’s not fun to be forced into a starring role in an absurdist play.

Until it is. I took a cue from the Absurdists and I learned to laugh. At myself, at ridiculous situations, at what we call communication.

In hindsight, I see that my seriousness and self-consciousness came from simple fear. There is, after all, something scary and absurd about starting over as an adult, struggling to communicate basic wants and needs. The disparity between my thoughts and the language I was able to produce frustrated me to no end.

Time, experience, and improved language skills eased the fear. But even more significant was learning to lighten up. It’s something I still work on, a skill like any other. But largely, I see my “failures” as funny. It’s not so life-or-death: and why, I wonder now, did I ever think that? There are no French grammar police hiding behind a tree waiting to fine me for incorrectly conjugating the subjunctive. img_7422

Sometimes, even now, a notable language mistake or inability to communicate will make me feel like a child. But maybe that’s not so bad. Babies have a big, beautiful world in front of them, full of unknowns, ripe for the exploring. So do we, the language learners, the close observers, the passionately curious; those of us who choose to implant ourselves into a mysterious new culture and start over: just for the thrill of it. Let’s embrace the absurdity of communication. We need not run screaming into the night.



To read more about my wrestling with France, try French People Tell Me What to Do: “In my French life, there is almost always a slight sense of bouleversement–disruption–the feeling that I don’t quite know what’s going on at any given time. All the yawning aspects of daily life have been shifted, a bit like that prank where you move every piece of someone’s furniture five inches to the right. I am the one pranked: I don’t notice when I walk into the room, but am surely going to stub my toe.”


115 thoughts on “embracing the absurd

  1. Ohh I love this because I, too, can relate (in Italian , not French)… that said, there’s always the odd occasion where you have a brain fry in your native language and momentarily lose a word, as well!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I totally get where you’re coming from! I love languages. I’ve been learning French steadily for about a year but on and off in school since 8th Grade, plus I’m learning Korean as well. I have a bad habit of switching to a robot voice when I’m not sure of something, and I’ve recently learned to not be so embarrassed about it.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. This was a particularly interesting read as a dad with a daughter looking to study abroad to help immerse in the Spanish language and culture. I’ll share with her and I admire you hard work.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. I can so relate to this! French is my most fluent foreign language but still leaves me gawping with missing vocabulary in so many situations! My saving grace is that so many things in French are named by what they do – appareil photo is a camera and seche-cheveux a hairdryer. I am sure that everyone understands the ‘bowl with holes in it’. It is still communication…!

    As a full-time traveller, I find it so frustrating to be unable to communicate (Tip – not everyone speaks English. Even if you SPEAK VERY LOUDLY!) so I have started learning some other languages. Even my halting Italian and embryonic German are very much appreciated by the recipients. It is a grammatical Armageddonl; often a patois of all 3 languages…

    However, asking in an Italian Post Office for ‘Dio Francobolli’ – God’s stamps – brought joy to all concerned!

    Liked by 3 people

  5. Enjoyable read. I remember the consternation I caused when my host said that the French liked breadwith every meal and I replied, in French, that I didn’t eat so much bread in England because it was ‘plein de preservatives’

    Liked by 2 people

  6. This was beautifully written. I am living in France for 8 years now and I am trying to identify accents. It’s a funny thing. I still find it hard with subjonctif (I hate it so much).

    Liked by 2 people

  7. I know I worry about this in regards to Spanish. However, I am not even to the point in my Spanish learning that I would even be able to describe the word I forgot/didn’t know. I look forward to getting to that point one day, and then moving past it.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Magic of miscommunication! I feel there is a very thin line between conveying things right and sleeping into absurdity. I feel the same with Japanese living in Japan. Once I wanted to say to my boyfriend “I miss being just two of us together” but I ended up saying “I feel lonely when I’m with you”. Quite dangerous

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Absolutely charming! As an English Major who absolutely adores linguistics, this was a delight to read. What a nice “moral of the story” as well: mistakes are a part of life and everyone makes them. Even in English I forget silly little nouns all the time. Part of life, I suppose.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you! Linguistics is such a lovely subject. I remember the joy I felt in high school upon learning that it was actually a thing.
      Definitely. Communication is miraculous when you think about it. Amazing that we get it right as often as we do!

      Liked by 1 person

  10. I’m writing a tiny little blog about story-telling, and I just want to say how much I admire this piece. Your eloquence and humor really shine through. Thank you for sharing such a wonderful view of the world

    Liked by 1 person

  11. Jessica,

    I just like the title, “Embracing the Absurd” because it makes me think of the Dada Movement, The Absurd Man of Albert Camus, the movies of Laurel and Hardy, Buster Keaton and the Marx Brothers.


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