Some say that the correct way of reading this series is to start with “A Year In the Merde”, then continue with “Merde Actually” and “Merde Happens”. And then this one, “Dial M For Merde”. The similar thing I would have said about Kinsella‘s shopaholic series. But you know how it is like when you step into a library, holding and feeling a rather newish looking book, comparing to the book condition of “A Year In the Merde” that happens to be a lot more … merde, I picked the newer looking book instead.
If you have lived or traveled to France, merde is a pretty common word used, which means sh!t in English. If the title of his first book is alluded to the bestselling autobiographical novel “A Year in Provence” and the second one is a reference to the romantic comedy “Love Actually”, “Dial M For Merde” is pretty much a James Bond inspired novel in a humorous and non-extraordinary way. In this installment, Paul West is being invited to South of France by a beautiful blonde, M, whom he has spent a night with. M has a mission in France. She – together with a bunch of scientists – is set to uncover the caviar counterfeiting operation. Meanwhile, Paul – whom the French often mispronounces his name as Pol – is requested by his old friend (or ex-girlfriend?) Elodie to cater for her wedding dinner. But helping Elodie to gain acceptance into her fiancée’s rich family is going to be a mission on its own. On top of that, Paul has volunteered to assist M in her mission starting by locating a type of fish called sturgeon and infiltrating the … French commando unit. The story gets more bizarrely hilarious as it unfolds.
Knowing a little bit of French and understanding a little bit of French culture would further enhance the reading experience. Because this book is set in France, with Paul being mistaken in all sorts of ways, got himself stuck in all sorts of situations. Having said that, it is not a must. The author has done a pretty good job to translate most of the French phrases. A perfect book if you are traveling or you want to read something light and entertaining. I found the following paragraph taken from the book pretty funny. Let’s see if you can guess the name of the saint the author is referring to.
Filling an ante-room was a gilt-framed painting of a semi-naked young saint getting arrowed, his attacker shooting at him from no more than half a yard away. The archer was a pretty bad shot, too, because most of the arrows were embedded in the legs and arms, with only one hitting the torso, provoking a faint trickle of blood on the porcelain-white skin. Amazingly, the saint was looking only mildly pissed off with the guy taking pot-shots at him. I would have been furious myself. But I guessed that was why he was a saint.