Author Mary-Lou Weisman and her husband, Larry, didn’t want to tour a foreign country; they wanted to become part of it. They were eager to pierce the tourist veil, and get as close to the essence of the culture as they could. No more observing from the outside with their noses pressed to the glass. They yearned for someone to open the door and invite them to step right in and make themselves at home. They wanted to become so French that even Americans wouldn’t like them.

In September of 2003, the Weismans arrived in Provence, France, for the first of four, monthlong stays. Playing House in Provence follows them on their sometimes wonderful, sometimes humiliating, always playful pursuit, as they learn that feeling disoriented and stupid on a daily basis can be fun. So can looking up French words they need to ask for directions—où est la pharmacie—only to realize there’s pas une chance they will understand the answer.

“Funnier, smarter, and more wickedly honest than any memoir about Provence.”

—Sybil Steinberg

Contributing Editor, Publishers Weekly