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#1
I know this expression exists and yeah, I understand it — literally. But in what cases do you say it?
Any hint appreciated
Thank you!
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#2
Hello borz
I only understand it literally, like you. It will be interesting to find if it is an idiom which has another meaning.
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#3
Hello borz
I only understand it literally, like you. It will be interesting to find if it is an idiom which has another meaning.
Ditto, pyan. We Chinese almost always have a word for everything.
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#4
It is not meant literally.
My dear mum would say this if she simply could not think of the right word to use. After all, if you can not say it in English, it isn’t worth saying (small joke).
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#5
Interesting. I heard it as «The Greek have a word for it» as I was growing up. The idea was that Greek had many words for everything with subtle distinctions reflected in the different words, so if you couldn’t think of any word, you’d say, «Well, the Greek have a word for it.»
Google shows hundreds of hits for «The French have a word for it.» For «the Greek», only one. I must have learned it wrong.
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#6
This phrase is usually used in a joke or humourous quotation to imply that the French have a word for everything. In my opinion, it is usually now used by people who admire French ingenuity or lifestyle, although sometimes it is used sarcastically.
In previous ages, the phrase possibly started because «French Novels» often contained references to sexual practices or body parts that could not be mentioned in «polite society». It therefore became a cryptic way of referring to something unmentionable. It no longer has this meaning.
Hope this helps.
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#7
I learned «The Greeks had a word for it».
If you use Greeks (plural) and the past tense, Google has 4,560,000 hits!!
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#8
Whether or not it is correct, I found this…
«In English, one uses the expression «The French have a word for it!» where English includes words that would convey the basic meaning of what one intends to say, but it is the French who have crafted the one word that expresses all of the exquisite and exact nuances. Often there is even a single English word that would convey the basic meaning — but its meaning has been cluttered by distracting secondary associations — so one reaches for the purity of the French.»
Ooooo la la!
source… http://musil.blogspot.com/2002_07_07_musil_archive.html please note that is someone’s opinion
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#9
I learned «The Greeks had a word for it».
If you use Greeks (plural) and the past tense, Google has 4,560,000 hits!!![:)]( "Smile :)")
Thank you! I was amazed when I only got 1 hit. It’s good to know it was my due to a failure of my search skills (and a faulty memory), not a total disconnect with reality.
[edit] Just running the Google search myself with «The Greeks had a word for it» I get 965 hits. Did you use quotes around your search phrase?
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#10
Well, I posted a reply but it was deleted because this famous word was in French.
«The French have a word for it», and the word is «shit», uttered by Cambronne at Waterloo…
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#11
Well, I posted a reply but it was deleted because this famous word was in French.
«The French have a word for it», and the word is «shit», uttered by Cambronne at Waterloo…
Your previous post was deleted not because the word was in French, but because a significant part of the explanation was in French.
I hadn’t realised that this saying derived from a particular occasion, rather than a general comment on French vocabulary.
546 for «The Greeks have a word for it»
954 for «The Greeks had a word for it»
716 for «The French have a word for it»
17 for «The French had a word for it»
59 for «The Irish have a word for it»
3 for «The Irish had a word for it»
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#12
I always understood it to mean that French was more ready and willing to depict things to do with «unmentionables» (ie anything sex-related), along with the notion of (the) French being sophisticated enough to express the «je ne sais quoi» of things…
The French Have a Word for It copyright © 2008, 2009, 2011 by Josh Lanyon
Cover by KB Smith
Cover photograph by Maugli, licensed through Shutterstock.
All rights reserved
No part of this book or e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from Just Joshin’ Publications
ISBN: 978-0-9847669-5-6
Printed in the United States of America
Just Joshin
3053 Rancho Blvd.
Suite 116
Palmdale, CA 93551
www.joshlanyon.com
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
The French Have a Word for It
Josh Lanyon
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Julia and Eve for all your help.
“Colin?”
Something about the deep voice was familiar. Colin Lambert looked up from his sketch pad, squinting at the tall silhouette blocking the blanched Parisian sun. It was a golden autumn afternoon and the last of the tourists were crowding the cafés and narrow streets of the “village” of Montmartre. The background babble of French voices, the comfortable scents of warm stone and auto exhaust and Gauloises and something good cooking–always something good cooking in Paris–and the old world colors: the reds of street signs and awnings and the greens of ivy and window shutters and the yellow of the turning leaves and fruit in the grocer stands…all of it faded away as Colin gazed up, frowning a little.
“It is Colin, isn’t it?”
Gradually the black bulk resolved itself into broad shoulders, lean hips, black hair and gray eyes. Colin blinked but the mirage didn’t vanish, in fact it smiled–an easy, rueful flash of white. “You probably don’t remember me.”
“Thomas?”
Not remember Thomas Sullivan? Did anyone forget their first love?
Colin was on his feet, sketch pad tossed away, chair scraping back on cement. He moved to hug Thomas and Thomas grabbed him back in a rough, brief hug, laughing. They were both laughing–and then self–consciousness kicked in. Colin recalled that he wasn’t seventeen anymore, and that Thomas wasn’t–
And never had been.
He stepped back, Thomas let him go, saying, “I can’t believe how long it’s been. You look…” Words seemed to fail him.
Colin knew how he looked. He looked grown up. Ten years was pretty much a lifetime in puppy years, and he had been such a puppy back when Thomas knew him.
Knew him? Back when Thomas had been his bodyguard.
“How are you? Are things going right for you?” There it was: The Look. That keen, searching gaze–wow, Thomas’s eyes really were gray. Not just something Colin had imagined or remembered incorrectly.
Gray eyes. Like cobbled streets after rain or smoke or November skies.
And Thomas’s smile conveyed a certain…er…je ne sais quoi as they said over here. A friendly understanding. Like Thomas had been there, done that, and made no judgments–but nothing surprised him anymore either. It was almost weird how little he’d changed. A few faint lines around his eyes, a little touch of silver at his temple. What was he now? Forty–something?
Every woman in the café was looking at him. A lot of les hommes as well.
“I’m good. I’m great,” Colin answered.
“Yeah?”
And Thomas was still studying him. Measuring the boy against the man? Or just wondering about what scars the bad times had left?
Colin said firmly, “Yeah. I’m here painting.”
“Painting?” Thomas looked down at the sketch pad as though he’d only noticed it.
“Well, sketching just now, but yeah. I’m painting. What are you doing here?”
“You’re a student?”
“No. I’m a…doing this.” He nodded at the sketch pad, then reached down to flap the cover over the rough sketch of a steep flight of steps. It still sounded so…not exactly pretentious–or not only pretentious–but unlucky to say I’m a painter.
Thomas’s smile widened. “Good for you. And you’re making a living at it? At your painting?”
“Er…define making a living.” Colin laughed, and Thomas laughed too, but his gaze continued to assess and evaluate. Well, old habits probably died hard. Especially for a guy in Thomas’s line of work.
“What are you doing in Paris?” Colin asked again.
“The usual. A job.”
Well, whoever the client was, they were lucky to have Thomas on their side. Still, Colin preferred not to think about Thomas’s job–preferred not to remember that time in his own life. “How long are you here for?”
“Tonight. Just tonight.”
Colin was aware of an unexpectedly sharp jab of disappointment. “Oh. Right.”
They continued to stare at each other and then Thomas looked around at the small, crowded tables. “Do you have time for a quick drink?”
“I’d like that, yes.”
They had wine, of course. Beaujolais Nouveau. The waitress brought it out, chilled, with two fluted glasses, perfumed aromas of plums and blackberries wafting into the bright cold autumn air. And for the space of a glass of wine, they could have been alone in the world.
An occasional fat drop of rain splashed down; there were dark clouds rolling in from the distance, crimson and gold leaves scattered the sidewalk, bikes and motor bikes flashed past like giant insects. Neither man showed any inclination to hurry away.
“It’s beautiful here. I see why you love it,” Thomas remarked, leaning back and glancing around the crowded street as though only now recalling their surroundings.
“I do love it. You’re right.” Colin studied Thomas’s ruggedly handsome features. It was not a face that gave a lot away. “Are you still…what are you doing these days?”
“Same thing.”
Colin’s memories veered sharply. Not a path he wished to travel. “So you never went back…to the FBI?”
“No. I stayed in the personal protection industry after I left your grandfather’s employ.” Thomas suddenly grinned. “I don’t know if I ever told you, but I was always proud of you for choosing to go away to college on your own terms.”
“Even if it did put you out of work?”
“Even so.”
Colin’s smile twisted. “You said you’d stay in touch.”
Thomas’s gaze dropped to the red and white checked table cloth. “I shouldn’t have. I was always a terrible letter writer.”
That had hurt. Thomas had meant…a lot. Had probably even known how much he meant, so to just drop out of Colin’s life? Not even the occasional Christmas card? Yeah, that had hurt. There had even–embarrassingly–been a few tears shed over that.
“It was kind of hard to say goodbye,” Thomas admitted. “I guess I tried to make it easier on both of us.”
“Sure.”
Thomas seemed uncomfortable, so Colin changed the subject. He didn’t want to scare Thomas off. They had little enough time as it was. “So what’s the job? Can you talk about it?”
“Not really,” Thomas said. “Routine stuff. No drama.”
“Yeah,” Colin said dryly. “That’s what you probably said about my case to your buddies at the Bureau. It’s plenty dramatic when you’re on the other side.”
“Your situation was different.” For an instant there was a glimpse of the professional Thomas Sullivan. Despite the easy smile, the frank gaze, he could be brusque and hard as nails. He was the man who had–almost single-handedly–saved the life of the kidnapped fourteen-year-old grandson of one of the richest men in America. There had been a lot of med
ia attention on Special Agent Sullivan after that daring rescue. It couldn’t have been easy for someone who valued his privacy as much as Thomas.
Absently, Colin moved his glass inside and out the ring of wet on the table cloth. He really didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to remember the ninety-six hours he’d been kidnapped and held for ransom by John Riedel, a disgruntled former security officer at one of Mason Lambert’s bottling companies.
It wasn’t a big trauma for him. Well, it probably was, actually, but it’s not like it haunted his days and nights. He had got past it, had moved on, and had even managed to forget a lot of it. Learned to trust people again, and–even harder–learned to trust himself.
Watching him, Thomas said suddenly, “You sure everything is okay? You hugged me hello like I was the cavalry and you were down to your last bullet.”
Colin chuckled, looking up. “I hugged you hello like you were the first familiar face I’d seen in nine weeks. I’m not quite as fluent as I thought I was. It gets lonely sometimes.” He thought it over and admitted, “Or maybe I was just kind of thrilled to see you again. I’d sort of given up on that.”
He didn’t mean it to come out like an accusation, but Thomas must have heard something. He gave another of those lopsided smiles and said, “I guess you sort of had a case of hero worship when you were a kid.”
“It wasn’t that exactly. Well, I guess it was, but it wasn’t only that.” Colin took a deep breath. “Um. I’m not sure you ever noticed, but I’m…gay.”
Thomas let out a sudden soft exhalation–as though he’d been holding his breath. “It…crossed my mind a couple of times.” His tone was grave enough but he was struggling to keep a straight face.
“That obvious, was it? At fourteen?”
“Not at fourteen, no. At sixteen, sort of. Seventeen, yes.”
“Just another way I managed to disappoint Grandpappy.”
The amusement faded. Thomas said vaguely, “It’s probably not that bad.”
“No. Probably not.” Colin finished the last mouthful of his wine. He’d made it last as long as he could, knowing Thomas would be saying goodbye soon after that final swallow. He would have things to do and places to go. “I knew from the time I was little. And when I got older, I couldn’t help but notice that I didn’t find girls very interesting. Not the way my friends did. I was trying very hard to talk myself out of it. But then you came along. And I realized it wasn’t something I was going to grow out of.” He added quickly, “I hope you’re not offended, me saying this to you.”
Thomas’s dark brows shot up. “Why would I be offended?”
“Well, I just mean…”
Meeting Thomas’s steady, smiling gaze, something clicked into place for Colin. Warmth flooded his face.
“Oh.”
Thomas’s grin widened.
“I’m an idiot.”
Thomas laughed. “No.”
“Yeah. I am.” He was shaking his head. “God. Now I really am embarrassed.”
“Why? It’s not like that was a conversation we were ever going to have.”
“I don’t know why not. We talked about everything else.” Especially at first. Especially after he’d been dumped back into the nest: the fledgling the cat had chewed up. Colin had still been in shock and terrified. For a time it had been hard to let Thomas out of his sight. Thomas had represented safety, security and fourteen year old Colin had latched on tight. Thomas had accepted it with good grace.
Maybe he understood that being taken had done something to Colin. Shattered his belief in people, made him understand how thin the veneer of civilization was, how fragile its protections against what his grandfather referred to as “the barbarians outside the gate.”
You didn’t get over that right away–but you did get over it. If you worked at it.
Colin pushed back in his chair. “It’s too bad we didn’t talk about it. It might have made things easier for me. Knowing an adult who was gay, who I could have asked–”
“There is no way we were ever going to have that discussion.”
Colin was a little startled at his vehemence “Sorry?”
“Nothing.” Thomas rose. “Do you have time for another drink?”
Colin nodded eagerly and Thomas disappeared inside the bistro. The waitress appeared shortly after with another round. So that was the good news. Thomas wasn’t in a hurry to say goodbye.
He puzzled over Thomas’s odd attitude about not discussing being gay with him, but then Thomas finally came back, took his seat. He smiled and Colin blinked in the brilliance of that smile.
“So, why France? Couldn’t you paint in the good old U.S. of A.?”
“Sure. But Paris…well, Montmartre. Monet, Picasso, Van Gogh.” Colin added prosaically, “Plus it’s over three thousand miles between me and Grandpappy.”
“Things not so good between you?”
Colin shrugged. “I just needed a little room.”
“Three thousand miles ought to do it.” Thomas sipped his wine. “What was the problem? He didn’t want you to become an artist?”
“If only it was that simple. No. No. He was always supportive. Arranged for me to have tutors, picked the best art college he could find, and started to plan my first show.”
Thomas said nothing.
Reluctantly, Colin said, “However I explain this I’m going to sound like an ungrateful shit.”
“So?”
“I said I wanted to study in France. That I just wanted to…try and do it on my own. Without his money or the family name to pave the way. I wanted to do it for real.”
Thomas nodded noncommittally.
“And that hurt him. I knew it would, no matter how I tried to say it. So then he brought up the kidnapping and said that it wasn’t safe. That it would never be safe for me because I would always be a target now.” He grimaced. “I got angry.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“And I said I’d take my chances. And then he got angry and said that since I wanted to do it all on my own, I could try supporting myself like everyone else had to who wasn’t as lucky to be born into a family like mine.”
“Oh boy,” Thomas said. That was something Colin had forgotten until now. Thomas never swore. Never. Rarely even raised his voice. Not even when he was negotiating with a raving psychopath who kept threatening to blow a hole in a terrified little kid.
Colin smiled ruefully as he said, “It sort of deteriorated from there. I said that suited me fine and he said we’d see if I lasted two weeks.”
“And you’ve lasted nine and still counting. Have you called him since you got here?”
“Nope. And I don’t plan on it.”
“He’s probably worried sick by now.”
Colin smothered the flash of irritation. “I send him a postcard every week. Knowing Grandpappy, he’s probably got the phone rigged to trace me if I do call. Which means he’d be here on the next flight trying to blackmail me into coming home.”
“You send him a postcard every week?” Thomas sounded surprised.
“Yeah. Why?” Colin added, “I mail them from different parts of Paris.”
Thomas’s mouth twitched like he was trying to keep a straight face. “Tricky.”
Colin laughed. “No. I know it wouldn’t be hard to find me if he sent one of his henchmen after me. I’m not trying to hide from him, just give myself a little breathing room. I’m nearly thirty, you know?”
“You just turned twenty-seven.”
“I’m flattered you remember.” He was too, which was surely a sign of what a goof he was. Well, once a goof, always a goof. He said earnestly, “God, I wish you were staying longer. It’s so great to see you.”
Of course that might be all on one side.
But Thomas was eyeing him in that steady, thoughtful way. He said slowly, “Do you have plans for tonight? Maybe we could have dinner?”
“No, I don’t have plans. In fact, I could cook if you like.” God knows what he would cook. He’d have to take the money he had put aside for art supplies to buy food fit for compan
y, but it would be worth it to get Thomas back to his place because…well, you never knew. Thomas had hung around chatting with him all afternoon and there was something in the way his gaze held Colin’s just a few seconds too long every time their eyes met…
Colin wasn’t seventeen now or a virgin, and Thomas Sullivan showing up in Paris for one night was like a fantasy come true.
But Thomas said, “How about I take you to dinner? You can pick the place–one of your favorites–and we’ll make a regular evening of it.”
“Seriously?”
Thomas nodded.
“I would–yeah! That would be great.” Almost too good to believe.
“I’ve got some things to take care of. What’s your address? I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Colin gave the address and Thomas jotted it down in a little notebook. Then he pushed back his chair, metal scraping cement, and rose. “I’m glad I found you, Col. I’ll see you tonight.”
Col. The old nickname. What a lot of memories that triggered–not all good. He didn’t want Thomas confusing him with the kid he had been.
Colin wasn’t even sure what he answered. He watched Thomas disappearing down the cobbled street, that easy long-limbed stride, at home anywhere in the world.
When Thomas was out of sight, he gathered his things and walked in the other direction, up the hill.
2,092 reviews364 followers
3 Stars
Second chances and long-lost crushes become realised in this short MM story set in the city of love.
Colin is in Paris to work on his art and to get a breather from his controlling and exceedingly wealthy grandfather. It’s there he crosses paths with Thomas—Colin’s bodyguard as a youth and undoubtedly his first serious crush as an impressionable gay teen.
Now an adult himself, Colin takes this serendipitous opportunity to see if his old feelings held merit with the always confident and alluring Thomas.
An intriguing premise, no doubt, but the story is super short—perhaps too short for me to feel invested enough in these characters and their romance before it was quickly over.
However, being a Lanyon story, you at least know the writing quality is high and the emotions are strong, so time is never wasted.
- age-gap freebies lgbt
1,137 reviews192 followers
3.5 stars
Had this with tea in bed this morning. It was a nice little breakfast, definitely a good way to start my day.
- 3-5-stars
631 reviews26 followers
The French Have a Word for It is a lovely and very sweet short story set in Paris. It features Colin, a painter who wants to make it on his own without the help of his very rich and overbearing grandfather, and Thomas Sullivan, Colin’s former bodyguard that he hasn’t seen in 10 years.
Meeting Thomas in Paris by chance brings back memories for Colin, good and bad, as well as hopes for the future. Thomas was once Colin’s first love and now, 10 years later, Colin is finally ready to let him know. But trust is a fragile thing, especially for Colin, and while he is great at painting the greys in his work, acknowledging them in real life is a whole different matter.
I really enjoyed this story — although it could have been much longer for my taste 
Colin and Thomas were interesting characters that I’d like to know more about and although the short story leaves on a hopeful note, many things aren’t straightened out yet. What I loved were all the colours that are mentioned. Colin is a painter and the world he describes is full of sensory stimulation and colourful nuances. Very fitting!
Recommended!
- contemporary
409 reviews67 followers
Audio
Quite nice little story about a young artist and his ex-bodyguard. I would’ve loved it to be a full size novel though.
***3.7 stars***
- adult audio contemporary
646 reviews
I have never been to Paris and didn’t get most of the references mentioned and it has just 30 pages but can I please give it 4 stars…please??🤩🤩🤩
- contemporary short-reads
5,782 reviews500 followers
I read this last year — wonder why I never put it here. Maybe because it wasn’t in the database before? I thought, as a short, it was romantic. A young guy reacquinted with his old crush. And it’s Paris! The City of Love. Need more stories around Paris 
- mm-short-stories
396 reviews176 followers
4,5 ‘lovely’ stars
This book is a very quick read (my Kindle says 37 minutes). So I was quite surprised how quickly Thomas and Colin grew on me. They were great characters, very realistic. And the setting is just gorgeous — Paris in autumn. These already are some ingridients for a great book and adding chats about painting in Montmartre, art in general, and few French words here and there — I was almost in Heaven.
Truly beautiful love story.
- kindle love-is-in-the-air
755 reviews30 followers
This was well done and I enjoyed it. Josh Lanyon’s short stories are always so well crafted. I didn’t connect with this one like I have with others, but it was certainly a nice read.
- lgbtq my-e-things queer
1,648 reviews1 follower
Aww… Paris. The people, the wine, the food, the artists, the colours… Josh Lanyon takes us along to a short (too short!) trip to the City of Love. Yeah, we all know the word(s) in french:
Je t’aime!
After ten years Colin meets Thomas again, the man he could’t forget. And still he has that little something… ‘je ne sais quoi’.
Josh weaves a beautiful, melodious, colourful and emotional story around two guys and second chances. I enjoyed the light read that left me wanting more…
- short-stories
2,720 reviews228 followers
Buddy read with my girls, because they love me and I love Lanyon and they waited for me. Here is to hoping Mish gets some sleep and getting Cat out of her DIY shit.
Sweet. I couldn’t help but think of Nick for reasons. Huge Lanyon fangirl and this was comforting. Thanks for waiting girls. Now I need some on page sex.
- m-m skulls-buddy-read
1,711 reviews663 followers
This was a sweet, beautifully descriptive short about a young painter, making his way in the world, who meets up with the man he idolized and secretly loved as a young teen. Though there is no sex here, there is great characterization and sexual tension. I’m definitely going to search out some of this author’s longer work.
- romance
459 reviews
Very sweet, subtle short story that left me with a smile on my face! Beautiful imagery- I almost felt like I was in Montmartre with Colin and Thomas, experiencing the sites, smelling the food. My first official m/m love story, definitely not my last and not the last I read of Josh Lanyon’s work.
- m-m
1,314 reviews270 followers
I loved this short story. very cute and sweet
2,548 reviews62 followers
A tender story of a young artist who had survived a kidnapping in his youth and the man who had saved him and protected him. Colin is living in Paris trying to make it on his own as an artist. When he was a teenager he had a crush on his bodyguard. He has had no contact with Thomas since leaving for college. They meet as adults in Paris and the chemistry is there. The Montmartre setting is the perfect background. I am a little prejudice on that as I think Paris is the perfect city and Montmartre is romantic. This is a true love story with two deserving people. The story touched my heart with it’s simple beauty.
- fav-authors grabs-my-heart romance-contempory
Author 3 books84 followers
Short set in Paris. Sweet but predictable. Well-written as always.
3.5 rounded up.
- audiobooks
877 reviews68 followers
This was cute in a classic JL way. And I really liked the premise. Finding out if bodyguard/client can maintain a relationship borne of danger after the danger is gone is really interesting.
- adult contemporary romance
Author 28 books74 followers
Overall:
A brief, sweet tale of long ago crushes returning. Colin is hiding from his grandfather when he meets his old crush Thomas. But all isn’t what it seems. It was moving and rewarding (although not hot) in a very short space.
What I liked
Emotions. While a short piece, we easily get attached to our narrator and experience his emotions.
Story. We are given plenty of back story without bogging down current events, and everything is fleshed out smoothly. We understand the characters without being told everything and our main voice has weakness while not being weak.
What didn’t work
There wasn’t anything that didn’t work, my only disappointments were the lack of a sex scene (which isn’t vital, but was kind of teasing) and I wish it were longer, which isn’t a failing, since the story is self-contained. But I did want more…I think that says good things about this short story.
- queer romance
2,328 reviews93 followers
Colin Lambert, only heir to a massive fortune, was kidnapped at age 14 and subsequently rescued by handsome F.B.I.agent, Thomas Sullivan who instantly becomes Colin’s fantasy man. Traumatized and constantly under his grandfather’s thumb, Colin rebels as soon as he is of age. Determined to put as much space between himself and his grandfather, Colin moves to Paris to study painting. Thomas appears out of the blue right infront of the now grown Colin in Paris. Was it really out of the blue or something planned? A fun, light read that leaves you wanting more.
- family-drama gay-sleuth romance
1,770 reviews173 followers
This was just ok for me. It was well written as usual by this author but a bit of the plot made me uncomfortable. Yes, nothing happened between them when Colin was a teenager (starting at age 14) but Thomas admitted he was attracted to him at age 17. There’s talk of how their «friendship» developed when Colin was between ages 14-18. It all just creeped me out. My inner mandated reporter was screaming so loudly in my head I couldn’t concentrate on the story.
- age-gap artists m-m-read
561 reviews92 followers
This is like a carefully selected piece of candy. That is, you know exactly what you’re getting from the story’s outset but that’s totally okay, because you picked because that’s what you wanted: a delicious bite of sweetness.
- contemporary lgbt may-december
280 reviews62 followers
3,5 stars.
Very interesting relationship dynamic — and as so often Lanyon describes the stomach-dropping sensation of betrayal so very well. Together with the Christmas Coda this might even be 4 stars.
- age-gap contemporary m-m
2,856 reviews202 followers
Very good short m/m romance about a young man painting in France who runs into the bodyguard who rescued him from kidnappers when he was a teen.
- 2010 done ebook
2,004 reviews5 followers
Great short story by a favorite author, for a handful of pages she packs in the potential for romance and even better a bit of angst. There isn’t much of JL’s trademark cloak and dagger for the reader, its pretty obvious for us even if its not to the MC. But neatly handled-would have liked to feel a bit more of a connection between the two but still satisfied with the story!
- mm-age-gap
721 reviews79 followers
3.5 stars. I would have loved to see a longer story, but there was enough here to let me be in on what was happening and not feeling like I walked in on the middle of something.
- 4000-books mm short-75-to-125-pages
92 reviews47 followers
This short story was oh, so romantic — and aesthetically written. It was more than just a short story, it was almost like a painting, too. And maybe like a chanson hummed by an artist while sketching in Montmartre. I truly enjoyed the multidisciplinary feel of Josh Lanyon’s writing.
I found the description of Paris very poetic and beautiful. My favorite part was this one:
The description is so lovely that I can actually see and smell and hear and feel everything in it. And the best part of it is that it’s full of hope. It also made me savor a memory of a happy day many years ago, when I was wandering in a huge flee market of Clignancourt with my husband and when we ended up in a strange (but wonderful) cafe Chez Louisette with Edith Piaf chansons. That’s the wonderful thing about cities like Paris — you never know what kind of surprise is waiting for you around the corner. And that’s why Paris was a perfect choice for the setting of this story of two men getting a second chance! And I actually felt like the city was the third main character.
- josh-lanyon m-m short-story
2,967 reviews171 followers
3.5 stars.
Last month, when I bought Heart Trouble, I also bought a number of other novels and short stories by Josh Lanyon (Twitter is my book enabler). This is a sweet short about an American guy in Paris, there to pursue his painting career and get out from the watchful eye of his wealthy grandfather. When he was 14, Colin was kidnapped and Thomas was the bodyguard who rescued him and then make sure of his safety until Colin went off to college. Colin thinks of Thomas as his first love but realises that part of that was youthful infatuation and the unique circumstances which made Thomas very much a hero to Colin. When Thomas turns up in Paris, 10 years have passed and Colin has grown up. They connect and there is the very beginning of a relationship. I would have liked maybe another couple pages to get a better handle on their potential future (because I’m not a fan of ambiguity) and I could easily have read more than that, but it was an enjoyable story and perfect for a night when I didn’t have a lot of time to read.
- contemporary ebook queer
677 reviews
3.5 stars
A Lovely reunion in Paris, Colin and Thomas meeting up again after 10 years, finally there chance at happiness is realised. Sweet and romantic and Paris is the perfect setting for this tender romance.
- lovely short-read sweet
The French have a word for it
When English is short of a word it often takes one from a foreign language
Over the centuries the English language has assimilated phrases and words from other languages.
Here are some examples.
A cappella, Italian, sung without instrumental accompaniment (literally “in chapel style”)
Ad hoc, Latin, made or done for a particular purpose (lit. “to this”)
Agent provocateur, French, a person who tempts a suspected criminal to commit a crime so that they can be caught and convicted (lit. “provocative agent”)
Al dente, Italian, (of food) cooked so as to be still firm when bitten (lit. “to the tooth”)
Alfresco, Italian, in the open air (lit. “in the fresh”)
Bête noire, French, a person or thing one particularly dislikes (lit. “black beast”)
Blitzkrieg, German, an intense, violent military campaign intended to bring about a swift victory (lit. “lightning war”)
Carte blanche, French, complete freedom to act as one wishes (lit. “blank paper”)
Caveat emptor, Latin, the buyer is responsible for checking the quality of goods before purchasing them (lit. “let the buyer beware”)
C’est la guerre, French, used as an expression of resigned acceptance (lit. “that’s war”)
Chacun à son goût, French, everyone to their own taste
Chef-d’oeuvre, French, a masterpiece (lit. “chief work”)
Coup de foudre, French, love at first sight (lit. “stroke of lightning”)
De facto, Latin, in fact, whether by right or not
Déjà vu, French, the sense of having experienced the present situation before (lit. “already seen”)
Dernier cri, French, the very latest fashion (lit. “the last cry”)
Deus ex machina, Latin, an unexpected event that saves an apparently hopeless situation (lit. “god from the machinery”)
Dolce far niente, Italian, pleasant idleness (lit. “sweet doing nothing”)
Doppelgänger, German, an apparition or double of a living person (lit. a “double-goer”)
Double entendre, French, a word or phrase with two possible interpretations (from obsolete French, “double understanding”)
Eminence grise, French, a person who has power or influence without holding an official position (lit. “grey eminence”)
Enfant terrible, French, a person whose behaviour is unconventional or controversial (lit. “terrible child”)
Esprit de corps, French, a feeling of pride and loyalty uniting the members of a group (lit. “spirit of body”)
Fait accompli, French, a thing that has been done or decided and cannot now be altered (lit. “accomplished fact”)
Femme fatale, French, a seductive woman (lit. “disastrous woman”)
Haute couture, French, designing and making of clothes by fashion houses (lit.“high dressmaking”)
In camera, Latin, in private (lit. “in the chamber”)
In loco parentis, Latin, in the place of a parent
Inter alia, Latin, among other things
Jeunesse dorée, French, wealthy, fashionable young people (lit. “gilded youth”)
Katzenjammer, German, a hangover or severe headache accompanying a hangover (lit. “cats’ wailing”)
Laissez-faire, French, a non-interventionist policy (lit. “allow to do”)
Magnum opus, Latin, the most important work of an artist, writer etc (lit. “great work”)
Manqué, French, having failed to become what one might have been (lit. from manquer “to lack”)
Memento mori, Latin, something kept as a reminder that death is inevitable (lit. “remember (that you have) to die”)
Ménage à trois, French, an arrangement in which a married couple and the lover of one of them live together (lit. “way of living”)
Mot juste, French, the most appropriate word or expression
Ne plus ultra, Latin, the best example of something (lit. “not further beyond”)
Non sequitur, Latin, a conclusion or statement that does not logically follow from the previous statement (lit. “it does not follow”)
Nouveau riche, French, people who have recently become rich and who display their wealth ostentatiously (lit. “new rich”)
Papabile, Italian, worthy or eligible to be elected pope
Pied-à-terre, French, a small flat or house kept for occasional use (lit. “foot to earth”)
Prima facie, Latin, accepted as so until proved otherwise (lit. “at first face”)
Quid pro quo, Latin, a favour or advantage given in return for something (lit. “something for something”)
Raison d’être, French, the most important reason for someone or something’s existence (lit. “reason for being”)
Reductio ad absurdam, Latin, a method of disproving a premise by showing that its logical conclusion is absurd (lit. “reduction to the absurd”)
Sangfroid, French, the ability to stay calm in difficult circumstances (lit. “cold blood”)
Soi-disant, French, self-styled; so-called (lit. “self-saying”)
Sui generis, Latin, unique (lit. “of its own kind”)
Tant mieux, French, so much the better
Tête-à-tête, French, a private conversation (“head to head”)
Vox populi, Latin, public opinion (lit. “the voice of the people”)
Zeitgeist, German, the characteristic spirit or mood of a particular historical period (lit. “time spirit”)
— © Oxford University Press 2007
Extracted from The Oxford Dictionary and Thesaurus (ed. Maurice Waite, 2007)Buy the Oxford Dictionary and Thesaurus (RRP £30) for the offer price of £25.50 (inc p&p) from BooksFirst on 0870 1608080 or timesonline.co.uk/booksfirst
To correct the correctors:
-«reductio» is a feminine noun, hence «absurdam» is correct. -«ne plus ultra» is correct. -«soi-disant» is correct. «Soit» is subjunctive imperative — «let it be». «Soi» is a reflexive pronoun — hence «self saying.»
Joy Sword, Cambridge,
Please note that if you tell an italian that he should be ‘Al Fresco’, he understands that he should be in jail. That universally the italian understanding of the phrase which only literally means at the open air. Moreover we normally put ‘Al fresco’ a good bottle of wine before drinking it (i.e. in the refrigerator).
Gino, Milano, Italia
Merci, Pierre!
P, Chevy Chase, MD
It’s «soit disant» not «soi-disant»; it means pretending or so-called.
Joe Kindy, New York, USA
Ne plus ultra, Latin, the best example of something (lit. “not further beyondâ€) Is it not «Nec plus ultra»? perhaps a typo? But then, que sais-je?
Anne, Montreal, Quebec
Children here in the USA have their own native expression for the principle of caveat emptor- «no backsies»
James Polichak, Chicago, IL
A newspaper, or a snooze-paper? I hardly think copying slabs out of a grammar textbook qualifies for breakfast table reading.
John Ledbury, Kings Lynn, England
Those literary translations are absolutely preposterous (most of the time you cannot translate expressions literally in this way). And when they’re not preposterous, they’re wrong: since when does ‘Ménage à trois’ mean ‘way of living’, literally or not?
Bela, London, UK
You are wrong with the meaning of Katzenjammer. It is not a hangover; that’s a «Kater» (=tom-cat). Katzenjammer describes a situation when there is lots of moaning about predictable negative results of your actions.
Hans Benzinger, Vienna, Austria
So does English! Most of these expressions have their exact English equivalents and anyone using the foreign terms apart from lawyers who sometimes have to, must be mealy-mouthed prats trying to impress. I should know because I have to translate a lot of them from German and French on a regular for a living.
Brompeter, Fulton,
Ménage à trois is a triple or threefold household. It does not imply necessarily a married couple, nor does it translate literally as “way of living†but as «household of three».
Pierre Jelenc, New York City,
Carte blanche, French, = blank (playing) card M鮡ge à trois, French, = household of three
Ben JW Berg, Blue, Texas
It is «reductio ad absurdum,» not «… absurdam.»
John, Mississauga, Ontario, Canada
They forgot to add «Schadenfreude» — one of the best words ever borrowed from German into English…
MB, Edinburgh,
How about «concubinage»? French for cohabitation of a man or woman without legal or formal marriage.
Anne Riana, Singapore,
Ménage à trois: literally, this means «a three-person household», not «way of living» as indicated above.
Paris Observer, Paris,
“Colin?”
Something about the deep voice was familiar. Colin Lambert looked up from his sketch pad, squinting at the tall silhouette blocking the blanched Parisian sun. It was a golden autumn afternoon and the last of the tourists were crowding the cafés and narrow streets of the “village” of Montmartre. The background babble of French voices, the comfortable scents of warm stone and auto exhaust and Gauloises and something good cooking–always something good cooking in Paris–and the old world colors: the reds of street signs and awnings and the greens of ivy and window shutters and the yellow of the turning leaves and fruit in the grocer stands — all of it faded away as Colin gazed up, frowning a little.
“It is Colin, isn’t it?”
Gradually the black bulk resolved itself into broad shoulders, lean hips, black hair and gray eyes. Colin blinked but the mirage didn’t vanish, in fact it smiled–an easy, rueful flash of white. “You probably don’t remember me.”
“Thomas?”
Not remember Thomas Sullivan? Did anyone forget their first love?
Colin was on his feet, sketch pad tossed away, chair scraping back on cement. He moved to hug Thomas and Thomas grabbed him back in a rough, brief hug, laughing. They were both laughing–and then self–consciousness kicked in. Colin recalled that he wasn’t seventeen anymore, and that Thomas wasn’t–
And never had been.
He stepped back, Thomas let him go, saying, “I can’t believe how long it’s been. You look…” Words seemed to fail him.
Colin knew how he looked. He looked grown up. Ten years was pretty much a lifetime in puppy years, and he had been such a puppy back when Thomas knew him.
Knew him? Back when Thomas had been his bodyguard.
“How are you? Are things going right for you?” There it was: The Look. That keen, searching gaze–wow, Thomas’s eyes really were gray. Not just something Colin had imagined or remembered incorrectly.
Gray eyes. Like cobbled streets after rain or smoke or November skies.
And Thomas’s smile conveyed a certain, er, je ne sais quoi as they said over here. A friendly understanding. Like Thomas had been there, done that, and made no judgments–but nothing surprised him anymore either. It was almost weird how little he’d changed. A few faint lines around his eyes, a little touch of silver at his temple. What was he now? Forty–something?
Every woman in the café was looking at him. A lot of les hommes as well.
“I’m good. I’m great,” Colin answered.
“Yeah?”
And Thomas was still studying him. Measuring the boy against the man? Or just wondering about what scars the bad times had left?
Colin said firmly, “Yeah. I’m here painting.”
“Painting?” Thomas looked down at the sketch pad as though he’d only noticed it.
“Well, sketching just now, but yeah. I’m painting. What are you doing here?”
“You’re a student?”
“No. I’m a… doing this.” He nodded at the sketch pad, then reached down to flap the cover over the rough sketch of a steep flight of steps. It still sounded so… not exactly pretentious–or not only pretentious–but unlucky to say I’m a painter.
Thomas’s smile widened. “Good for you. And you’re making a living at it? At your painting?”
“Er… define making a living.” Colin laughed, and Thomas laughed too, but his gaze continued to assess and evaluate. Well, old habits probably died hard. Especially for a guy in Thomas’s line of work.
“What are you doing in Paris?” Colin asked again.
“The usual. A job.”
Well, whoever the client was, they were lucky to have Thomas on their side. Still, Colin preferred not to think about Thomas’s job–preferred not to remember that time in his own life. “How long are you here for?”
“Tonight. Just tonight.”
Colin was aware of an unexpectedly sharp jab of disappointment. “Oh. Right.”
They continued to stare at each other and then Thomas looked around at the small, crowded tables. “Do you have time for a quick drink?”
“I’d like that, yes.”
They had wine, of course. Beaujolais Nouveau. The waitress brought it out, chilled, with two fluted glasses, perfumed aromas of plums and blackberries wafting into the bright cold autumn air. And for the space of a glass of wine, they could have been alone in the world.