Hotel Pastis written by Peter Mayle

Hotel Pastis is a charming, nonchalant read perfect for the early summer when one sits down with a book in hand in the "not-yet-hot-enough-heat," pretending that it is indeed hot enough for a mojito. While sipping on that mild drink, one dreams of the upcoming summer and its false promises. That's when you should read Hotel Pastis. No other times would deliver this book's optimistic flavour, sweet sultry French sensations, encouraging images of Provence, and a worthwhile feeling of accomplishment. I doubt that this book could have its impact when read during the winter; it'd probably leave a sour sappiness instead combined with an reaffirmed distaste for easy fiction reads.

Another thumbs up aspect is the character's background as a middle-aged, advertising executive from Britain who is basically on the top of the industry. He chucks it all in an unreasonable fashion to build a small hotel in Provence after meeting an fetching French lady. Kind of parallels Mayle's life as he was a successful figure in ad industry until he had had enough and quit to write full-time. There are some parts of the book where the ad industry is accurately portrayed in a satirical ways, and such parts had triggered me to make a mental note to go job hunting the next day.

The Condom Marketing Board, or the Rubber Barons, as they were unofficially known in the agency, had asked to see presentations for their five million-pound account. Simon knew that two other agencies were pitching, and he wanted the business. Although the billing wasn’t enormous, it would be worth having for the creative opportunities it offered. Sex and social responsibility—a copywriter’s dream assignment—could be the basis for some showy, provocative work that would be in dramatic contrast to the package-goods advertising that the agency produced for its major clients. And the City would be pleased to see another few million on the turnover. It would be, as Jordan had been heard to say, a rubber feather in the agency’s cap. 

Simon looked through the documents that would be incorporated into a single glossy volume for Thursday’s meeting, the paper crutch carefully designed to support the campaign idea, proof that the agency had done its homework. He weighed the inch-think pile in his hands, sighed, and forced himself to concentrate. 

The days leading up to the presentation passed in a series of skirmishes between the various departments of the agency. The research people accused the creative people of ignoring their findings. The creative people sulked and complained about lack of time. The media people complained about lack of sufficient money for a national campaign. The executives complained about everybody else’s unreasonable and childish behaviour. The agency bitched and snarled its way towards Thursday, working late and muttering about pressure and brutal hours. It was always the same, Simon thought. Give them three days or six months, it didn’t matter. Panic was part of the game.  - p. 78-79

The dialogues are hilarious and the situations well-described. The luxurious lifestyles of a head ad executive (spending other people's money and charging unnecessarily huge amounts to the clients) is gratifyingly portrayed. #GoodEntertainment #LOLMomentsEveryPage

“Except make money?”

“Exactly. And so you buy a new car or a new house and tell yourself that living well is the best revenge—it’s like a consolation prize for being bored and having to work during weekends and not liking what you do very much.” Simon drew on his cigar and frowned. “I don’t make it sound very attractive, do I? The poor old advertising man, suffering in luxury, dragging himself from the Concorde to the Mercedes to the restaurant.” He smiled. “Breaks your hear, doesn’t it?” - p. 115

“Something tells me it will be easier than you think. You know in the self-supporting suits.” Simon nodded. Jordan would be delighted. “They’ll all move up one. Isn’t that what they want? There may be a few crocodile tears, and then they’ll start arguing about who gets your cars. You mark my words.” 

Ernest sniffed and returned to his Filofax, and Simon spent the rest of the flight considering the strategy for his departure from the agency. He was under no illusions; once he’d gone, every penny due to him would be resented and disputed. He’d be a nonproductive drain on resources, and he’d heard a dozen stories about the legal acrobatics performed by agencies in order to minimize payments to departed directors. Also, he was committing the cardinal sin in advertising of willingly leaving the business, which was something you were supposed to talk about rather than do. - p. 177

And Peter Mayle, being smart, adds on a second storyline which ultimately becomes connected with the main romantic story. This one's more of a thriller as it is about a group of ex-criminals who plan to rob a bank at a nearby village to where the hotel is.  So the reader is never bored. Once you feel tired of reading about the annoying first-world satirical comments originating from the goddamn posh lifestyle of the rich, you are presented with a fresh set of characters and speech of the cunning criminals of Provence. You can hear the French from the dialogues, the heat from the Provence scenery illustrations, and as the book ends, you will be sad that you were not a living part of this fictional and comical world of adventure, romance, and... essentially paradise. No wonder Van Gogh had stayed years in Provence, praising it and declaring how new colours can be discovered in this beautiful region.





One day, I will be in Provence, too. Savouring the wine, basking in the heat, and just trying really hard to make sense of olive trees.