L'école et ses mots: c'était comment avant les déconfinements? Assorti d'un cortège de citations par Jean Pruvost

Abstract

Reviewed by: L'école et ses mots: c'était comment avant les déconfinements? Assorti d'un cortège de citations par Jean Pruvost H. Jay Siskin Pruvost, Jean. L'école et ses mots: c'était comment avant les déconfinements? Assorti d'un cortège de citations. Champion, 2021. ISBN 978-2-38096-020-4. Pp. 325. My first observation begins with the title. What exactly is the author's project? What is a cortège de citations? What is its purpose? Pruvost's copious output in his diverse endeavors as an historical linguist, lexicographer, editor, columnist, and broadcaster leave little doubt as to his focus. This is a dictionary of terms grouped by semantic field relating to people, common nouns, and adjectives relating to scholastic terms. But it is far more. Although the terms Pruvost critically examines do contain definitions, they are elaborated by etymologies and examples of historical usage. Pruvost is winking as he presents the overly serious scholarly apparatus that accompanies the traditional dictionary entry. They become part of an etymological narrative that is characterized by wit and insight. After his announcement of semantically related terms (e.g., trousse, plumier; examen, brevet, baccalauréat), he sets into motion his cortège de citations. These begin with a réflexionnaire, a portmanteau of réflexion and dictionnaire, containing quotations from hundreds of literary, audio, and internet sources. In a self-reflexive move, I examine in more detail the entry Professeur(-e). Two examples from the réflexionnaire: Daniel Pennac, in his 2007 work entitled Chagrin d'école, writes: Il suffit d'un professeur—un seul—pour nous sauver de nous-même [sic] et nous faire oublier tous les autres. A more mature Pennac observes in his Comme un roman (1992): Très vite un professeur devient un vieux professeur. Pruvost's subsequent analysis of the etymology and usage of professeur(e) expands on the rubric: He performs his etymological "magic" in connecting professeur with fable. But sadism? What? In the form professeuse, we may remove the first syllable and play with the sequence fesseuse, "spanker." A brief internet search will confirm a strong association with sadistic practices. Who knew? This clichéd question introduces my highest praise for this book. With erudition and humor, Pruvost seduces—and surprises—the reader. My concern is always classroom applications of the books I review. In this case, I would focus on his réflexionnaire. These quotations, considered independently or juxtaposed with the remaining sampling, are poised for critical thinking activities. Examples: What does it mean to be a vieux professeur? Is it a question of age or experience? If it is the latter, what factors would account for such a (self-)designation? Have you experienced un vieux professeur in your estimation? In what way was he old? Pruvost often ends his entries with a playful synthesis of the themes and lexical items that appear in his text. A teacher of Roland Barthes had a pathological need for noisy outpourings from his students. Having caught on to this obsession, from time to time the students sadistically denied him this "pleasure." Ending on a positive note, Pruvost hopes that in this difficult time for teachers, students will all become [End Page 176] sadists. However, teachers are not his only audience. Anyone who has a deep curiosity regarding the ever-evolving state of the French language will find both scholarly and entertaining responses in their endeavor. [End Page 177] H. Jay Siskin University of California, Santa Cruz Copyright © 2023 American Association of Teachers of French