‘Nathalie has never been just one person. No woman has ever been just one person. It’s you men who have only one personality.’ Near the beginning of the book this sets the tone of The Plane Trees; light-hearted and witty but with a base of thoughtfulness underlying it.


It’s a classically simple piece; a man and a woman are driving from Paris down to the South of France, along roads lined with glorious plane trees, hence the title, but it soon becomes clear the man doesn’t give a fig for his lady companion, preoccupied instead by the lost love of another woman while the woman who is with him is only a second string. She, nevertheless, rattles away trying to convince him that his true happiness awaits nearby if he would only etc. etc., as is the way in unequal loves.


Within this bare structure, a simple scenario of a journey and an uneasy couple Lange gives us, with an exceptionally airy touch, the pure spirit of French New Wave and Pop Existentialism. In an entertaining sustained dialogue that ever so lightly discusses the pains and paradoxes of love there is also a picture of the beauty of France, in its villages, freshly-picked cherries, wines and plane trees, making one think of that situation where one would be just so happy sharing the beauty of the world if only the one beside you was the one you loved.

‘—I don’t want to love you, said Claudia.

— I lose my tail-feathers and my reason. I never wanted to love you. I’ve done everything to stop myself loving you. And one evening it struck me like lightning. I never really saw you before that, and I was free. I was happy. I mean, I don’t know if I was happy, but I lived quietly with my little problems.

— What evening? Asked Diego.

— One evening, it wasn’t unusual in any way, in a little café near Vincennes. Nathalie was there and the Villons. The children were playing with a money-box. I knew that Jeanne Villon was in love with you. Nathalie was talking about the theatre with Jean Villon. You were listening to them absentmindedly, lost in yourself. You were drinking a glass of wine and you looked very depressed. And at that moment I said to myself: I love him. I’ve never loved anyone but him. And I said to myself: It’s twelve-twenty-five. If he looks at me before half past twelve he’ll love me too. And you did look at me.

— I didn’t notice you, said Diego.

— It doesn’t make any difference. You looked at me. You smiled at me and you seemed to understand me completely.

— There was nothing to understand.

— For months afterwards, because of that look, I never felt alone anywhere.

— It’s like a Spanish inn, said Diego. — You bring your own food.’ p45-46