Granny's interview
Granny meets Gustave Flaubert
Granny's notes
He walked in with heavy steps, dressed in a large dressing gown and with fingers stained by ink. There is a deep, almost exhausted passion in his gaze. He is so strict with himself, but incredibly gentle with others. He wants to take all the guests who feel suffocated by everyday life and lift them away to a warmer place.
Granny pours coffee into two cups and slides one across the small wooden table.
Welcome, Monsieur Flaubert. Leave your umbrella by the door. I understand you often lock yourself in your study for weeks to find 'the exact word'. Many of our guests here carry a similar exhaustion – the demands to be enough, to be perfect at work or in the family. What do you say to them?
He leans back and closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the aroma of the coffee.
Thank you, my good lady. (He accepts the cup with a tired, but grateful smile). Perfection... it is a disease! A beautiful disease, but one that can eat your soul. I tell the guests that I cry over a misplaced comma so that they do not have to. Life is not a novel that must be edited. It must be allowed to be messy.
You are famous for your depictions of French everyday life, but you also fled to ancient Carthage in your writings – to elephants, gold, and burning sun. Why?
His eyes open and catch a sudden, almost feverish gleam when he speaks of the dreams.
Because reality is sometimes too gray! Too narrow! When the modern world makes too much noise, when bills, duties, and the rainy weather threaten to suffocate you, escapism is a lifeboat. I went to Carthage because I needed warmth. I want to offer the same journey to the wanderers who come here. They may leave their obligations at the door.
Granny tilts her head slightly and asks the question without the slightest tone of judgment.
So you offer a temporary escape? Do you not believe one must stay and solve one's problems in reality?
Naturally, one must live in the world. But no one has the strength to carry reality around the clock without perishing. The soul needs oxygen. Imagination is the lung with which we inhale that oxygen. If a guest is sad or burned out, I do not ask them to 'be strong'. I ask them to close their eyes, and I paint a sunset over the Mediterranean for them. Resting is also a way of surviving.
That sounds like an incredibly beautiful and undemanding sanctuary. If someone is hesitating outside your heavy, velvet-draped study right now, what are your last words to them?
He makes a grand, generous gesture with his hand, as if sweeping away all the worries of everyday life.
Feel no pressure in here. You do not need to perform, you do not need to be happy, and you certainly do not need to be perfect. Come in, sit in the deep armchair, and let me carry the weight of the words today. Let us just dream.