Floc’h’s love of Edinburgh is less bruised. A few years ago, Louis Vuitton offered Floc’h to illustrate the luxury brand’s own guide to the Scottish capital, one of several editions in an exclusive series of guidebooks. In addition to a generous fee Floc’h would be accommodated in the five-star Balmoral Hotel and let to roam freely around the city for three weeks.
“No thanks, I’m not a tourist guide”, Floc’h replied – to the publisher’s surprise and his wife’s despair: you must be completely daft, you love Edinburgh and Scotland!
Floc’h called back to Louis Vuitton and resumed negotiations. “Okay, I can take on the assignment if I also get to write the book. There must be words in the book, otherwise it will be just a flip chart. And besides, I also want my daughter with me.”
Louis Vuitton chose to accept Floc’h’s conditions. The result is a charming combination of travelogue and textbook, in which the author takes his daughter on a journey through Scottish history, from Viking times to the present day. Nothing is made up, everything is true. Floc’h himself plays the main character as in most of his books and illustrations. For it is his job to be Floc’h and reality is always more interesting than imagination. And people with imagination are boring.
Floc’h is chock-full of such statements. After a day in his company, ones notebook is full of drastic one-liners:
Whisky is for fat people who have too much time.
If you have a good eye your hearing is often bad.
My great artistic expectations go perfectly well with my laziness.
To be excited is ridiculous.
Money is a boring subject.
And the favorite theme par excellence:
Hollywood was fantastic as long as its directors were from Europe. Then came Steven Spielberg …
After a number of scattered hints and references, it becomes obvious that Floc’h loves to use Spielberg as analogy for everything that is bad, trite, uninteresting and stupid in contemporary culture. He goes into a lengthy lecture on director John Ford and his horizon line as the sign of a great artist – which Spielberg would never comprehend. But, Floc’h admits, it is also about the sheer pleasure of saying bad things about Spielberg.