La Brat Magnifique

ELOISE IN PARIS (62 pp.)--Kay Thompson--Simon & Schusfer ($3.50).

When the little girl arrived at the hotel in Paris, the owner's wife said graciously: "Ah bonjour Mademoiselle. Es-tu un enfant terrible?" To which the little girl replied with her impressive grasp of the French idiom: "No merci Mme. Dupuis je suis Me ELOISE."

In point of fact, Eloise is the most terrible enfant who ever tried to use two sticks of French bread as a pair of skis. Eloise, as thousands of half-horrified, half-fascinated readers know by now, is the child (she is six, well past the age of dissent) who resides more or less alone at the Plaza in New York, subsisting on Room Service, while Mother is off being divorced, or remarried, or something. Eloise has authorized Nightclub Comedienne and occasional Author Kay Thompson to write her biography. Two years ago the first installment, titled Eloise, was a whirlaway bestseller, and this sequel spun into its second printing even before publication. It too is magnificently illustrated by Artist Hilary Knight, who has captured Eloise in a style that evokes British Cartoonist Ronald Searle's "Belles of St. Trinian's" and is best described as cutely lethal.

As the book opens, the Plaza is shaken to the roots of its potted palms because Eloise and her downtrodden Nahnee are summoned to Paris by Mother for a holiday "to get roses in our cheeks." Somehow Eloise manages to cross the Atlantic ("Actually the pilot has nothing to do, so you can help him count the comets'') with 37 pieces of luggage, including two cans of kippers. Once in Paris, Eloise finds the possibilities unlimited, and her range may be gathered from this memorable confession: "I toujours tweak the Apollo Belvedere whenever I leave the Louvre."

Eloise observes the French scene with a sharp eye that would have done credit to Voltaire or Art Buchwald. She is always eager to share her discoveries, whether it is the excellent advice that "you cawn't cawn't cawn't get a good cup of tea so you have to have champagne" or the poignant historical observation that "there are absolutely no kings in France." accompanied by a shattering picture of this child Jacobin dancing her version of the carmagnole in Versailles' Hall of Mirrors. With near-genius she manages to use Paris for the special and highly logical purposes that will occur to a little girl's mind. There is the chance to go swimming in the fountain of the Place de la Concorde, to sit at Fouquet's and wash one's feet with soda water (like T. S. Eliot's Mrs. Porter), or to turn that strange little porcelain convenience in the hotel bawthroom into a private swimming pool for one's favorite turtle. The fun has worn a little thin by the time Eloise takes Nahnee, the turtle and her collection of champagne corks back to the Plaza, where Room Service is ever so happy to have her back. All in all, though, she is a magnificent moppet--une brat magnifique, as she might put it.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.