In steamy erotic thriller X in Provence, author Tani Ruiz exposes a dark sexual underbelly of one of France’s most scenic locations, as seen through the eyes of a woman whose ideal man turns out to be a raging narcissist. We spoke to Tani to find out more.
Q. As a former journalist, you researched your novel’s exposé of a steamy sexual underbelly of Provence. In short, what did you find out about the other, unreported side of this scenic French paradise?
A. The sex-sodden underbelly that I describe in the book has two aspects to it. First, I found that there’s a whole infrastructure catering to the erotic, sensual and sexual, venues such as partner-swapping clubs (clubs échangistes), mixed saunas and nude beaches scattered along the coastline. Such places are not unique to Provence, of course; sex clubs and taboo-free saunas are probably fixtures of most urban areas in France and I’m surmising they would not come as a surprise – let alone a shock – to the locals. From what I saw and learned, there seemed to be a casualness about going to a swingers’ club, hanging out at a steamy sauna or holding sexual “soireées” with invitees at home, at least among a certain swathe of people.
This sex-as-a hobby side of Provence hasn’t, to my knowledge, been spotlighted, and in that sense, remains rather ‘hidden’. We’re used to hearing superlatives about “la dolce vita” – the sweet, almost innocent aspects of the good life in this slice of southern France – but there’s nothing innocent about the array of X-rated activities that, I must admit, I witnessed with my own eyes in Provence.
The other phenomenon that I gleaned and glimpsed for myself was the juxtaposition of the beauty of Provence with a certain banality in the conversations – in certain circles. Perhaps this is a common feature of many rural communities, where the discussion centres on local gossip. In the context of Provence, I found that sex was a key subject among friends at the dinner table and other gatherings, along with food, wine and fetes. The chitchat about sex was often accompanied by covert and not-so-covert looks, innuendos, flagrant flirting and an air of sexual intrigue and acting out – including in plain sight and hearing of wronged partners and those at risk of being cuckolded. The dramas divulged seemed to be spicier than the soap operas on television! Bear in mind that X in Provence is a snapshot of a very particular time (the 1990s), so I make no claims as to how things stand in present-day Provence.
Q. At the heart of X in Provence is the female protagonist Rai’s descent into a relationship with an ideal man who turns out to be a classic narcissistic. As a woman author, why did you think it important to explore this theme?
A. I think many women have travelled this path – or a version of it. One crucial point I wanted to get across as a woman author is that making bad decisions about partners – falling into destructive relationships – is non-discriminatory. It doesn’t matter how intelligent you are, how many degrees you hold, how high highly educated and worldly or well-off you are. All of us are prone to being blind-sided, of pairing up with the wrong person, no matter what our backgrounds are or where we hail from. In the book, the protagonist is highly educated and cosmopolitan. She has a great career. And yet she falls into a relationship with a man who turns out to be the opposite of what she imagined. Should she have known better? In her case, the sting of loneliness, the power of lust, the longing for love, a deep emptiness, and the fear of ending up alone were the push factors. Low self-esteem tends to be a great leveller. I wanted to drive home that we’re all vulnerable to taking wrong turns regarding relationships because of how we are configured emotionally and how we feel about ourselves, notwithstanding the potency of sexual chemistry to pull the wool over our eyes.
Q. In the novel, Rai moves continents to start a new life with Alain, with disastrous consequences. As an author, what would your advice to Rai have been? Should she have followed her head or heart?
A. On balance, I would’ve counselled Rai to follow her heart, knowing the pain that awaited her. The risk was, if she had been pragmatic and stayed put, she might always have regretted her decision not to move to France. But more importantly, she had to make this mistake and learn the hard way in order to evolve and grow her consciousness. We humans are constantly making mistakes, large and small, and some with deleterious consequences. It can be wretched to go through but we learn through our errors, even if we have to repeat them in order to make change and finally wake up. I would have told Rai to choose her heart because that was how she was attuned, even or perhaps especially because she was living in a city where career and money-making tended to be ranked as more important in life than love. Also, I think it’s harder to blame yourself if things go wrong when you’ve followed your heart rather than your head, but that’s just my opinion. The question she might have asked herself at the outset is this: Is my heart being duped?
Q. Based on your research into narcissistic relationships for X in Provence, which involved interviewing women who had been involved with narcissistic partners, what do you think women need to understand should they find themselves in such a relationship?
A. It’s important that women understand the mechanisms of power wielded by narcissists and other men (and women!) with traits deemed toxic. We should be aware that such people tend to be master manipulators and home in on their partner’s weaknesses in order to erode and destroy their sense of self-worth. This pummelling of the other’s weak spots for the greatest destructive impact is a pernicious vicious circle. The more the narcissist berates us and bashes our self-esteem, the worse we feel about ourselves, and the more we need the narcissist’s approval. We’ll then seek ways to win that approval, confirming to the narcissist how weak and pathetic we are – validating their worst impulses. Women who have been involved with narcissists often describe how strong, assertive and confident they were at the outset of the relationship. Their ‘fault’ was to be seduced by a charmer who came across as caring, attentive and understanding. But how quickly their confidence drained away once the insidious manoeuvres began. The narcissist is always right and they are wrong – everything is always the woman’s fault. Truth is turned on its head.
Thus women should understand that 1) their weak points (such as low self-esteem) are a narcissist’s first line of attack, and 2) their sense of self-worth is hinged on a sliding scale, in reverse proportion to the narcissist’s sense of power. Often without realising it, women succumb, turning submissive where before they would have stood their ground. Women should understand that the ultimate consequence of this cycle is self-hate and self-loathing, where anger is turned inwards instead of directed outwards at the appropriate target. The silver lining, if you can call it that, is that hitting rock bottom can be the catalyst for true healing where the focus is on why we have given away our power. It can be the point at which women assume responsibility for their behaviour rather than focusing on the awfulness of the narcissist. Gently, lovingly, we must hold the mirror to ourselves.
Q. How does Rai’s low self-esteem play into the situation she finds herself in?
A. Rai has placed herself in a very vulnerable situation – risky for someone lacking a solid, confident foundation. Having abandoned her career and moved continents, she has to mould herself to Alain’s way of life and adapt to a completely new culture and language. She was able to mask her fragile self-esteem in an environment where she thrived professionally and where she was the decision-maker, but once she moves to Provence, the fact of finding herself out of her depth, linguistically speaking, and a newbie to rural living where her skill sets count for nothing, her self-esteem takes a further hit. When Alain’s true nature is revealed, she is a sitting duck for the ensuing abuse and master machinations that take place in his territory. Her trajectory is straight from the narcissist’s playbook where she becomes mired in self-hate and relentlessly self-flagellates.
Q. What is your own view on Rai’s sexual experimentation, such as venturing to a sex club, urged on by Alain?
A. I support free self-expression, and that includes sexual expression, as long as it is between two fully consenting adults. In that case, anything goes is my motto, whether it’s partner swapping clubs, nudist, sex-in-the-open beaches, threesomes or whatever combination takes your fancy. In theory, Rai’s sexual experimentation can be seen as part of her ‘adapting’ to a new culture and expanding her sexual horizons. Alain is introducing her to a whole new world; how exciting! And she does find titillation and pleasure in the unbridled sexuality that she sees and throws herself into, her libido able to express itself fully. But it’s yin and yang. At the deepest levels there is unease. Rai feels pressured into going along with the program for the wrong reasons, from a place of insecurity – the feeling that she is not good enough or just not enough for Alain, which is why he needs the outside sexual stimulation. Thus, I view her sexual experimentation not as a healthy phenomenon but as a form of coercion. The fact that Rai is afraid to communicate her insecurities to Alain is a testament to her low self-worth.
Q. Like Rai, you have done a fair bit of continent-hopping across your career. What have you found to be the most challenging part of adapting to a new culture and language?
A. Arriving in a new place, particularly a new continent, without knowing anyone or being part of a community – in other words completely “cold” – is a huge challenge, exacerbating culture shock. In this sense, relocating because of a new job where there is an office and a ready-made social life is much easier than moving as an operating-from-home freelancer or because you seek adventure. Of course, I’ve had a more intense chemistry with some places than others. For example, I feel much more at home in the tropics than in colder climes and thus when I moved from northern Europe to Thailand, for example, I had a much easier time than when I moved in the opposite direction, notwithstanding the vastly different cultural landscape in this Asian country, which I loved.
A new language is a barrier and becomes more challenging with age. Not insignificantly, unless you launch yourself completely into language learning, you tend to move in foreigner circles. I’ve found I have often been able to get by with English or French, which is not a motivational factor when it comes to putting time and effort into being taught a new tongue. There’s a great dividend for diligence: more intimate social interactions and friendships with locals and a better appreciation of the culture.
A. What was the most satisfying part of writing X in Provence, your debut novel, and the most challenging?
A. The most satisfying aspect was the passion and energy I felt writing the book. I didn’t count the hours I spent at the computer and sometimes had to be dragged away! The most challenging part? I discovered that after years of reporting facts, focusing on specific themes and describing particular contexts, I was stilted when it came to unplugging my imagination. I had to add adjectives! I had to create dialogue! I had to imbue settings with an ambiance! This was all new territory for me because as a news reporter I was trained to get rid of the extraneous and concentrate purely on events, actions, analysis and ensuring the accuracy of quotes. Words needed to convey information – they were the planks of an information conveyor belt. Descriptive language – let alone feelings – had no place in reportage. It was a sharp learning curve, finally leading to the understanding that I had to separate the journalist me from the storyteller me.
Q. What do you hope readers gain most from reading it?
A. First, I hope they find the book an engrossing and richly provocative read. I would hope that readers learn something new about Provence (the X-rated Provence?) and that they gain some insights into the sheer craziness of destructive love, how unforgivingly it can imprison, and how intelligence and education count for nothing in this matrix. I think this is an important takeaway, particularly for readers who have never experienced a harmful or unhealthy relationship and may question why on earth a person would stay with a narcissist and tolerate abuse. To these souls, it may seem unimaginable.
I would like to think that these pages will lead to personal reflections about the reader’s own life and relationships in positive ways – maybe greater appreciation for all that is good in their world or greater discernment of what needs to change. Finally, I hope there’s the feel-good gain: we can survive the most sombre of days and breathe lightly again.
Q. What should readers expect from you next?
A. I have various projects in mind. First, I’m thinking of writing about the journey to motherhood late in life, more specifically a memoir of how I had twins – solo – well into my forties. This took place in bustling, exotic Bangkok, where I lived for more than 14 years, having initially gone for just three months to help out in the wake of the Asian tsunami.
X in Provence by Tani Ruiz available on Amazon, priced £11.99 in paperback and £3.50 as an in eBook. An audiobook version is coming soon. For more information, visit www.taniruiz.com or follow Tani on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, or Twitter.
Exclusive Extract from X in Provence
X in Provence weaves together the charm of A Year in Provence, the erotic tension of Fifty Shades of Grey, and the profound intrigue of Eyes Wide Shut. Netflix will surely come calling. Here’s an exclusive extract, courtesy of author Tani Ruiz.
It was a cool Saturday morning in mid-June. We’d just finished breakfast and were discussing the logistics of Christophe’s visit the following weekend when Alain abruptly shifted the focus back to the present.
‘Chérie, what do you think of going to a special club in Avignon tonight?’
He posed the question as if it had just popped into his mind. ‘It’s a healthy place where men and women can explore their sexuality together.’
He began to elaborate on the activities that went on under its roof. It was fun, it was fantasy and it was safe.
‘Safe? Are you sure about that? You and I are still getting to know each other. We’re exploring here.’
I was utterly thrown off guard, wondering how long he’d been thinking of this intrusion into private territory. I didn’t want to go.
‘My darling, we will only do what you are comfortable with.’
So florid and reassuring was his description of how the club would bring us closer together that by the time we left the house I was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. We set off for Avignon at around eleven, after extensive grooming. That night he ensured that I was properly attired, which is to say, not attired much at all: fishnet stockings, a slinky black Spandex skirt, a décolleté top, high heels. I almost didn’t recognise myself.
There was no sign of any sort outside the club, only an iron grill in front of the door, which was opened after a few knocks by a man who closely scrutinised us before letting us pass.
‘Why this inspection?’ I whispered to Alain.
‘They don’t let any unaccompanied men in, only couples and women.’
Inside was a narrow vestibule where Alain had to pay—a steep admission price I noted. Beyond that was a lavishly appointed bar and just ahead, a strobe-lit dance floor that gave onto a darkened lounge whose walls were hugged with sofas. On one wall was a large screen showing films of an explicit nature. We drank a glass of champagne, moving from bar to lounge, eyeing the women who gyrated snake-like under the strobes.
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