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The Wines of the South of France (Mitchell Beazley Classic Wine Library) Customer Review: Must-have guide to the wines of the south of France
Few would disagree with the assertion that the South of France is one of the most happening places on the wine map. It’s also one of the fastest-changing, so this book is a much-needed navigational aid for fans of this dynamic region. It’s a substantial, bulky work of more than 500 pages, dealing comprehensively with the wines of the Roussillon, Languedoc, Provence and Corsica. Logically laid out, the different sub regions and communes are covered chapter by chapter, with the key producers in each profiled in detail. George has clearly done a tremendous amount of research (which must have been great fun), and the coverage is pretty comprehensive. It’s not just about wine: there’s plenty of historical and cultural context, too, and the text paints a vivid picture of the country and people behind the wines. There’s a lot of discussion about the dynamic state of flux in region is in, with ambitious young producers replacing complacent vignerons, and moribund cooperatives being revitalized. Throughout, there’s a great sense of optimism and hope, only partially dampened by the unwieldy officialdom of the INAO.

Overall, it’s a superb work. However, I have a few slight frustrations (and bear in mind that these are just minor criticisms of an otherwise fantastic book). First, the format. It’s a lengthy book, with the text broken up only by the odd black-and-white map. You get the feeling that a creative editor with more of a budget could have really done something spectacular with George’s research and writing. As it is, the book isn’t quite sure of what it’s trying to be. Is it a reference work, or is it trying to tell a story? As a reference work its failing is that it’s not laid out in an accessible enough format. You need to dig through the text pretty hard to find what you are looking for. And the producer profiles are just a little too short on detail; the tasting notes rather too sketchy. And as a ‘reading’ book, the huge scope of the work and relentless detail means it’s not an easy book to read cover-to-cover, despite George’s fluent writing style. And I suspect it’s too much to ask for some photographs…? I would also have liked to see more strongly expressed opinions — more infectious enthusiasm and passion. George rarely lets on that she’s excited by the wines that she tastes, and hides what you’d suspect is genuine enthusiasm behind somewhat neutral, dispassionate prose. Despite these frustrations (which I guess are mainly with the Faber format, but credit to them — who else would have commissioned this?) this book really is an essential purchase for anyone the slightest bit serious about southern French wines, and you really ought to invest in a copy.

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The New France: A Complete Guide to Contemporary French Wine (Mitchell Beazley Wine Guides) Customer Review: Perceptive, enlightening, witty: wine with soul
This book is brilliant on so many levels that it’s hard to know where to start.
First up, it operates as a guide to French wine. It explains French wine law (why labels on wine tell you what they do), it gives you vintages assessments for every region in recent years, and it lists recommended producers from every region in France (and even which within their range are worth trying). The information here will bypass absolute beginners, but will still please a broad range of people, from those with just a drop of knowledge to geniune connoisseurs.
Second, it is a wonderful evocation of France. Time and again, descriptions of scenes and moments drip with atmosphere: Jefford’s witty, eloquent prose is a pleasure to read. And he’s strong on describing the current issues in the French wine industry.
Yet what’s most significant is that Jefford is a man with a thesis whose implications are in their way both moral and spiritual. In the new France he envisages, wine should become more truly reflective of the terroir from which it grows. Far from lambasting the AOC system (tying labelling to terroir rather than grape-variety), he rejoices in it.
And this delight in the invidivuation of wines, to reflect every nuance in the land, leads him to lament two things: first, the increasing branding of wine, which inevitably seeks to iron out variation.
His vision is to get rid of the marketing departments: let the vignerons become both viticulteur and salesman. Let those who understand the land, and the wine from which it grows, be those who communicate it to the world. That way, truth lies.
His second lament is that of winemakers who do not acknowledge their land in which they work. He laments New World winemakers and British winewriters who seek only after ‘fruit’. Fruitiness in wine is for him a temporary, superficial pleasure, because fruity wine can come from anywhere. Wine should emphasise its terroir, for only that piece of land can produce that bottle of wine. Choice of grapes should therefore not be decided on by what pleases the public, but by what best draws out and delineates the terroir from which it comes.

It is possibly an elitist argument, but in the five years since the first edition of this book was published, it has been substantiated rather than damaged. Chasing the consumers led to widespread planting of chardonnay in the last 90s, only for consumers to head away to sauvignon blanc and viognier. The Robert Parker inspired Merlot phenomenon led to hectare upon hectare of Merlot but “Sideways” led a counter rebellion against it.

For Jefford, yes, grow Merlot, but only where Merlot draws out the land. His heroes are those who insist on, Carignan, say, in Provence, because that’s what works there. The vigneron should submit himself to the land, not try to make the land grow what is not ‘true’ to that land: that is too arrogant. Jefford’s not uncritical of the AOC system - it’s clumsy and slow to change in many places - but the fact that it that has preserved pinot noir in Burgundy, chenin blanc in the Loire, and syrah in the Rhone etc. is something for which he rejoices.

In exploring this thesis, the whole book is transported beyond a guide to French wine to something much deeper and more profound. I didn’t agree with all of it, but in its quirky way it’s made me think more than almost any other piece of non-fiction I’ve read in the last five years.
A brilliant book, then, full of pleasures and with much to ruminate on. One you will keep wanting to dip into.
Customer Review: Should have been called The Real France
This book could be summed up in two words - France and terroir. Yet to do so would be a massive injustice on such an and obviously well-researched book.

Firstly, to France. The author, Andrew Jefford takes you on a memorable tour of the wine regions of France, as well as a background of the history of French Wine Law. For each region that he visits, he explains the history of the area, what is good about it, some myths and common accusations, and gives details of the top producers.

Then there’s the terroir. You cannot help but come away from this book understanding that the soil, climate and history of a region are intrinsic to the production of a wine, much more so than in other countries. And it is the history of French wine makers, who care passionately about what they do (if a little arrogantly in the past), that has produced these efforts.

The most impressive aspect of the book, however, was it’s style - I found it to be a breath of fresh. Most other wine books are full of facts, figures, maps and diagrams, with precious little in the way of decent narrative. This volume, on the other hand, paints a vivid picture of the vineyards of Burgundy, the landscape of Alsace, and the beauty of South West France. I almost felt as though I was with Mr Jefford as he described tasting white Burgundies in the cellars beneath Corton-Charlemagne.

Overall, a very good effort, and a recommendation.