T H E   F R E N C H   B E S T S E L L E R   L I S T

one look at the book counter of one of those enormous suburban French supermarkets where you can buy everything from foie gras and peanut butter to washing machines, televisions and computers tells you more about the vast gulf between French and Americans than the most ponderous political analysis in Foreign Affairs quarterly. Two aisles down from the diapers and across from the stacks of Christmas chocolates, shoppers avidly thumb through the sort of books that would never be found in the States — or would put most Americans to sleep. The number one non-fiction book is "Entre Nous" ("Between Us") by the current French prime minister, Alain Juppé. It's hard to imagine Bill Clinton or Bob Dole penning this emotional plea for reason and a second chance, but in France, where politicians pride themselves on being intellectuals, such highflown unbosomings are standard fare. Next to "Entre Nous" sits another bestseller, "Impromptus," a dense philosophical meditation by André Comte-Sponville. Then there's "La Plus Belle Histoire du Monde" ("The Most Beautiful Story of the World"), a series of interviews with the astrophysicist Hubert Reeves, the systems theoretician Joël de Rosnay, and paleoanthropologist Yves Coppens on the origins of man, beasts and the universe. Does "My vocation, gift and mystery" sound like a can't-miss title to you? Well, it is here: Pope John Paul II's "Ma vocation, don et mystère" weighs in at number seven on the charts in this Catholic country, sandwiched between biographies of such 19th-century cultural icons (and probable American money-losers) as Cosima Wagner, Czar Nicholas II and Rasputin. If you think the supposedly libido-crazed French are devouring reams of sexy tomes, think again. There are some racy novels, but about the only steamy tell-all confession in sight is Brigitte Bardot's "Initiales B.B.," the fading sex kitten's take-no-prisoners autobiography. Other staples of the American bestseller lists are absent, too. Except for the British novelist Mary Higgins Clark's "Joyeux Noël" ("Merry Christmas") and Stephen King's "Désolation" ("Desperation"), number one and number five respectively, there are no mystery or detective novels. Ever since Belgian author Georges Simenon, author of the beloved Inspector Maigret novels, died, French authors appear to have given up on the genre. Even more significant is the fact that there are no self-help or diet books, or anything remotely resembling guides to dating in the '90s. Megahits like "Chicken Soup for the Soul" and "The Rules — Time-tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right" would hit the remainder stacks with a thud in France — even in the suburban middle-class heart of the country. Quasi-mystical sages like Deepak Chopra? Your Ayurvedic papers are not in order. It's not that the French feel themselves so perfect they see no need for self-help, diets or romantic tips. Far from it — among Europeans, the French are among the most pessimistic. But as inveterate rationalists, they're simply not made for self-improvement formulas. Nor, it appears, are they given to comedy. A French Douglas Adams or Erma Bombeck is unthinkable. In non-fiction, the French turn to foreign authors only as a last resort. It's a measure of the desperate state of the French economy that readers have made a hit of "Le Défi de l'argent" ("The Challenge of Money") by billionaire currency gambler George Soros. In the old days, pre-1985 that is, analyzing the financial world was beneath the French. Such blatant cupidity was the province of "les Anglo-Saxons" — the British and Americans. With unemployment raging and downsizing an inevitability, the French have suddenly become all ears to the capitalist gospel. As for foreign fiction, the French embrace it far more readily than Americans do, but only if it's written in French by authors who live in France. Translated fiction fares as poorly here as it does in the U.S. Only the aforementioned Mary Higgins Clark and Stephen King are granted automatic access to French readers — although Pat Conroy's "Beach Music" and Jostein Gaarder's "Sophie's World" both made this year's bestseller lists. A number of Francophone, Paris-based foreigners have been successful, however, including the Spaniard Jorge Semprun, the Pole Marek Halter and the Moroccan Tahar Ben Jalloun. The Cameroonian author < href="books2970106.html#beyala">Calixthe Beyala has been justly celebrated for her Rabelaisian portrait of life in an African capital. Beyala's novel blew some fresh air into a fictional scene that many observers find ingrown and miniaturized. The ambitious scope of Balzac, Hugo and Proust is gone, they complain, eclipsed by small tales like the current hit "Truismes", clever, precious bagatelles. "The great problem with French novels today is that they are too minimal, too self-regarding," says editor Pierre Assouline. "They cover moi, je — me and I. There's a lack of spirit, of air; they're not Faulknerian enough. Foreigners can't identify with them." As the editor of "Lire" ("To Read"), one of a surprisingly healthy number of magazines devoted to books, Assouline points out that the last French novel that enjoyed an international readership was Marguerite Duras' "L'Amant" ("The Lover"), published in 1984. Assouline blames the universities. By elevating the analysis of text above the text itself, he asserts, writers have alienated their public. "Authors like Gide and Camus have been replaced by intellectuals like Roland Barthes and Michel Foucault who have no idea how to write fiction." NEXT: The French bestsellers, Fiction and Nonfiction, as of January 1st, according to "L'Express" magazine and RTL radio.