It would be ludicrous to attempt some kind of coherent essay on the book culture of Paris which extends for centuries, but still, I have some musings to share. I was in the City of Light from June 18 to June 25 with my longtime partner Denise Casey who planned our successful trip.
Accompanying Books
On route I took the opportunity to re-read Voltaire’s Candide (1759) a book which I read forty years ago. The only thing I remembered from the classic is Candide’s mentor Dr. Pangloss’ simplistic philosophy “that all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds". And the final line of “we must cultivate our garden.” Furthermore, the book works for this traveler because of its portability, and it provides plenty of quips about the French.
Besides, one never knows when you will be invited to a salon, so you want to be ready to toss out Voltairean zingers such as “the people in Paris are always laughing, but it is with anger in their hearts” or “there is pleasure in having no pleasure.”
Bookshops
The most famous book buying place are the dozens of forest green metal stalls along the Seine River. Seeing the bouquinists, as they are called, have street and culture credentials (dating back to the 17th century) and they provided me an extra connection to the city since I am a popup bookseller myself (Destination: Books). Unfortunately, I was disappointed as the weather was a little rainy and windy and many of the stalls remained buttoned up while I was there. Of the few stalls I saw, a festoon of postcards, maps, magazines impeded the browsing.
I understand that the bouquinists carry antiquated books too, but I don’t see the how they could compete with all the gallery quality antiquarian bookstores throughout the 6th Arrondissement. I am neither an antiquarian book shopper or a seller, but I still appreciate seeing gorgeous books so deliciously displayed in store windows like pastries.
The lines for the more well-known English language bookstore Shakespeare & Company near the Notre Dame Cathedral (still under repairs) were out the door, but I did visit The Canadian Bookstore, which was small shop but had canyons of books. I had finished Voltaire and needed another similarly-sized replacement, so I selected Albert Camus book of essays The Myth of Sisyphus (1942). I always found the French writer intriguing since he was born in Algeria from the humblest of beginnings.
Unexpected Lit Experiences
In St. Germain district there is a wall where Arthur Rimbaud,s most famous poem Le Bateau ivre ("The Drunken Boat") is engraved for all to see. Along the same street here was a poetry popup marketplace where booths filled with publishers, poets and stacks of poetry books for sale. I will admit my initial feeling about French poetry is similar to Bill Murray’s reaction in motion picture Groundhog Day when Andie MacDowell’s reveals she majored 19th century French poetry in college (“what a waste to time,” he blurts).
But there is a cringe of guilt that my level of appreciation for poetry is subpar.
And finally, Denise and I went to an Eatwith.com dinner booked in a bohemian artist apartment where Karyn Bauer prepared delicious meal with plenty of wine, and you meet other travelers that are looking for a different dining experience. Coincidently her partner is a book artist Cristian Todie who has designed three dimensional books, which are quite amazing. He gave me a demonstration of how his books can effortlessly expand and contract. I cannot begin to describe his work, but you should visit his website at thetodiebook.com.
Next up: Norway