Sarah and I spent a few days last week in Paris. As we have both been to Paris a few times (yes we are spoiled rotten), we didn't feel the need to rush from monument to museum at breakneck pace in order to fit it all in. Instead, we spent time meandering around Montmartre, spending hours (literally) in cafes and brasseries, and gazing at paintings in the Musee D'Orsay. I also made it my mission to spend some quality time in Shakespeare & Company on the Left Bank, which opened in 1951 and has been the haunt of many a writer who has found their way to Paris. It's chock-a-block full of new and used books, colorful characters, and hipster staff. In short: my mecca.
It will come as little surprise that I have always been a book tourist. I went to San Francisco primarily to visit City Lights: to worship at the altar of Ferlinghetti, chase shadows of Ginsberg, walk in Kerouac's footsteps. It was at City Lights that I found an out-of-print copy of the complete works of H.D., one of my favorite modernist poets. Happy days. In New York I got lost in the Strand, which really does have miles and miles of books. On our coastal road trip in 2006, Edy and I made a detour to Portland, Oregon, mostly so I could visit Powell's, where I got my famous "literary" waterbottle, which exhorts you to read at least 1000 pages a day for good health. Of course, in all these places I bought more books than I could afford.
I have to admit that Shakespeare & Company may have got the better of me. After the first 40 minutes, I still wasn't out of the poetry section...I hadn't even made it to fiction, and history was completely neglected. I had to make the difficult decision to leave the antiquarian section for another visit as I can't afford to be buying first editions when I will have trouble paying to have all the books I already own shipped home to Canada. I was overwhelmed, not just by the number and variety of books, but by the charm and atmosphere of the place, tucked into the Latin Quarter, in the shadow of Notre Dame.
In the end, I only picked up a few books on Paris itself; I had decided after my last visit in June that I wanted to "conquer" Paris the way I have London, to know its history, its streets, its neighbourhoods, its people. This will require frequent field work and disciplined study. So I look on the books I ended up buying, even though my wallet said I shouldn't have, as a necessary learning tool. Educational aids, if you will. One book I am very excited to start reading is a short history of all of the names of the various Paris Metropolitain stops. For some reason Sarah thinks that this makes me a nerd. But if lovin' books is wrong, then I don't wanna be right...
Ooh yes, here at last!
Happy bibliophile starting out her journey. Mood: optimistic, greedy.
Paperback writer(s).
Reminds me a little bit of some of the nooks and crannies at my own dear (and departed) Poor Richard's, in Victoria. Just need J.R., Finbar Magnificat, or Kiki le Douce (our store cats) to be wandering around and it will feel just like home.
Please God, if I am very, very good, can I please one day have a wall of books like this for my very own self?
A quiet corner for reflection (or reading books without paying for them, as these two did).
Still here, literally (or literarily) salivating over books. Mulling over option of asking for a job here and only returning to London to pick up Currie Cat.
It will come as little surprise that I have always been a book tourist. I went to San Francisco primarily to visit City Lights: to worship at the altar of Ferlinghetti, chase shadows of Ginsberg, walk in Kerouac's footsteps. It was at City Lights that I found an out-of-print copy of the complete works of H.D., one of my favorite modernist poets. Happy days. In New York I got lost in the Strand, which really does have miles and miles of books. On our coastal road trip in 2006, Edy and I made a detour to Portland, Oregon, mostly so I could visit Powell's, where I got my famous "literary" waterbottle, which exhorts you to read at least 1000 pages a day for good health. Of course, in all these places I bought more books than I could afford.
I have to admit that Shakespeare & Company may have got the better of me. After the first 40 minutes, I still wasn't out of the poetry section...I hadn't even made it to fiction, and history was completely neglected. I had to make the difficult decision to leave the antiquarian section for another visit as I can't afford to be buying first editions when I will have trouble paying to have all the books I already own shipped home to Canada. I was overwhelmed, not just by the number and variety of books, but by the charm and atmosphere of the place, tucked into the Latin Quarter, in the shadow of Notre Dame.
In the end, I only picked up a few books on Paris itself; I had decided after my last visit in June that I wanted to "conquer" Paris the way I have London, to know its history, its streets, its neighbourhoods, its people. This will require frequent field work and disciplined study. So I look on the books I ended up buying, even though my wallet said I shouldn't have, as a necessary learning tool. Educational aids, if you will. One book I am very excited to start reading is a short history of all of the names of the various Paris Metropolitain stops. For some reason Sarah thinks that this makes me a nerd. But if lovin' books is wrong, then I don't wanna be right...
Ooh yes, here at last!
Happy bibliophile starting out her journey. Mood: optimistic, greedy.
Paperback writer(s).
Reminds me a little bit of some of the nooks and crannies at my own dear (and departed) Poor Richard's, in Victoria. Just need J.R., Finbar Magnificat, or Kiki le Douce (our store cats) to be wandering around and it will feel just like home.
Please God, if I am very, very good, can I please one day have a wall of books like this for my very own self?
A quiet corner for reflection (or reading books without paying for them, as these two did).
Still here, literally (or literarily) salivating over books. Mulling over option of asking for a job here and only returning to London to pick up Currie Cat.