There’s a delightful bookstore in Paris
called Shakespeare and Company. It sits on the Left Bank, within steps of the
Seine and in view of the Notre Dame Cathedral. When we were in Paris, Calvin
insisted I had to see it. He claimed it was the most unusual bookstore in the
City of Light. I wasn’t prepared for the maze of narrow hallways leading to
more alcoves of dust-covered books.
This Paris institution has an interesting
background. Shakespeare and Co. was first opened at another location by Sylvia
Beach, an American expatriate, in 1918. During the 1920’s, it was the gathering
place for writers of the “Lost Generation” -- Ernest Hemingway, James Joyce, F.
Scott Fitzgerald, Man Ray and Ezra Pound. During this period, the store was the
epicenter of Anglo-American literary culture and modernism in Paris. It is
featured in Woody Allen’s movie “Midnight in Paris.”
When the Nazis occupied the city, the store
was closed down and never re-opened until another American, George Whitman,
opened a bookstore in 1951 in a building that was once a monastary. Later he
renamed his English-language bookstore Shakespeare and Company in tribute to
Sylvia Beach. This store became a focal point for literary culture in bohemian
Paris.
Now here’s where it gets really interesting
to me. Whitman, in his youth, had hiked his way through Central America and
Europe. He was deeply touched by the generosity of citizens who opened their
humble homes to him and shared all they had. This universal-family-ideology
stuck with him and, as a result, he opened his bookstore to starving artists
and writers. The bookstore includes sleeping facilities, with 13 beds, and
Whitman claimed as many as 40,000 people have slept in the shop over the years.
His only requirements were that his guests, whom he called “tumbleweeds”, read,
work at their art/writing and help out in the bookstore for two hours a day.
A delightful book, Time Was Soft There: A Paris Sojourn at Shakespeare and Co. by
Jeremy Mercer, tells of a writer’s month living in the famed bookstore.
Imagine! Free room and board in Paris. Granted one had little privacy. Bathroom
privileges were on a scheduled basis. You had to be up and moving about when
the store opened. But this is Paris, y’all!
Here’s the book’s description that
reinforces what I’m sharing about the place. “Wandering
through Paris's Left Bank one day, poor and unemployed, Canadian reporter
Jeremy Mercer ducked into a little bookstore called Shakespeare & Co.
Mercer bought a book, and the staff invited him up for tea. Within weeks, he
was living above the store, working for the proprietor, George Whitman, patron
saint of the city's down-and-out writers, and immersing himself in the love
affairs and low-down watering holes of the shop's makeshift staff. Time Was
Soft There is the story of a journey down a literary rabbit hole in the
shadow of Notre Dame, to a place where a hidden bohemia still thrives.”
Regular activities that occur
in the bookshop are Sunday tea, poetry readings and writers’ meetings. George
Whitman died there at the age of 98, nearly a year ago. His daughter, Sylvia
Beach Whitman, now runs the shop and continues to allow young writers to live
and work in the store.
So, of course, I just had to include a scene at
Shakespeare and Company in my recently released romantic suspense. AND TO ONE LUCKY COMMENTER, I'M GIVING AWAY A PDF COPY OF MONA LISA'S ROOM--Make sure you leave your email address in your comments. ~ ~ ~ To introduce my excerpt, I must tell you that because my
heroine Alyson Moore has unwittingly foiled a terrorist’s bombing attempt, she’s
been placed under the protective custody of French agent, Niko Reynard. They’ve
argued outside Shakespeare and Company and are now inside the store. Niko’s
looking for a little gift as a making-up gesture to his charge, who is pretty
upset with him…
“Where
are you from?” Niko detected an Aussie accent.
“Australia.
Brisbane. I’m here to experience Paris, study art and do a bit of poetry
writin’.” Eddie’s eyes were scanning the shelves. “Ah, here we go, mate.” He
climbed a stepstool to reach what he was after. Turning, he leaned down to hand
the two books to Niko.
“Thanks. Sketches of Parisian Rooftops and Sketches of Gardens of Paris.” He quickly scanned through the
pages. Aly would love these.
Eddie
hailed a greeting at two men, dressed in suits, when they entered and ambled
through the narrow store, quietly talking as they climbed the few wooden steps
to the next section.
Niko
briefly glanced at them before flipping the books over to check the prices.
“I’ll take all three.” He waited for the total and paid his bill. “Wrap them
please so my lady friend can’t see them. They’re a surprise.”
“Oh,
lucky her. I just love…”
Suddenly,
screams followed by loud thumping and books falling filled the bookstore. Niko
sprinted in the direction of the high-pitched shrieking, gun in hand. He
bounded up the steps and rounded the corner. “Aly! Aly! What the hell.”
He
skidded to a halt. One of the well-dressed men he saw entering the store
earlier was on the floor, books covering most of his body. His companion was
staggering, holding his hands over his eye and screaming like a banshee as
blood ran down his face.
In
the corner stood a pale and trembling Aly, her frightened blue eyes dominated
her face. “They…they grabbed me! Said they’d kill me if I resisted. I…I karate kicked
them.” She swallowed, obviously trying to gain control. “Kung…kung-fooed the
hell out of them, too. And…and…”—she pointed to the screaming man still on his
feet—“I think I poked his eye out with one of my stilettos.”
Niko
ran a hand down his face, keeping it over his mouth to hide the smile. What a piece of work. He wanted to
laugh. He wanted to hug her. And damned if he didn’t want to shake the
daylights out of her for stepping out of his sight. Hadn’t he told her to stay
with him?
“You
okay?” Niko’s gaze swept over her, looking for injuries. He fought the urge to
pull her to him and embrace her until her trembling stopped. Frankly, if he
were honest, his nerves weren’t the greatest right this moment, either. When he
heard her scream earlier, cold fear did a free-fall straight through his
system.
Some
professional he was. While buying books, Aly had to defend herself. His gaze
took in the shambles. By the looks of things, hell if she hadn’t done a damn
fine job. “Answer me! Did one of these bastards hurt you? Are you okay?”
“I…I
gotta pee.” She was shaking violently. No doubt going into shock. Today’s
events finally took their toll.
“I’ll
show her to the dunny,” came the Aussie accent behind him. “Ain’t no wonder
she’s gotta use the loo. The woman beat the bullocks out of the blokes, she
did. Gobsmacked ’em, I’ll wager. Shall I call the police or will you?”
“I am the
police. Counterterrorism unit.”
BUY
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