Tag Archives: Paris

Annie Ernaux Has Broken Every Taboo of What Women Are Allowed to Write — The New York Times

“By means of scholarly excellence, Annie claws her way out of the mire of her origins to teacher-training college, marries the first man who presents himself, is submerged in a bourgeois purgatory as housewife and mother and slowly breaks her way out of that new prison by writing books — books that try to stop time by questioning and reconstructing as precisely as they can the events that have brought her to the existence she is now leading. Who is she, and where has she come from? Who were her parents, and why did they live as they did? Why did she act in certain ways as she became free of them, and to what degree is her life the consequence of those actions? ” Continue reading

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Marlène Schiappa Posed for Playboy (Clothed). France Is Looking, and Talking. – The New York Times

“There was Ms. Schiappa in a white dress on the cover, her right hand over her heart and cupping one breast. It was an allusion to the painter Eugene Delacroix’s symbol of French liberty, leading citizens over barricades, holding a rifle and the French flag, both breasts emerging from her unraveling dress.” Continue reading

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Liberté, Égalité, Décolletage!

Marlene Schiappa, France’s social affairs minister, is under fire for posing for a Playboy cover amid social upheaval. Continue reading

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A Bouquiniste Dilemma: To Sell or Not to Sell

If I had only one afternoon in Paris, I’d spend it all with the bouquinistes on the banks of the Seine. After one afternoon with them, I’d sell my soul to the devil, jump ship, and hitch my wagon to their star. Pick your metaphor. I don’t care about buying books anymore. I want to sell them. Continue reading

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A Bouquiniste Dilemma: To Buy or Not to Buy

I remember the book I held in my hands that day. I remember the feel of its time-warped, water-stained pages. I remember its murky, moldy river smell, call it the book’s bouquet, suggesting years of storage on the banks of the Seine. Had I bought it then, I could feel and smell it now and know it from a hundred other books in my library. Its touch and bouquet would transport me into the midst of its terroir, several blocks of the Latin Quarter only a stone’s throw from the river, where it was printed and published, sold and re-sold, read and debated, discarded and read again in other hands — for three centuries. Like the fish that got away, it looms ever larger and more mysterious just below the surface of my memory. Continue reading

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A Flaneur on Rue Mouffetard, Paris 2007

A flaneur on Rue Mouffetard, Paris 2007: I went digging in the Internet Archive in search of a lost memoir about my mother and the paintings of Claude Monet. Didn’t find it. Found this instead. I wasn’t so much of a graybeard then. Still miss the Mouffe… Continue reading

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