The Little Paris Bookshop by Nina George (Penguin Random House, 2015)
My mother found this gem in her condominium’s lending library and gave it to me with glowing reviews. As I began to read it (the fourth of my 16+ goal for this year), I was immediately drawn in to this charming and sometimes heartrending world of lost love, regret and redemption, set in the streets of Paris and the canals, rivers and vineyards of southern France.
The Little Paris Bookshop was originally published in German as Das Lavendelzimmer (The Lavender Room) in 2013. The English-language version is pretty good; there are only a few passages that hint of this being a translation, and even they lend a quaintly amusing air to the book.
The title is a bit of a misnomer. Only the first few chapters take place in Paris, and the bookstore in question is of a rather peculiar nature: it’s a renovated barge operated by Monsieur Perdu, a self-styled “literary apothecary”. Like the bonbon-dispensing confiseuse in Joanne Harris’ Chocolat, Perdu prescribes just the right book to his customers, each of whom is searching for more than a good read. The lonely and broken-hearted, the damaged and bewildered – even the stereotypical silly tourist – all board the floating bookshop in search of Perdu’s particular brand of pistou for the soul.
When it comes to helping his patients, the apothicaire may be skilled, but he is unable to find a cure for his own despair. Just as the book barge is permanently moored to the banks of the Seine, the middle-aged Perdu has lived-but-not-lived for twenty years, transfixed by grief, regret, missed opportunity and the fear of death. Will he, with the aid of several eccentric companions, be able to cast off the tethers which bind him to the past and navigate the winding and sometimes treacherous route to wholeness and a peace-filled mind, body and soul?
Literary references, gustatory delights and lyrical landscapes abound in this novel which is equal parts travelogue, culinary journey and paean to books and food, friendship, France and love. It is by no means perfectly written; there are some tiresome clichés, and I can’t stomach the fact that all the characters spend every moment of their lives in deep, hand-wringing angst. However, I’m a sucker for evocative novels set in sun-drenched, lavender-scented France and Italy (think: Peter Mayle’s A Year in Provence, Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes and Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert), and George’s take on the countryside, traditional food and wine, plus the quirky French-ness of the protagonist and his friends, came at just the right time. As the stubborn vestiges of winter still cling, The Little Paris Bookshop is a welcome breath of fresh air.
Up next: Do-it-yourself springtime scents, inspired by The Little Paris Bookshop!