Emily in France 🇫🇷 C'est La Rentrée (Littéraire...)
Back to school isn't just for kids, in France
There’s a reason I’m known as Emily Reader to my nearest and dearest: Whether because of my long-undiagnosed myopia or just as a way to find some peace growing up in a house with four kids under the age of six, I was rarely seen without a book (or several) in my formative years. It’s a habit that’s followed me into my adult life. The first thing I do in the morning, the last thing I do at night, is read: in French or in English, novels or history, books written by those I know IRL and those who have long since passed. I always have a book in my bag (which I carry in a specially-designed fabric pochette my girlfriend gave me), and whenever I have a spare moment, whether it’s waiting for a tour to begin, enjoying a mid-afternoon citron pressé in a café, or waiting for the gears of bureaucracy to slowly turn, out it comes so that I can lose myself in the written word.
It’s perhaps due to this omnipresence of books in my life, compounded with the fact that, in France, it’s kind of rude to ask people what they do for a living, that my go-to small-talk question (insofar as I entertain small talk at all) is: “So… what are you reading?”
(The fact that most of my friends have an answer at the ready is a sign I’ve surrounded myself with the best people.)
And I’m not alone.
This obsession with books is omnipresent in Paris. I regularly see people breaking out books: public transport and in parks, in bars and restaurants. (I hope someday to grow up to be as cool as the man above, reading with a glass of red wine at Le Baron Rouge.) Reading is nothing if not pervasive, here, and I suppose, for many reasons, it’s to be expected.
Paris has long been in love with literature, home to so many literary greats it would be futile to even attempt to list them and the setting for perhaps just as many great works. Today, the city is rife with literary cafés from the time-tested Café de Flore and Les Deux Magots to the more contemporary Culture Rapide and Le Chat Noir, both of which are home to English-language Spoken Word events (on Thursdays and Mondays respectively).
Paris also has loads of excellent libraries and bookshops, as I explored on Navigating the French with author Janet Skeslien Charles.
Public libraries in France tend to be relatively austere, with their pre-fab construction. But there are a few gems, including the Bibliothèque Forney, located in a former private mansion that looks like a castle, or the Bibliothèque de l’Institut de France, located in the same structure that houses the Académie Française (aka the French language police). There’s the American Library, which isn't public but which I nevertheless have a major soft spot for (and which is the setting of real-life friend Janet Skeslien Charles’ The Paris Library) and countless gorgeous libraries I have yet to visit, like Sainte-Geneviève or Richelieu.
When it comes to bookstores, there are many to choose from. The bouquinistes lining the Seine are inextricable from the city itself. “Paris without the bouquinistes is like Venice without the gondolas,” bouquiniste Jean-Pierre Mathias, 76, told the New York Times when the Olympics threatened to remove them temporarily. And that’s not all. From the Anglophone Red Wheelbarrow to an esoteric bookshop specialized in books having to do with the mountains, the Libraire des Alpes, bookshops come in all shapes and sizes, in Paris.
We also have an ever-increasing number of third spaces blending bibliophilia and café culture, like book-focused wine bar La Belle Hortense or feminist bookshop-cum-coffee shop Un livre et une tasse de thé. There are bookshop-cafés where books serve as decoration, like Used Book Café and le Barbouquin, and there’s Maison Fleuret, a literary coffee shop nestled within an old bookstore in the heart of Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
If we have so many bookshops, it’s not only thanks to the city of Paris, which pours billions of dollars into ensuring that our storefronts remain Parisian. (And not just for book lovers. I have never seen more artisan violin makers anywhere else in the world.) Books here are simply less expensive than in many other places in the world, in large part thanks to the Livre de Poche, a collection developed in 1916 to offer "the people" access to literature. (It was originally developed to rival the Livre populaire or "working-class book," a collection launched in 1905.) Often sold at just a few euros apiece, these pocket-sized paperbacks are perfect for reading on the go – a practice I witness all year long, but particularly this time of year. I suppose that’s to be expected: September marks not just the rentrée des classes, but also the rentrée littéraire.
If you read much about France online, you're likely to encounter a lot of mentions of la rentrée these days. It’s loosely translated as back-to-school, a season I have a strong love affair with – so much so that despite not actually being a student in over a decade, my father wished me happy back-to-school yesterday and asked which notebooks I’d be purchasing. But in France, la rentrée carries even deeper connotations, as I explored on the podcast with author, teacher, and Nantes Writers’ Workshop co-founder Anna Polonyi.
In a country with five weeks of paid holiday, many people take a whole month off in summer, chiefly in August. The arrival of September signals the first time many will be back at home, back at work, and back in bookstores.
Enter… la rentrée littéraire.
Each year, France and Belgium release hundreds of new books across genres between the end of August and the beginning of November. (In 2021, 521 new books were released during this period.) This has a lot to do with when different literary prizes are announced – usually between September and November – but I love the way it makes bookshops come alive: with novelty, yes, but also, often, with hand-written notes recommending this or that book, the perfect way to get the school year off to the right start… no matter how long it’s been since you were in school.
In addition to joining me on the podcast to talk about la rentrée, real-life friend Anna Polonyi was also the person who inspired me to begin including what I’m reading in my e-mail signature. But just in case you're not in the habit of receiving other emails from me than this one, know that I’m currently reading a hodgepodge of the following: American Terroir by Rowan Jacobsen, Dictionnaire Amoureux de la gastronomie by Christian Millau, A Season for That by Steve Hoffman, and Les Faux-Monnayeurs by André Gide. And I’m loving every minute of it.
Happy rentrée to you all – whichever you celebrate!
Cheese of the Week
In addition to being a cheese lover, I’m also a cheese judge. Earlier this year, I had the distinct honor and pleasure of judging the Concours Général Agricole, where I was head judge on the blue cheese table (NBD) and where we awarded a Gold to this Basque sheep’s milk blue cheese from Onetik. (I should say that since all of the cheeses are judged blind, I had to comb through the list of winners like a cheese spy to figure out its identity).
Supple and mushroomy, this Bleu des Basques is an excellent alternative for those put off by the assertiveness of Roquefort, France’s most famous sheep’s milk blue. It takes full advantage of the distinct creaminess sheep's milk is known for without the lanolin qualities that give them a barnyardy or overtly sheepy character. The resulting cheese is lovely on its own, and any leftovers melt wonderfully for a new, blue play on raclette.
To discover more of my favorite cheeses, be sure to follow me on Instagram @emily_in_france, subscribe to my YouTube channel, and tune into the Terroir Podcast, where Caroline Conner and I delve into France's cheese, wine, and more one region at a time.
What I’m Eating
It was in 2012 that Delphine Zampetti converted a former horse butchery into a sandwich shop known for top-notch baguettes stuffed with everything from raw milk cheese to Prince de Paris ham. I fell hard for the original, but it had been a while since I’d returned – so long, in fact, that her former second in command, Tiphaine Moindrot, has taken the proverbial reins. I decided to stop in and see if it was still worthy of the hype. More on the blog.
Where I’m Going
1. To Joséphine Vannier, a chocolate artisan in the Marais, to research an exciting upcoming project.
2. To le Marcounet, a Parisian barge that doubles as a music hall, for some lively jazz.
3. To Chantoiseau, a fine dining spot in Montmartre, to catch up with a friend I haven't seen since before the rentrée.
What I'm Writing
1. Parisians don’t really travel across town for pastries, but that certainly doesn’t mean you can’t, especially if your heart’s set on a particular croissant, eclair, or sourdough loaf. For the best in Paris, start with this list I recently updated for the Infatuation.
2. The Italian cheesescape is far vaster than Parmigiano and mozzarella. According to Jessica Sennett of Cheese Grotto, Italy boasts over 2,500 different styles of cheese. Here are the ones you need to try. For Mashed.
3. From the archives: Bistros were once a stalwart of the French capital, but as chefs grow more interested in trendy, contemporary fare, this classic establishment may be relegated to become a relic of its former self. For Life & Thyme.
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What I'm Reading
1. After two close friends highly recommended Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book, I finally devoured it – as is only right – in the summer, finishing it on the second-to-last day of August, which already felt, in Paris, like fall. This book is a pure joy to read, with its seeming simplicity hiding a complex interplay of multi-generational narrators. The precocious, willful Sophia and her just as willful Grandmother coexist on a Finnish island for the duration of the summer, with Sophia's father, relatively absent from the pages and above all the dialogue, seeming to blend in with the scenery. With relatively little interiority, the reader is still brought to witness and understand the ways in which Grandmother gently molds the world for Sophia, whether she's rendering it more magical or more reassuring. We are introduced to Grandmother's own flaws and faults as well as her greatest strengths and attributes, all the while witnessing, above all, her love for her granddaughter. Perceiving the evolution of this wild island just as new blood arrives propels the reader back to the 70s, when the book was written: a harbinger and even a warning of the civilization to come. But above all, this book is a celebration of the timelessness and boundlessness of childhood summers.
2. This insightful piece on writing the other in LitHub, which offers, among other things, this gem of advice: "The answer, I think, is this: write every character like you could become them. Write them with the respect and empathy and dignity with which you’d like someone to write yourself. Do your research. Interview people. Read books by writers who have the identity you’re learning about. Watch their videos. Listen to their podcasts. Get beta readers—people that know, for sure, that they have that identity you’re trying to write, who are not afraid to criticize you, and whose criticism you are not too raw to take. And, when you make mistakes, admit to them. If you can, correct them. If you can’t, promise your readers—and yourself—that you next time, you will do better.” In LitHub.
3. This exploration of Paris’ application to have its zinc rooftops – and the craftsmen who work on them – recognized as UNESCO World Heritage… and the unfortunate reason the application may not be successful. In France24.
A bientôt !