The Paris Bookseller

“At the end of the day, she’d light a candle and read on her hard cot. Portrait, yes, but it was Whitman who sang her to sleep most nights. Her softened, much-loved volume of Leaves of Grass was like a prayer book that brought her comfort and companionship.”

Sylvia grew up in a household that was necessarily driven by religion because of her father’s work. While Sylvia herself is not religious, she does exhibit a faith-like attitude toward her love of literature, which may be partly informed by her exposure to her father’s faith. Here, she equates poetry itself to prayer, suggesting that she attains the same level of comfort and enlightenment that she would in a religious context.

“First, though, she had to make one more stop in Paris. It was calling to her, another Siren distracting her from that next stage. […] Why, then, did it sound more like Odysseus’s Penelope, a loving voice summoning her home from across the vast that separated them?”

Sylvia’s natural state is to equate personal exploration to literature. Here she uses a simile to understand the draw she feels to the city that will become her home. Ironically, Sylvia ends up being more the Penelope in her relationship with the siren Adrienne. However, this moment also refers to the general feeling of home and belonging that Sylvia feels in Paris.

“‘Sometimes a world has to end before a new one can begin,’ she said, and this time Sylvia was sure Adrienne was talking about much bigger things—her long affair with Suzanne, the war, and now their two stores, the whole vast expanse of the future sprawling out before them, between two short blocks of Paris.”

Philosophical contemplations on beginnings and endings occur at multiple points throughout the narrative. The mention of the war is notable here, because the plot of the novel is largely bookended between two world wars—the second of which leads to the closure of Shakespeare and Company. Additionally, the quote presents these “two short blocks of Paris” as a microcosm for a much bigger external world; Sylvia’s community also stands as a haven that welcomes social change.

“Falling in love with Adrienne even changed the way Sylvia read. Instead of awe and ache when she read passages about love and the cravings of the body, she felt herself part of that world, anointed into it by Adrienne.”

Previously, while literature was a source of comfort to Sylvia, it was also a divide, for it reminded her of the artistic skill she did not possess and the life she didn’t have. Here, however, that divide is being bridged by true lived experience. This represents a point of growth for Sylvia as she goes from someone experiencing life second-hand to someone living it herself.

“It appeared that the ruling class in America wanted to outlaw anything that offended its sense of decorum, and so a book, play, film, organization, activity, or person that smacked of vice or difference from a life one might find in the comforting illustrations of the Saturday Evening Post was in danger of being silenced.”

This moment takes on enormously powerful resonance when examined through the lens of 21^st-century censorship and oppression, for this imposition of “decorum” is still present today, and people are still fighting against censorship in the tradition of Sylvia Beach and James Joyce so many years ago. The author therefore highlights these issues to create a reminder of the cyclical nature of history and the relevance that such themes still have in society today.

“As was always the case in the homes of Adrienne’s friends, it was a gathering of noisy equals, all the writers of varying nationalities unwilling to cede the floor but somehow all managing to have their say about the poems, stories, and essays in the recent journals.”

This small snapshot in time encompasses the timeless magic of the Lost Generation aesthetic. When most people think of Shakespeare and Company’s past, they think of this image of intellectual discourse and camaraderie. This moment emphasizes the way in which these artists are socially and politically engaged in the present literary landscape, as well as the balance of pride and respect that permeates their unique dynamic.

“Sylvia had adopted Adrienne’s generous stance on them: You never know which of them might go on to become the next Cocteau. The next Proust.”

This “stance,” delivered early in the novel, does indeed become a guiding attitude in Shakespeare and Company. Here, “Cocteau” refers to the well-known French playwright and poet Jean Cocteau, and “Proust” is the French novelist and literary critic Marcel Proust, each of whom became essential forces that shaped French literature during this time. Many of the expatriates who come through Sylvia’s shop do become major names in literature and other artistic media.

“Which passersby looked like Leopold Bloom, Stephan Daedalus, Gerty MacDowell, and other main characters from Ulysses? Since Joyce never described them in a conventional sense, their game was based more on feeling, an air carried by someone walking past.”

This pointed lack of physical description in Joyce’s work allows these fictional characters to transcend the page and exist in a shared physical space. This means that these characters can even exist in some way within Sylvia, Joyce, and the other artists who gather at Shakespeare and Company, giving the artistic community a universality and timelessness.

“One thing she knew, which thrilled her: she’d find out how all the dramas in the crowd played out, because her store was rapidly becoming the Latin Quarter’s vault of secrets and ambitions, hopes and fears.”

This period of time represents the optimistic ascent of Shakespeare and Company as it cements its place in Paris’s literary ecosystem. Sylvia approaches her shop as a work of art, much the same way that James Joyce approaches his novel. Here, the author portrays Sylvia’s rising star and highlights the various ways in which her efforts make her the heart of a beloved artistic community.

“The spectacle made Sylvia all the more grateful for the steadiness of her love with Adrienne. They didn’t stay up until quite one in the morning anymore, but they talked and laughed endlessly and knew precisely how to please each other in bed.”

Sylvia’s relationship with Adrienne becomes a cornerstone of their literary community: something that those who know only an ephemeral version of love aspire to achieve. This moment highlights the ways in which Sylvia is growing gracefully into her age; however, it also foreshadows the divide between the two women, as Adrienne doesn’t adapt in the same way.

“The thick, creamy paper within was hand cut at the edges, and it was bound in a blue the precise color of the Greek flag—a hue that in book form called to mind the lapis of illuminated manuscripts, the Mediterranean, and pâtes de fruits all at once.”

While much attention in the novel is given to Ulysses in literary form, this moment highlights its artistry as a physical object. The narrator uses contrasting elements of history, travel, and food to create a transcendent image that equates the novel to a sacred text. Copies of this book still exist today, with one on display in the Dublin Museum of Literature.

“Who is Sylvia Beach without James Joyce and Ulysses? It was hard to untangle them.”

Much of the novel’s driving force focuses on Sylvia’s quest to find and create a meaningful identity. While she grapples with outside forces of censorship and misogyny, she also deals with the internal struggle of losing her sense of self through her all-consuming endeavors to publish Joyce’s book. In doing so, she inadvertently joins her identity to that of a man—the pitfall she was so determined to avoid.

“Watching Adrienne watch the exhibitionism at the party made Sylvia fear there were hungers in her she could not sate, which reminded her uncomfortably of Cyprian’s warning to her when Suzanne was still alive.”

Throughout the novel, Sylvia’s eventual break with Adrienne is foreshadowed in multiple ways, most notably when Sylvia’s sister voices her opinion about Adrienne’s creative appetites. Sylvia becomes increasingly aware of this divide as she grows older and finds herself settling into a comfortable rhythm, which highlights one of the key differences between these two contrasting women.

“Everyone signed. All of the Crowd, obviously, but also Somerset Maugham, E. M. Forster, the esteemed physicist Albert Einstein, and the Italian playwright Luigi Pirandello. Even George Bernard Shaw.”

This inception of an important historical document also signifies a new unity against the larger threats of piracy, censorship, and creative oppression. The addition of George Bernard Shaw is a point of satisfaction, as he was particularly vocal against Joyce’s book in real life; however, within the world of The Paris Bookseller, personal judgment is put aside to support the rights of artists to be valued and heard.

“She also reflected that the young woman who’d come to A. Monnier all those years ago was in love with reading and the writing of James Joyce. It was a privilege to be his publisher, and his success was inextricably linked to that of Shakespeare and Company, which had become synonymous with his outlaw masterpiece; her store had changed literature.”

At this point in Sylvia’s journey, she can finally look back and reflect on how far she has come. While the publication of Ulysses put extraordinary strain on Sylvia’s mental health and relationships, it also validated the part of her that set out to become a Parisian bookseller in the first place. In this way, she comes to see herself as being part of something greater.

“It struck her that her mother had indeed been lost; she was always trying to get back to her dream of Paris, and unable to get there to stay; and it was more than Paris as a city, it was Paris as a concept of the bright, beautiful life she’d always wanted to lead, and felt she had led for a brief moment thirty years before.”

In this reflection about the Lost Generation, Sylvia comes to recognize Paris not as a geographical location but as a state of being. The American attitude toward Paris, even today, considers the city to be a lifestyle rather than a place. By immersing herself in the artistic culture of this city, Eleanor Beach is able to temporarily create this state of being in herself. However, she is ultimately unable to hold onto it.

“Sylvia felt seasick with loneliness. For her, it was both Odeonia and Stratford-on-Odéon, not one or the other.”

The contention between Adrienne and Joyce is one of Sylvia’s most difficult personal challenges. This moment highlights the divide between her two loved ones, but it also draws attention to the different ways they see the shop. Their opposing views reflect how the shop might have evolved in two different realities. Adrienne firmly believes that Shakespeare and Company would be better off if it had never crossed paths with James Joyce; Sylvia, however, sees the shop as being an amalgamation of two contrasting, conflicting worlds.

“Somewhere in all of this was the wretched truth that she had to choose between her relationship with the book and her relationship with the writer.”

Early in the novel, Sylvia has difficulty separating James Joyce from his work—in other words, the art from the artist. To her they are one and the same, and she herself has become inextricably tied up with them both. In this passage, however, she comes to realize that the writer and his work are two separate entities, each with their own unique influences upon her journey.

“If new memories were to be made, it would be in part because Paris itself was being remade by a whole new kind of artist in the Left Bank.”

This moment parallels Sylvia’s earlier reflection about the future sprawling out between her shop and Adrienne’s. Now the future is reaching another turning point through the art and social politics of a new generation. Through these moments and through Sylvia’s perspective, the novel shows a shifting landscape of early 20^th-century Paris.

“She couldn’t help it; even after everything, his compliment made her heart swell with pride. She and Margaret and Jane were indeed the first. There was something in that, being the first.”

This moment highlights the contribution of women to what is widely believed to be the work of a male Irish genius. Without these three women, Ulysses would never have been published in Joyce’s lifetime, and perhaps not at all. Here, Sylvia recognizes both her personal conflict with Joyce and her larger contribution to literary history, acknowledging that these two contradictory elements can exist in the same space.

“It was strange—late-night guests used to be quite common, when everyone was younger. There had been a long fallow period, and now they were seeing more and more of this new crop of young artists after dinner. Sylvia had to admit it annoyed her, though it didn’t seem to bother Adrienne in the slightest.”

This moment compounds the difference between Sylvia and Adrienne and highlights the fact that Sylvia is settling into a later stage of life while Adrienne is rejecting the aging process entirely. This transition reflects the awkward period of history that exists between one artistic movement and the next, and thus, the two stages of Sylvia and Adrienne’s relationship mirror the wider social transition that is taking place around them.

“There was a deep well of assurance in this, an acknowledgement of their bond, their shared past and secrets. Gisèle Freund and these other late-night intruders, Sylvia thought with conviction, had much life to live before they formed relationships as intimate and lasting as theirs.”

The irony in this observation is that Gisèle does in fact come between Sylvia and Adrienne, rupturing their “shared past and secrets” to a point that surpasses the hope of reconciliation. There is, however, a note of truth in Sylvia’s reflection that deep connection and intimacy come from lived experience. She takes comfort in what she has learned and how much she has grown, while Adrienne still seeks to embody the past.

“Something was taking shape, something that just might save her beloved shop—and it was fitting somehow that it was her French friends, the original potassons of a Maison des Amis des Livres, who would think of it.”

In this example of parallelism, the novel reincorporates one of its earliest elements. The people who first invited Sylvia into a community and made her feel at home are now the ones who open a different kind of door, ushering her into a new chapter. This brings her journey full circle while simultaneously sending it in a new direction.