Paris to the Moon
by Adam Gopnik
Overview
From the Publisher
Paris. The name alone conjures images of chestnut-lined boulevards, sidewalk cafes, breathtaking facades around every corner—in short, an exquisite romanticism that has captured the American imagination for as long as there have been Americans.
In 1995, Adam Gopnik, his wife, and their infant son left the familiar comforts and hassles of New York City for the urbane glamour of the City of Light. For Gopnik this was above all a personal pilgrimage to the undisputed capital of everything cultural and beautiful. So, in the grand tradition of the American abroad, Gopnik walked the paths of the Tuileries, enjoyed philosophical discussions at his local bistro, and wrote as violet twilight fell on the arrondissements.
Yet, at the end of the day, there was still the matter of raising a child and carrying on with the day-to-day, not-so-fabled life. As Gopnik describes, the dual processes of navigating a foreign city and becoming a parent are not completely dissimilar journeys—both hold new routines, new languages, a new set of rules by which everyday life is lived. Weaving the magical with the mundane, he offers a wholly delightful, often hilarious look at what it was to be an American family man in Paris at the end of the twentieth century.
My thoughts
No one is going to dispute that Adam Gopnik is a terrific writer. I like his style very much. That said, my pet peeve is a book that sells itself as a novel but reads like a series of short stories. Halfway through the book I lost interest because I didn't feel that the story flowed. I seemed to be reading magazine articles rather than a book.
My opinion is not shared by all to be sure, and there is some terrific writing in this book. It's simply not the book for me.
Favorite Passage
The "generalized" strike that the big French labor federations have called - making a fastidious distinction between what they're doing now and the "general" strike that they may yet get around to - has shut down Paris. The commuter and intercity trains haven't run for two weeks, not even the TGV, the famous fast train between Paris and the South. The Metro is closed down (the crickets who live beneath the rails are said to be perishing for lack of the heat they normally get from the friction of the trains running above, and their plight has become a minor cause celebre here). There are no buses and the post office has stopped delivering the mail. Even le Paris touristique has been snapped shut. The Ritz has had a dropoff in occupacy of 25 percent (at the height of the terrorist bombing campaign, a few months ago, the rate was near normal, which suggests that the rich would rather risk being blown to bits than have a hard time finding a taxi.)
