À Rebours, J-K Huysmans

Every once in awhile you open a book and it speaks to you in a way that seems to make you think it's come along for some express purpose. Such is the case when I began reading J-K Huysmans' "À Rebours", which translates to "Against Nature" or "Against the Grain".

My father used to say that he believed if people shut their mouths and opened a book, the world would be a much better place. He was constantly seeing parts of the world most people would chose to ignore. The bombings in Beirut; the fall of some dictator only to replaced by another; how much money there was to be made just across this border or that. He often came home visibly exhausted to shut himself away in his library.

"...whither he could fly for refuge from the incessant deluge of human folly."

For my father when he had little need for anything else besides a library, though he was a man of many passions. He judged people by their libraries. He considered a vast library full of unimportant books to be vulgar, but my own little bookshelf at age seven earned a short nod of approval. I suppose if I could ask him now my father would say something along the lines of a man only need own one book, as long as it's a great one.

In the past few days I have often thought about what my Papa might say now if he saw my library. I think he would understand the joy I feel in seeing all my books in one place and be happy I've decided to be serious about my life as a writer.

As for me, I wasn't sure until I read this passage:

"...He searched the outer suburbs of the capital and presently discovered a cottage for sale, above Fontenay-aux-Roses, in a remote spot, far from all neighbours, near the Fort. His dream was fulfilled; in this district, still unspoilt by intruders from Paris, he was secure against all harassment...

As he thought over the new existence he meant to make for himself, he experienced a lively sense of relief, seeing himself just far enough withdrawn for the flood of Paris activity not to touch his retreat, yet near enough for the proximity of the metropolis to add a spice to his solitariness. Indeed, in view of the well-known fact that for a man to find himself in a situation where it is impossible for him to visit a particular spot is of itself quite enough to fill him with an instant wish to go there, he was really guarding himself, by thus not entirely barring the road, from any craving to renew intercourse with the world or any regret for having abandoned it..."

In modern days it's impossible to maybe feel the same level of isolation that Huysmans felt at the idea of retreating into the suburbs of Paris. These days more people live outside of Paris (Paris and its region is referred to as Ile de France than in Paris itself. And Paris isn't that far away from the suburbs anymore thanks to the Metro or the local trains. From the place in the country the train is a short walk or bus ride away and forty minutes later I can set my foot on the voies of Gare de Lyon. I don't think it'd be easier if we had a car because well, traffic can be quite horrible.

Within minutes of reaching Gare de Lyon yesterday I realised that Paris doesn't miss me when I'm away. She has kept going as pleased with herself as ever and perhaps a bit smug that I am forced to return at the end of the weekend. I know she had a hand in the forty minutes of queue I endured to simply buy a ticket to take the Metro and the torrential downpour I was subjected to whilst in suede shoes. And all because there are loose ends to be tied and things I left undone.

I must see so and so. I must get stuff to make kimchee. I want to have a really good cup of chocolat chaud. I want to stop by my favourite vintage store. I need a lamp for the country house and maybe a few things to hang up photos...so as much as a squawk about the madness of it all - I know already I'll have to stay in Paris all week. Then go to London. When will I get back to the country again?

But Huysmans would understand all too well my current predictament, "...purchases of all kinds still kept him perambulating the Paris streets, tramping the town from end to end..."

And there you have it.  The saddest reason of all to abandon my idyllic, fairytale came true, beautiful little cottage in the forest. SHOPPING. (and work, but I can't even get into what the hell is going on with work at the moment).