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I’ve loved libraries ever since I was a kid, when I spent most school vacations at our local branch. But I’d never have guessed that a library would become my second home. Here’s what happened.
In 2010 my husband and I moved to Paris. As lifelong Francophiles, his diplomatic assignment to France felt like a dream come true. But we had barely unpacked our bags, when he got called away to Baghdad for a year, no spouses allowed. The good news was that I could stay in Paris. The challenge would be creating a life by myself.
In the beginning, I struggled a little. As much as I loved living in Paris, I found Parisians as formal as their reputation and even though I spoke French, it wasn’t enough to loosen tight-knit social circles that had existed since pre-school (or, in some cases, the womb).
One evening, out for a walk, something caught my eye: a sign for the American Library in Paris. Back home, I did some research and discovered that this was the largest English-language lending library in Europe, founded in 1920. A modest membership fee offered access to the collection, as well as cultural events. The next day I returned and signed up.
At first I was just a member. I browsed the stacks, or whiled away rainy Saturdays in the reading room. But slowly I made friends with the circulation manager, who shared my interest in new cookbooks. And then the programs manager, who invited me to give a talk on my new novel. I started meeting other members: fellow former New Yorkers, fellow struggling writers, fellow book-lovers. Before I knew it, I was volunteering at author readings, arranging folding chairs into rows, pouring wine, distributing snacks. A few months later, the programs manager left for a new job and the library director offered me the position. I jumped at the opportunity.
As a writer, I had sometimes struggled with too much solitude. But now, my part-time job at the American Library in Paris gave me a comforting exoskeleton of routine. Commuting to work by métro, I felt like I was truly part of the city, an honest wage-earner, instead of a temporary resident, or dilettante tourist. I loved discovering a new neighborhood, one quieter and more residential than my own. And I enjoyed spending time with my colleagues – who were mostly American expats – and never tired of their quirky tales of culture shock and assimilation in France. In this quiet oasis near the Eiffel tower, I found a warm and caring community.
These days, I live in Paris part-time, but the American Library in Paris is still very much a part of my life. When my husband and I decided to look for an apartment to buy in Paris – a tiny shoebox, but our shoebox – we found one a block from the library. Once upon a time, I might have dismissed the neighborhood as stuffy – but now I knew better. After all my time at the library, it felt like home.
Whenever I go back to Paris, one of my first stops is always the American Library. I go to see to my friends, of course. But I also go to browse the stacks, curl up with a pile of books in the reading room, and while away a rainy afternoon. I go to remind myself that I am home again.
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Thanks, Ann! The Lost Vintage goes on sale June 19th, so be sure to check it out!
-Chris
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