Paris Bookseller George Whitman Dies Above Shakespeare And Company At The Age Of Ninety-Eight

George Whitman – Friday 12 December 1913 East Orange, New Jersey to Wednesday 14 December 2011 Paris, France

I first saw George Whitman at Shakespeare and Company on Tuesday 4 July 1989 during my first (of many) trips to Paris, France. Part of my coursework for the Literary section of the University of California at Berkley’s Travel/Study program was to attend afternoon field trips to various parts of Paris. On that American Independence Day, a visit to the world famous bookstore across from Notre Dame was much anticipated.

My first entry into George Whitman’s life work presented books in every possible space (no faceouts here) – outside and inside; the register right as you entered the store where books could be paid for in American dollars or French francs (Euros were a dozen years away); and the way onto the second floor that was an adventure in “climbing” skills. I went to Shakespeare and Company several times on that first Parisian trip and George was always around somewhere – at the register figuring the currency exchange for customer book payments, escorting collectors into the rare book building, or as in the photograph above, reading at the bookstore’s window.

Years later, when I lived in Paris, the bookstore was a regular haunt of mine for the poetry readings held on the second floor during the cold months and outside in front during the warm months. And it was a frequent stop on my way to or from my favorite place to hang out on the Seine’s Left Bank. From that first visit in July 1989 to the last visit (so far) in August 2002, Shakespeare and Company has been a central part of my Parisian experience, whether as a student traveler or as an all-too-temporary resident. Thank you, George Whitman, for providing me with one of the best experiences in the City of Light. May your next “City of Light” be book-filled and angel-inhabited. Salut George!


Images:
Left: Shakespeare and Company entrance, Tuesday 4 July 1989. Photo is © An Adrean Darce Brent Image
Center: George Whitman, Tuesday 4 July 1989. Photo by Dorothy McCorkle
Right: UC Berkley students outside Shakespeare and Company, Tuesday 4 July 1989. Photo is © An Adrean Darce Brent Image

Zócalo: “Do Artists Have A Moral Responsibility In War?”

This was not my first time at a Zócalo event, though the venue itself, the Petersen Automotive Museum, was a first time experience for me. Although I am a museum goer, I really didn’t have much interest in this automotive museum as I don’t drive and know nothing about cars. But after checking in with the people from Zócalo and having time before they would let us into the actual space for the Alan Riding talk, I wandered around the first floor of exhibits. In addition to the beginning history of automobiles, there were also auxiliary aspects related to passenger cars – gas station, streetcar, design studio – and a clearly marked definite order in which to view the exhibits. Very helpful. As I was just walking around the floor to pass the time, I didn’t engage in the exhibits as I normally do in an art museum. But there were visually interesting vehicles, so I took pleasure in looking at them. At least I could admire the cars aesthetically if not from an engineering perspective.

Finally, fifteen minutes before the talk was to begin, people were allowed to take the escalator to the second floor - but only if you had received a wristband at the check in table (these days it’s all on the wrist). The seating was black, cushioned folding chairs and I settled in as comfortably as I could and prepared for the lecture. Alan Riding is actually on a book tour for his new non-fiction title And the Show Went On: Cultural Life in Nazi-Occupied Paris. I was drawn to this talk by the question of morality presented, especially in combination with culture and Paris during a conflictive time in France’s history. I know that I would simply answer the lecture’s title as YES and ask a different question – “What Are The Moral Responsibilities Of Artists During War?”

Riding began by commenting on the United States/United Kingdom level of moral response by artists and writers to the two current wars. It is hardly a blip, except perhaps for Hollywood stars and Riding doesn’t believe real attention is paid to them – after all what do they know? Because of the social and political stature they enjoyed by being close to the institutes/people in power, there is more of a tradition of artists taking a stand in Latin America when things become ugly. The usual choices were – stay and endorse military regimes, stay and remain silent, stay and take up arms against the regime, or leave and campaign against a regime abroad – few did the former, many did the later (among them Caetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil, Ariel Dorfman, Isabel Allende).

The occupation in France produced similar categories into which artists, writers, intellectuals made their choice – stay and support the Nazis and (for a time, Communists), which Riding calls “true believers” (one of them was Louis-Ferdinand Destouches, known as Céline); stay and remain silent (although he could have left Paris, Pablo Picasso chose to continue working while avoiding contact with Germans); stay and fight (Albert Camus joined the Résistance); and leave (many moved to unoccupied France, as well as other countries). During the occupation performers performed (Édith Piaf, Danielle Darrieux, Maurice Chevalier) because of the need to work and writers wrote, sometimes clandestinely, because of the need to keep publishing in existence. After the war, accusations of collaboration were leveled against some of the artists and writers and the degree of interaction someone had with the Germans determined their fate. Showing moral guidance was important even if everyone was just trying to survive the occupation.

After the lecture and Q&A there was a reception for Alan Riding at another port of the second floor, but I decided to skip it. I liked the lecture and I thought of what I would do in the same situation. Would I be brave enough to risk expressing my position, even with taking precautions or would I try to stay out of the limelight? Such were the questions I pondered on the bus ride home. Will have to read Riding’s book to learn more about this time of Parisian life.

Images:
Left: Alan Riding from the website zocalopublicsquare.org
Center: Zócalo email header
Right: Front cover of And The Show Went On: Cultural Life In Nazi-Occupied Paris from the website and the showwenton.com

La Fête Nationale

My first experience of Bastille Day was in Paris while on a travel/study program through the University of California, Berkeley. Recollections are hazy, but I remember celebrating with other program students in the general area of Place De La Bastille (near my future neighborhood); taking a break from the immense, jostling crowd and eating a pita on a stoop off Boulevard Henri IV; being startled by the small firecrackers the French were throwing on the ground in the midst of people – crazy! From La Bastille we somehow ended up on the Champs-Élysées (probably via the over-packed Metro) and were amazed by the squeezing in and the shouts of people on that ionic avenue. Although we were “enjoying” the novel experience of the French festivities, soon enough the group decided to head back home. Supposedly the Metro was to be running until 1:00 a.m. or 2:00 a.m.; though we waited a long time, with tens of others, on the platform in Roosevelt for a train that never came. The only thing to do was walk. So my first Bastille Day ended with walking from the eighth arrondissement to the sixteenth arrondissement in the company of fellow students and other celebrants trying to reach our respective homes. It was one of the longer walks I’ve taken in Paris, but I wouldn’t have missed the whole, insane, claustrophobic, noisy night for anything – not even for a really good red Bordeaux. Vive La France!

“Happy Bastille Day!!!” graphic created by Adrean Darce Brent