Some stories are brave as warriors, holding their ideals high toward the sun. “This is truth.” they say, challanging the status quo, and quiescent crowds. I love those books. I also love stories that are beautifully told with graceful sentences and sinuous prose. I’m a sucker for graceful books. I love many types of books but these days I rarely find one that captivates me with an idea. That’s why I’m so enchanted with The Little Paris Bookshop. It’s a novel of infinite charm.
The Little Paris Bookshop is a book-filled barge that’s steered up and down the Seine by its owner, Monsieur Perdu. His name for the business is The Literary Apothecary and it’s a good description for the place because Monsieur Perdu prescribes books more than sells them. He listens to his customers and finds the books that will treat their unfulfilled needs. For example, the woman adrift in heartbreak doesn’t need Fifty Shades of Grey. She’s still recovering from a real relationship with a controlling, damaged man, she doesn’t need a fictional one to make her feel worse. Instead, Monsieur prescribes a book to be read in small doses, one that creates serenity, especially if it taken in the company of a cat. The woman recovers, a step at a time and lets go of her emotional pain. Monsieur can find a book to help everyone except himself.
It’s a charming idea that books can be used as homeopathic cures and one I’m not prepared to throw away. Not all books but some books have that effect on me. When I ached with homesickness for my home-town in Kansas, O Pioneers brought me back to the prairie. I would prescribe The Prince of Tides to those in turmoil from dysfunctional families and Out of Africa to anyone in need of perspective. The author of The Little Paris Bookshop evidently agrees as the book contains a short list of “emergency reads” listing the complaints they treat and recognized side-effects (For example The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is effective for treating pathological optimism but leaves one with the tendency to wear a robe all day.)
No book can cure every ache as Monsieur Perdu would be the first to attest. But can a book mend a broken heart? Perhaps, if it’s the right book at the right time. In the meantime, if you dream of summer evenings and shadows or a barge trip down the Seine, go look for The Literary Apothecary and ask for Mr. Perdu. You’ll find an absorbing trip of perception in a novel of infinite charm.
My gratitude to Blogging for Books for sending me a copy to review.
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