Craving France while In Search of the American Dream
By Norma Jaeger Hopcraft
I need France. Something happens to
my writing that I treasure. Brooklyn (where I live) and Manhattan (where I
work) are such harsh environments, while France has a grace, elegance, ease,
breathing room, that I love. I feel hopeful there. Gratitude comes easily as my
gaze shifts from one beautiful building to another.
I’m back in the harsh realities of
Brooklyn. I live among minorities whose lifelong reality is dishwashing jobs,
broom jobs, Starbucks, fast food jobs. Their human potential is wasted in
menial labor that, for a white person, would be a high-school or college job,
with something more interesting to look forward to.
For them, the menial labor is
lifelong. The painfully low income is lifelong. Because of the color of their skin. The grief is palpable. It’s in
the air I breathe every day as I get off at the Church Street Q station.
I particularly grieve the loss of
human potential. Cures for diseases, beautiful symphonies, humanizing novels,
are locked up inside these neighbors of mine. The restless young men I see
milling on the street could run a company, or a nation. But they don’t have the
education to unlock those skills.
If I could straighten out the New
York City public education system, I would. If I could change everybody’s mind
about the damage done to the world by racism, I would.
Instead of living in Brooklyn—where
my rent is going up much faster than my pay, and I’m staring down the barrel of
the gentrification gun and being forced to move, just like my minority
neighbors—I would prefer to live in Paris, write in beautiful historic
libraries, and feel hopeful.
I visited another historic library
in Paris. L’Arsenal is located near Place de la Bastille. It’s the former
residence of the Master-generals of the Ordnance, hence the word "arsenal." Its
earliest books were first gathered in 1756! Therefore many of the books are
older than that. In L'Arsenal, scholars can pour over books, journals, manuscripts, prints,
maps and plans, sheet music. Here's more on the library:
Bibliothèque de l'Arsenal, near Place de la Bastille.
I didn’t have to do
research on any of those documents, though that would have been fun. But I was
there to write my own book!
L’Arsenal’s reading rooms,
like the Richilieu’s (see post immediately below), are part of the Research
Library of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. To gain access to these
research libraries, I thought I was going to have to prove that I was in Paris
to do research on the French Revolution or Napolean or some other French topic.
I didn’t think that was going to work.
But when I told the
gatekeepers that I was a writer, that I didn’t need to handle any of their
manuscripts, that I just wanted to write my own manuscript, they issued me a
card! The French have so much respect for writers. I bask in it when I’m there.
In New York, tell people you’re a writer and their eyes glaze over. They switch the topic instantly to the latest hit on television.
In New York, tell people you’re a writer and their eyes glaze over. They switch the topic instantly to the latest hit on television.
In France, tell people you’re
a writer, and they ask what you’re working on with genuine interest. They
listen to what you tell them, and they ask follow-up questions. It’s blissful!
At L’Arsenal, it was lovely
to write a book while the people around me gently and lovingly rested old books
on supports, called lecturns, and ever so carefully turned the pages. Handling
manuscripts in itself is an art form, my friend Margaret, a scholar of medieval
manuscripts, told me. You try to touch just the edge of the page. The method of
binding, the materials used to make the pages, all give clues to the history of
the book.
At L’Arsenal, the lecturns are covered in green velvet. At Richilieu, they are red.
Writing in Great Libraries while In Search of the American Dream
While writing my next novel, trying to make my American Dream of a successful writing career come true, it was great to look out the window at L’Arsenal and see horse chestnut trees and beautiful Parisian buildings just across the way, with wrought iron balconies and mysterious attic windows. Stay tuned for a post on attic windows!
The beauty of the architecture within the library, and the deep love of books displayed by the scholars studying manuscripts around me, and the beauty of the architecture outside the windows all led to one of my happiest days ever writing.
Here are some more pictures from
L’Arsenal:
During my hunt for the library, I saw these impressive lanterns framing the doorway to the Horse Guards.
Close-up of the lanterns. Aren't they beautiful? There are things like this to catch your eye all over Paris.
Here's one doorway to the Horse Guards.
In the entryway to the library, a stunning floor.
Then go up these stairs...
and up again...
To the second floor, with big windows overlooking beautiful houses.
Go down the hallway to the library...
...and be told by the receptionist that you cannot take your backpack into the library. You have to store it in one of these lockers.
In the room with the lockers is a spot for scholars to eat, overlooking a horse chestnut tree.
Back to the library to be assigned a place to work. More next week! What do you think of this place so far? Comment below!
