Precarious Positioning

Sometimes I come across things over here in France that really make me question my perception of "normal." That is to say, not everyone in the world does things the way they are done in America; rules and regulations that seem impenetrable in the U.S. are not so everywhere in the world. That observation is quite apparent, I know. Yet it is still a surprising fact when I see things unfold in a vastly different manner than I have been culturally conditioned to expect.

Recently, a couple of these various "things" (situations, behaviors, etc.) have also illustrated to me how much more creative and interesting America could/would be if people were not sueing each other over every single trangression--big or small, imagined or real. I mean, if no one had to worry about lawsuits, I think the country would be a much more honest, not to mention colorful, place.

Hang on a sec, I am just going to hold hands with my neighbors and sing It's a Small World.

What inspired this train of thought about lawsuits and stifled creativity, are two experiences that have unfolded over the past couple of weeks. The first is that I recently discovered a used book shop for English books. The second is that my husband recently started reading for pleasure.

Obviously you are missing the connection. You should be, as I have not yet gotten to it.

So I was delighted to hear about this second hand bookshop located in the 6th arrondissement, not in the least because that is my favorite area to wander around on a free afternoon. One thing about me, I read quite a bit. And this hobby has produced a personal pickle of sorts for me in Europe: most libraries in Paris have pretty limited English sections and Amazon is not really a concept that has taken off over here. As a result, I have been frequenting my favorite English book shops, Shakespeare and Company and The Village Voice. Both are charming little shops that I absolutely adore and sort of want to move into, but the prices of books are not exactly pas cher.

And I certainly do not mean that as criticism directed towards these little treasure troves, I only bring it up in the sense that, as someone who lives here and buys books a lot, prices are something I do consider. That said, neither place is overpriced and they are both well worth a visit to absorb the adorable "old world" charm of these character-ful shops. As I said, I sort of want to move in to either. You might too, so definitely go visit.

And actually, since I am not a drug addict, a gambler, or someone who needs to eat foie gras and caviar every day, spending money on books does not really bother me, per se. The issue is that I am not going to be able to lug these books back to the U.S. with me, and so accrueing piles of literature in our tiny temporary apartment just seems silly.

Hence, I was really jazzed upon learning about San Francisco Books and the fact that the owner will buy back most books you bring in and/or grant you a credit. His books range from 1 euro to about 5 euro, with only the really new and mintly-conditioned cream of the crop fetching about 10 euro (note that this scale is a marked financial improvement over the 11 euro to 18 euro that I paid per book at either of the other places).

And like, the other two bookstores, the shop is a tiny, cavernous little affair that is stocked to the gills with all types of books. The passageways are such that if two people of relatively normal proportions need to pass by one anther, one will have to fully press him/herself up against a wall while the other squeezes by. And, here is where things get interesting; there are random stepstools and ladders strewn about the store for customer use, since the books are piled floor to ceiling on shelves that look as though they could give way with the slightest jostle. Standing on a ladder trying to reach a Ken Follett book, I suddenly had a vision of myself tumbling to the floor, landing with an ominous thud, and being subsequently buried by an avalanche of literary marvels as my stocking feet stuck up in the air.

Would not be bad way to go, actually. Provided my underwear was not visible to the general public, of course.

But my real point is not that I am a danger-loving, shelve-climbing fool, but rather that this store has random ladders strewn about (did you get that when I first wrote it in the last paragraph?). There are no "regulation" step stools, or warnings to stay off these climbing apparati. In fact, one guy in the back room was, rather precariously, balanced on a step stool as he hovered above anther guy who was absorbed in perusing a detective novel, fully unawares that one wrong move by the climbing ape could result in a dual-concussed situation.

I mean, this "system" would NEVER happen in a U.S. book store. The proprietor/corporate office would be way too terrified of the multiple lawsuits that would be forever imminent by climbing customers.

And that reality is a terrible misfortune for the U.S., because this place was basically exploding with character and unique charm that any viable bookworm would devour with relish. It seems worth noting that my other two aforementioned fave spots are similar in the crowded chaos sense. Fire marshalls in America would close these places down in a heartbeat.

And, again, that regulation-following would lead to a true bummer, because these places are as original and quirky as the books that are crammed and balanced on the shelves, stairs, and floors of these lovable little shops. Personally, I wish the U.S. would allow such a thing, because the sterile environment of the corporately-cloned Barnes and Noble stores are really not doing any of us any favors.

But maybe that is just me, looking to plug my anti-chain store beliefs into this "un-agenda-ed" little blog of mine.

So my reason for going to the bookstore yesterday was threefold: because I love bookstores, because I wanted to return some books for credit/trade, and because I was looking for a new book for the new reader with whom I live (my husband, in case that was too cryptic a description).

And, on that note, my husband has been taking a book to the park and reading on a bench (how terribly Parisian, I know!) It has been bizarrely sunny in Paris this past week, and no one quite knows how to handle the situation. So droves of Frenchies have been outside soaking up the rays a best they can, depite the fact that the weather is a far cry from "warm."

As such, my husband has hardly been alone in the parks when he goes to read. The other day, there was a guy sitting on the bench next to my him, having a sandwich and enjoying a sit. After eating, the bench neighbor got up and threw away the trash from his meal. He then started chucking his pocket switchblade at the tree in front of him, ostensibly practicing the accuracy of his shot.

I mean what?! Some guy, in a public park, in broad daylight is hurling a KNIFE through the air?

This would never fly (literally) in the U.S. He would be arrested in two shakes. Not in France, anything goes as long as you act like you are in the right, deliver a well-timed "pfffffft" and shrug of your shoulders. Basically, if you have the right attitude, you can pretty much get away with anything.

So there you have it; two scenarios that remind me that what I perceive/accept as "normal" are hardly situations/behaviors that qualify as everyone's "norm." Like most intercultural differences, I see both bad and good sides. It would be really lovely and amazing if the U.S. could relax on the "regulation" front and thus allow small mom and pop shops to flourish with all their code-violating, ladder strewing, uniqueness. But I also know that Americans themselves sort of ruined that possibility with their over-zealous need to squelch cash out of others and thus to sue anybody and everybody who could have possibly inadvertently minorly affected them in a perceived negative way.

Not to be too cynical.

On the other hand, I will not squak about anyone's rights being terminated when the police in the U.S. pick up a park-dwelling, sandwich-eating, knife-throwing dude. I mean, some rules do apply to all, and sorry to stifle the local color, but I prefer to not fear incurring a flying stab wound when walking through a park on a sunny day. Or any day, for that matter. So do with that what you will.

And once again, these two situations are indicative of my experience here. On any given day, something happens that results in my marveling at the ways it seems to me that France has things just so absolutely "right." And then I am presented with another situation offering juxtaposition to that realization and I see ways in which this country/culture is absolutely bonkers.

Welcome to my life in Paris.