Quand on habite Paris

If you have ever studied another language, you have found that a turn of phrase can turn your understanding of an action or a custom or a worldview on its head. Other languages sometimes have different ways of thinking about the world built into them. One of my favorites from French is "habiter + [ville]": to live a city. Urban Anglophones passively live in Chicago, in Boston, in San Francisco. While the French can "habiter à Marseille" ("live in Marseille") or "habiter dans une belle maison" ("live in a beautiful home") the preposition is actually optional when it comes to cities, making them the direct recipient of that Urbanite's habitation: "J'habite Paris." This is one of those lovely spots where translation breaks down, though, because to "inhabit Paris" sounds too clinical, anthropological, when in fact its sense is markedly informal, but to "live Paris" sounds like a raucous party (which, in all fairness, it sometimes may be).

In any case, I can now say, "J'habite Paris." I arrived on Wednesday after a lovely stay in Oxford (sadly undocumented: If two friends spend four days together in city infinitely older than they are, but take no photos, did it really happen?). I thought I'd share a couple anecdotes since my arrival.

When I live Paris, I take public transportation, meaning that I read an almost inordinate amount. I devour books. I finished a truly wonderful book on books given me by my dear friend Jourdan, Ex Libris: Confessions of a Common Reader, by Anne Fadiman. I highly recommend it to all bibliophiles, and further that you read the essays "Never Do That to a Book" and "Words on a Flyleaf" in conjunction with one of my favorite Billy Collins poems, "Marginalia". Don't hurry through them, either. Fadiman's essays are like the deserts at the pastry bar at Ladurée; they should be taken one at a time to savor their unique sweetness, though you should certainly try them all.

When I live in Paris, I read in French. I polished off Annie Ernaux's Une femme within 24 hours of buying it at the Gibert Jeune on Place St-Michel. I read extracts from Marie-Antoinette's favorite portraitist Elisabeth Vigée-Lebrun, highly entertaining, on my iPod when I ran out of paper to ingest. I bought a copy of George Sand's Indiana this evening. We'll see how long that lasts.

When I live Paris, I read so much that I start writing like I'm walking on literary stilts - academic and literary language, poorly crafted mind you, starts pouring out my fingertips and I end up sounding enormously pretentious.

When I live Paris, I take public transportation, meaning that I catch cold. I am open to any and all home remedies.

When I live Paris, take public transportation, and catch cold, I take great pleasure in leaving soiled tissues in my open pockets in the hopes that some sticky fingers will find their way to exactly what they deserve for putting their hands in my pants.

When I live Paris, I like wandering through Gibert Joseph, another bookseller in the Latin Quarter and coveting the books in the Bibliothèque de la Pléiade but simultaneously wishing I saw more female authors on the wall.

When I live Paris, I still forget to sleep sometimes.