Metropolitain book club

“My grandfather always says that’s what books are for, […] to travel without moving an inch.” – Jhumpa Lahiri, The Namesake.

When I first moved to Paris, nearly five years ago now, I felt immensely conscious of the vast continent of Europe spreading out around me. Airports and train stations seemed like the gateways to adventure, the start of the magic carpet ride, and I think I’ve made the most of the opportunity to travel while I’ve been here.

Lately though, staying put has been much more appealing. Packing a suitcase, running for the train, trundling around different towns, all seems like such a hassle. But the metro-boulot-dodo routine has been much enlightened by some virtual travel – in space and time. I loved most of my recent reading so much that I am on the verge of grabbing random passers-by by the lapels and telling them, “go and read this book”. Some of these are borrowed, but all of them will remain in my mental library.

Untold Stories – Alan Bennett. Through some oversight I have never read or seen any of Alan Bennett’s work before. But I am an instant fan based on these funny, self-deprecating, fascinating memoirs. He talks at length about his mother’s mental illness and decline into dementia, his time at Cambridge, and the creative process. He also includes essays on works of art and excerpts from his diary from 1996 – 2004, capturing his take on Blair’s Britain, Princess Diana and the second Iraq war. Also visits an enormous number of old churches, despite being an atheist. Stoked my Anglophilia something chronic.

The Fry Chronicles – Stephen Fry. Number two in an occasional series “Tales of a gay man in Thatcher’s Britain”. Might be time for me to track down some Alan Hollinghurst while I'm at it. This book covers his time at Cambridge in the 1980s where he found his calling as a writer and comedian. Fascinating as much for his brutal self-examination as for the tales of theatre and revels with Emma Thompson, and meeting the young Hugh Laurie – a match made in heaven.

Kitchen Confidential – Anthony Bourdain. Self-deprecation of entirely another order as he shags and shoots up his way through his early cooking career. Hilarious tales of debauchery and derring-do, some of it even involving food. If Keith Richards had picked up a meat cleaver instead of a guitar, he could have written this book.

There is actually a lot of lyrical discussion of food –being raised on French cuisine via his father’s side, and then coming to appreciate Italian cuisine later in life, plus huge insights into the underbelly of the New York restaurant world. I warn you though, once you have read this, you may not want to eat in a restaurant ever again!

The Prestige – Christopher Priest. The book that the 2006 film was based on, with Hugh Jackman and Christina Bale. The story plays out slightly differently, with a modern element I find a bit jarring, but the core story is just as gothic and thrilling. Good if you’re fascinated by Victorian Britain.

The Moment – Douglas Kennedy. Epic love story set in 1980s Berlin. The main character, a young American writer, got on my nerves a bit, but the ambiance of the divided city feels authentically gritty and is vividly written. As good as being there if not better.

Embers - Sándor Márai. A classic novel given to me by a Hungarian friend.  It’s a story of love and loss, but above all, nostalgia for a bygone era. Beautifully written, slim but dense, this is a book I will read again and again.

Travels with Herodotus - Ryszard Kapuscinski. Voted journalist of the 20th century in Poland, Kapuscinski dreamed of taking a train just to be able to pass over the border of Poland and into a foreign land. Instead, he found himself on a plane to India, with a copy of The Histories by Herodotus. For the next 40 years, Herodotus would be his travelling companion and sometimes guide as he explored far-flung corners of the world. Excellent for his observations on possibly the world’s first ever foreign correspondent, which travelling in some of the same places, two and a half thousand years later, as well as insights into what it means to be a foreigner.

The Namesake - Jhumpa Lahiri. And finally, the book I’m still reading now. I discovered Jhumpa Lahiri through her short story collection “The Interpreter of Maladies”, thanks to my friend Amy, a woman with impeccable taste in books as well as quilts. Most of the stories deal with the culture shock of Indian immigrants looking for a better life in North America, but never feeling like they belong. This novel covers similar ground, in meticulous detail. Gogol Ganguli has been named after his father’s favourite author, but chafes against his conspicuous name – neither Indian nor American, but Russian. The plot is rigidly linear – first he is born, then he grows up, goes to school, college etc. But the delight is in the detailed observations of his family’s life in America, the recording of the immigrant experience and her insights into the divided self this creates.


I seem to have read an awful lot in English lately. This is not a conscious choice - but books in English are such a rare commodity that I am even more compelled to pick them up when I come across them. I have a number of favourite French authors I want to get to while I am in France, but that will have to wait for another post.

If you have run out of things to read, I hope you enjoy something from the above. Happy Reading!