Shakespeare & Co.

I've been putting off writing about Shakespeare and Co. until I could write something other than the standard touristy rave reviews. I'm not sure I can now, but in the name of naming something beautiful here everyday, today I'll try.

The store, which is not the same one that belonged to Sylvia Beach (publisher of Ulysses and sneaky, Nazi-evading bookstore relocator), is located between Notre Dame and the Place St. Michel on the Seine. The outside is painted green and yellow and on the shutters is a testament. Written in white on a black background (like the specials at a restaurant) in all caps, is a brief explanation of the store as told by George Whitman, the owner. The building is ancient. It used to house monks in the middle ages. Since 1951, the floors have groaned good-naturedly under two levels of floor-to-ceiling books in English. The left-hand side as you enter is the Antiquarium - first editions, signed copies, lots of leather, and that smell that every bibliophile loves. The right hand side is the merchandise - Julia Child is on permanent rotation, along with whatever new chick lit is set in Paris as well as French literature in translation. That is good business. Beyond that the store's "Poets' Corner" easily beats the poetry selection at your local Borders, and all the best contemporary writers are on their shelves.

The real power of the store is its cultural currency. It is a touchstone for lovers of the Beat Generation (of which Mr. Whitman was definitely a part). It carries on, quietly, its stalwartly bohemian tradition of allowing young writers, travelers, and book lovers to stay in the store in exchange for work. A few hours of shelving books earns you the right to sleep among them on couches on the second floor, a place where most tourists rarely venture. The store is thus staffed by shifting set of anglophone bibliophiles, some are hipsters and some just really really love reading. Joining the ranks of the "tumbleweeds," as they are called, is no easy feat, since English-speakers from New York to Cape Town dream of staying in this little Utopia. Those who are really serious about working at the shop get vetted by Sylvia. She can often be seen gliding between the shelves followed by a black dog. Sylvia is beautiful.

She has been running the shop since 2003. I imagine she grew up with her father in the apartment adjacent, where George used to hold tea on Sunday afternoons. I don't know if he still does it. He's at least 99 now. His daughter is only 30, but she has the old-school glamour one would expect from such an environment - ivory skin, short, wavy blond hair and a petite frame which she dresses becomingly in styles Katharine Hepburn would be at home in. She intimidates the hell out of me, I'm in awe of the poise and intelligence she projects just checking in with the cashiers or standing at the back of a reading.

Another thing that makes Shakespeare and Co. so great is their regular and varied readings. In 2009, I was lucky enough to see Jonathan Safran Foer read what would later be the first chapter of Eating Animals there, as well as the poets (and my teachers at the time) Joshua Beckman and Matthew Rohrer. Next week is Paul Harding and I'm dying to go. Men so talented I feel like I'll never be hungry again thinking about their work. Yeah, that's a weird reaction all right, but the excitement, and the motivation to read and write, the love of our language and the hope that maybe, with enough work, one day I could do something equally valuable -- even just the memory of it -- makes my stomach do somersaults. And that's the thing about Shakespeare and Co. The lush past filled with singed hair and traveling artists is just waiting to be reborn in the tumbleweed whose travel tales inspire a generation to reexamine their lives or the visiting writer who can finally wake up the muse that's been sleeping in the city for decades now. Here's to inspiration. Here's to holding out.