Book Review: "Paris" by Julian Green

“Paris” by Julian Green is about how one man, who was born somewhere else, came to live most of his life in the then-picturesque French Capital and what he remembers of it. The images and quotations make for great reading, great philosophies and thoughts, and they make for a brilliant build of story for when we investigate the depths of each alleyway and piece of architecture that litters the city with stories of its own. There is something incredible about this book that when you read it, you actually feel like you are inhaling the Paris air at the same time as Julian Green is running around the city like a philosophical tour guide, on his race to show you everything he holds extremely dear to him. From the amazing palaces to the backstreet bohemian cafes, from the existential quotation to the collectivism of the city’s inhabitants, from the overwhelming sense of being alone in the world, to the implication that maybe, in reality, none of this really matters at all - Julian Green is showing us the most intricate parts of one of the most historical and mysterious cities of the modern world. He does this whilst telling his own stories and anecdotes, weaving them in with the descriptions, the statements and suggestions on what the city can teach us about ourselves and our appreciation of person and place.

I love the quotation from the beginning of the book because it gives us reason to read the text for more than the romanticism of Paris itself but for the author telling us about his own senses whilst exploring and growing in this bewildering city.

“I have often dreamed of writing a book about Paris that would be like one of those long, aimless strolls on which you find none of the things you are looking for but many that you were not looking for. In fact, that is the only way in which I feel I can tackle a subject that I find as daunting as it is enticing. And let me say right away that I shall be making no mention of the great monuments or any of the places you would expect to find duly described. Possibly from having looking at them too much, I can no longer see the architectural glories of Paris with quite the open mind required.”

From this we can gather one thing - we are going to get a realist viewpoint of the architecture of Paris, without all the Henry Miller-esque romanticism or all the Percy Shelley-glorification. We are going to see it for what it really is and as breathtaking as it might be, it is still a piece of art. It simply stands there. Many places in my hometown of England have architecture that I see people on occasion take photographs of and for the life of me, I cannot understand why they do it. It is just a piece of art. And that is exactly what Julian Green is justifying to us here - that even the picturesque cities of the world have art that is - well that’s it - it’s just art. It populates a space.

“In the novelist’s eyes every life, even the humblest, possesses that itch of mystery and there is something about the sum total of all the secrets contained in a city that he finds by turns stimulating and oppressive. What a prodigal waste of situations, speeches, dramas, characters, settings! Who would not be moved by such a struggle? Copying is out of the question, only foots and impotents copy. No, the thing is to produce something as good, if possible, our of your own resources. And so begins the strange torture of the blank sheet of paper, where you must open a window that is not the one I spotted just now but one equally insistent in its truthfulness.”

This whole book is filled with dramatic and often deeply philosophical quotations on life in Paris and the writing process of getting it all down. I think that due to the brief nature of this book the author is trying to tell us that no matter how long or short the book is, he could never come to an absolute conclusion. There is no real answer to any of these questions.