OPINION

OPINION | STEVE STRAESSLE: Lost in books

The boy lit up when he saw it. Strange for a teenager to get so excited about a bookshop, but this was no ordinary store. This one occupied a small corner in Paris, right across the Seine from Notre Dame Cathedral, situated perfectly in the Latin Quarter of that historic city.

It was almost as if the boy had traveled across the Atlantic for this one reason. Forget the massive Eiffel Tower. Don't worry about the beautiful Sacre-Coeur. Never mind the visit to Versailles the next day. Shakespeare and Company booksellers was highest on his list.

The young man had wild summer hair and dark glasses and was part of a school-sponsored tour of France and Italy a few years ago. I had the opportunity to tag along as a chaperone, but I spent my time there as awed as the teenagers, completely overwhelmed by the old country. We'd eventually see the racing-

streets of Monaco, the beaches of Nice, as well as the secular and religious dominance of Rome. We'd walk the crooked medieval paths of Assisi and marvel at the architecture in Pisa. But this boy had circled a stop on the journey: a little bookshop in Paris.

I thought of that young man a couple of weeks ago when I read that Shakespeare and Company had fallen on hard times. The pandemic lockdown had caused turmoil in small Paris shops. Add the fire at Notre Dame, terrorist attacks, and anti-government protests, and maintaining an independent bookstore became almost impossible. That's when Sylvia Whitman, the daughter of the late Shakespeare owner, launched an email request to supporters. The plea was simple: Buy a book. Support the store. Keep the funky shop alive.

The boy on the trip had always been a Holden Caulfield, a wanderer in his own life. Never lost, he just seeks different paths without knowing where they'll lead. There's a difference, he'd say. Enamored of classic authors, he's devoured books, published a story or two, won a national journalism award, and writes poetry still. The history of Shakespeare and Company fed a part of his wandering soul.

Originally opened in 1919 by an American woman, Sylvia Beach, the store quickly became a hot spot for young American writers who became known as the Lost Generation. Ernest Hemingway, Ezra Pound, and F. Scott Fitzgerald all spent many of their post-World War I days visiting the store. They shared tales, undoubtedly grading each other's storytelling. They traded life details, aspirations, and books. Many of the Lost Generation became transformational writers who still populate iconic reading lists today.

According to Shakespeare and Company lore, Sylvia Beach closed her shop during the World War II German occupation of Paris after refusing to sell a high-ranking Nazi officer her last copy of James Joyce's "Finnegans Wake." In 1951, another American, George Whitman, became a devotee and reopened the shop in post-war Paris, moving it down the road and later rechristening it Shakespeare and Company. This time, the Beat Generation showed up. Allen Ginsberg, William S. Burroughs, and others made the store a second home. In some cases, literally.

Since then, the Shakespeare and Company following has grown worldwide. Aspiring authors touch its bookshelves, hoping to glean some of the magic previous greats may have left behind. Tourists flock to the site to purchase books stamped with the Shakespeare logo as prized keepsakes. Parisians support its independent streak. And then there's the high school tour group from Little Rock.

From the Lost Generation to the Beat Generation to the wild-haired Arkansas boy.

I watched him walk the narrow spaces between bookshelves. Despite talkative classmates who didn't quite sense the store's sacredness for bookworms, the boy made his way around every space he could find, touching books, inhaling the air breathed by his literary heroes. He tiptoed up the fading red stairs and into another floor of books galore. His movements were almost reverent. Shakespeare and Company remains the motherland to writers and book lovers alike, and the young man's movements reflected that. He bought a book or two and held them close.

The other day, I happened to find some old photos from that trip all those years ago and clicked through them, wondering if I'd caught any of the boy who had to see the bookshop. I found one. In it, other boys are thumbing through purchases while the young man stands outside, appraising the store, taking it in.

When the email circulated about Shakespeare and Company's travails, I thought about the trip to Paris and the wild-haired boy who reveled in the bookshop. Soon, I found myself online placing an order--the history of Shakespeare and Company as well as a copy of Joyce's "Dubliners." For a little extra, the bookstore included a typed poem with each. As a final serendipity, the great Shakespeare and Company seal will be stamped in both. The teenage boy, now a young man, will unwrap them this Christmas.

It's tough to remain distanced from families during the holidays. But there's always a way for a truly tight-knit group to shine. In the week after Sylvia Whitman's plea, more than 5,000 orders poured in. Even French President Emmanuel Macron visited the shop. In the age of Amazon and the ease of ordering online, a legion of readers held its own.

It looks like Shakespeare and Company will make it after all. Just like so many stories with great endings, their extended family came through.

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Steve Straessle, whose column appears every other Saturday, is the principal of Little Rock Catholic High School for Boys. You can reach him at sstraessle@lrchs.org. Find him on Twitter @steve_straessle.

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