Globe Corner Blogs

New York City’s Bryant Park is lovely on a summer evening. Back-lit by the warm glow of the New York Public Library, the park’s green lawn spreads across the square, empty save for a sprinkler system and a sign or two asking people to keep off the grass. And people do. But they gather at its edges, like spectators at a game that will never be played, talking quietly or simply staring. At what? I can tell you that they are looking at something, but that something is the absence of everything. The lush green grass and the fathomless empty space above it–through which a few bats swoop noiselessly–is a novelty in New York.

I joined them on the sidelines after attending this year’s Book Expo America, where people like you, reader, who like to read silently to themselves in cozy spaces, gather together in an uncharacteristically extroverted celebration of that very act. Readers, Booksellers, Writers, Agents, Teachers, Librarians, Publishers–representatives of the literary community of America–all come together for a few days of chaos and connection at the Javits Convention Center in New York City.

While I am someone who needs a Bryant Park after a day on the trade floor, I still find the expo incredibly stimulating and motivating. I was heartened by the warm reception my co-workers and I received at each glance down at our name tags that let people know we sold books at Brookline Booksmith: from local presses, to BPL librarians, to loyal customers, my name tag never failed to garner a welcome. The most notable reception had to be from the folks at Lonely Planet and the least notable from the notorious Grumpy Cat who was snoozing when my coworkers and I snuck up behind for a picture, after waiting in line for over an hour.

And following those greetings were inspiring conversations with those who have joined the book world out of a common love of literature–even if that very passion has us heaving a huge, but happy, sigh of relief when we return to our Bryant Parks and cozy corners and curl up for a nice, quiet read.

A few years ago, as my friend Tera and I were wandering around the Bibliothèque nationale in Paris, I wondered aloud if Proust’s manuscripts were there, either on display or hidden away in some dusty archive. So when we inadvertently befriended a bored security guard, we asked. Unfortunately, neither of us spoke much French. But the guard seemed to understand, became animated, and sent us off down a long hallway with directions to turn at the end. We eagerly complied, only to end up at an exhibit of Louis the Something’s Globes.

Proust’s coveted hand-written drafts of his 3,000 page novel, In Search of Lost Time, have never been on display outside of Paris. When I left the city I thought I had left my chances of ever viewing the spidery scrawl and crowded margins of my favorite author. But now, in celebration of the 100^th anniversary of the publication of Swann’s Way, Proust’s papers have made their way outside of the confines of the Bibliothèque national, and are on display at the Morgan Library in New York City.

In conjunction with these celebrations, 192 Books in Chelsea decided to host “Proust in 24 hours” a 24-hour reading of Swann’s Way. And they decided to hold this event last Tuesday, February 19, in other words: on my 30^th birthday. As could think of no better way to celebrate, reflect on, and downright ponder the passing of time, I decided to go.

I spent the afternoon at the Morgan with Proust. At least, that was what it felt like, as I enclosed myself in the small, cubicle exhibit and poured over his manuscripts. Never mind that his handwriting was illegible and that, while my French has improved somewhat since my miscommunication with the library guard, my continuing education French classes haven’t quite got me up to the speed of, well, Proust’s vocabulary. I remembered that Proust translated his favorite author, Ruskin, without learning English, and I stared at those pages until I began to recognize the passages I had committed to heart.

On the opening page to Swann’s Way, Proust had drawn a bold line through an entire first paragraph. Then, near the bottom, he had penciled in a line so tenuous and faint it was difficult to discern: “Longtemps, je me suis couche de bonne heure.” In another draft on display the famous madeleine was referred to as a “biscotte”—it originally had its source in a commonplace slice of toast. This toast to madeleine transubstantiation will forever stand in my mind as the quintessential transformation of life into art.

Sufficiently immersed in Proust, I dropped my bags at The Jane Hotel and headed up 10^th Ave to 192 Books. The small, one-room carefully curated bookshop was cozily packed with people crowded around a small table where Adam Gopnik and Anka Muhlstein would introduce the 24-hour reading. Champagne was poured and madeleines nibbled as we listened to Gopnik read an exchange of letters between Proust and André Gide, who declined to publish Proust. Muhlstein talked about her new book Monsieur Proust’s Library, a chronicle of the literature Proust both references and draws from in his work. There are over 200 characters in In Search of Lost Time, and a good many of them are readers.

We had quite a few readers that night at 192 books. I felt privileged to be among them as I took my turn at the mike. And while I did not make it through the entire 24 hours, I did stay long enough to hear the madeleine dipped into tea, and of how its taste conjured up a past believed to be lost, the narrator’s panacea, and one for us all, against the forward turning of the years.

I thought that was the end of my Proustian pilgrimage to New York City, but I was wrong. The following day, as I was walking down 5^th Avenue, I glanced in the window of Bergdorf Goodman. The luxury department store had decided to go literary, giving five window displays over to great moments in literature, among them, In Search of Lost Time.

Daffodils - photo by Llalan

After a stint in New York City, I have moved back to Ohio – a part of Ohio that New Yorkers would call rural. Last night I heard muffled bumping and scuffling on the porch. I opened the door to find three raccoons looking up at me over nearly empty bowls of cat food, left out for the strays. Before I stomped my feet and yelled nonsense at them, I paused. They really are beautiful creatures with their full tails, sharp black masks, and delicate paws.

Every Ohioan I meet says, “New York, eh? Must be quite some culture shock for you here,” poking gentle fun at our small town. They are right to an extent. A few weeks ago I was walking down the street in my bright red wool coat. Several women crossed my path and stared. Perhaps it was the herringbone scarf. My hair stylist asked where I was from, because of my accent.

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I was lucky to have absolutely gorgeous weather this past weekend when I was visiting my brother in New York City. After a few dark, cold, and drizzly days in Boston, I prepared for much of the same down in New York. I pessimistically made a list of museums to visit and packed an umbrella for the trip. But I was pleasantly surprised to encounter clear skies the whole weekend – a bright, late-October sun and a warm, caressing breeze.

Instead of spending a day at the Met, we walked from neighborhood to neighborhood and borough to borough. We wandered through the Lower East Side, Chinatown, and the area surrounding NYU (where my brother is currently an undergraduate), we went over the Manhattan Bridge, explored DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass), and then doubled back over the Brooklyn Bridge. By that time it was already sunset, and the many-storied buildings of lower Manhattan and Midtown reflected back to us in hues of pink, orange, and blue. We watched night gradually transform a rosy fairytale island city into an elegant, glittering metropolis. Continue Reading »

Brooklyn Sunset--photo by Llalan

My new apartment in Brooklyn is not in the nicest part of town. There are no coffee shops or beer bars or trees. It is predominantly Caribbean, and I am occasionally called “Snowflake.” The soul record shop is next to a Christian bookstore that has a TV in the window, so all day long Al Green battles a bellowing reverend on the outdoor speakers.

Under the Brooklyn Bridge--photo by Llalan

It is not Somerville, Massachusetts, for sure, and sometimes I do feel as though I’m traveling in a foreign country. I’m afraid of the food: a whole restaurant devoted to brisket? I don’t speak the language: what is a “weave” exactly? I get lost a lot: damn you bus drivers and your mumbled announcements! I stick out like a sore thumb: my camel hair coat and red scarf do nothing to camouflage my skin. And sometimes I really want to go home. Continue Reading »

New York Pride Parade: photo by Betsy

While I always expect a little madness when I visit New York City, I did not realize, getting off the five hour bus ride from Boston to New York, that this particular Sunday was the culminating event of Gay Pride week: the Pride Parade. This alone would, under normal circumstances, have the already hot, crowded city buzzing a bit louder than usual, but the middle of the World Cup (Germany vs. England and Argentina vs. Mexico) also fell on this weekend. This meant that both admittedly rowdy crowds would be celebrating and I would be going along for the ride.

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Whenever I search for budget accommodations in New York City, I am constantly shocked at the prices. Recently The Pod Hotel in Midtown Manhattan started popping up as a possibility, but I always rejected it. The name kind of scared me and I was just a bit hesitant. For my latest short jaunt to The Big Apple, however, the relative bargain price was just too good to pass up and I booked a single room with a shared bathroom for two nights.

It was great! Highly recommended! What a deal! The Pod Hotel is conveniently located at 230 East 51st Street right next to a wine bar Le Bateau Ivre and is a close walk to the subway. It was easy to find, check-in was a breeze, and most of the elevators worked. When I opened the door to my “pod” I did have a bit of deja-vu as it looked quite a bit like one of the claustrophobic cabins I have shared while traveling by ferries. However this room was bright, spotlessly clean, equipped with a lot of storage space for such a small place, and quiet. Everything that I needed except for a bathroom. Continue Reading »

Brooklyn EIPA - photo by Llalan

New Yorkers. They love their city, they love their Yankees, and by God, they love their beer. They have German beer bars, Belgian beer bars, American craft beer bars – whatever your thirsty little heart desires.

I wanted to get in on the love fest. Realizing that drinking at all of New York’s beer halls would take weeks and be hazardous to our health, my friend and I tackled a few in Williamsburg over a weekend.

First on the official tour: Spuyten Duyvil. (Don’t ask how it’s pronounced – I forget.) The tag line to the bar’s name is “rare and obscure,” and that it is. While I sipped an Oktoberfest on cask, my friend delicately held a tiny tulip of mead. For as powerful as the honey-heavy drink was, it sure didn’t come in a manly glass. He stuck out a pinky and muscled through.

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Netherland - by Joseph O'Neill

So, apparently President Obama is reading Netherland. This is great news for Joseph O’Neill, the novel’s author.

Netherland, just out in paperback, was long-listed for the Man Booker Prize and, much to my surprise, cut from the short list.  It was also one of the New York Times 10 Best Books of 2008.

When I told a friend I was reading Netherland, he responded by asking if it was a book set “back in the day.” It’s not, but it was a fair question. The title is enigmatic and elusive: Netherland refers to the protagonist’s birth country (the Netherlands) and to the primary setting of the novel, New York City, once called New Amsterdam (“back in the day” of course). And going further, the title, read as nether-land, evokes images of some sort of underworld, a hidden realm that exists below the surface of the what’s most apparently visible, a nether world I understand to be the psyche of New Yorkers living in a post 9/11 world and struggling to make sense of life in a city that is often too immense, too overwhelming. Continue Reading »

Mini Rough Guide New York City

I took a day trip to New York City this weekend for Monster Track–the alley cat bike race in which you ride to different checkpoints throughout the city and the first one to finish wins.  The race is easiest for those who live in New York and know the streets well, but my friend and I just went to experience the brutality of it all.  What is unique about this race is that it is on the streets in full traffic – there is no closed course – and the only rule is no brakes allowed.

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