A love of words
March 17th, 2010 by Sophie Masson
A month into my residency in Paris, and already it’s begun to feel familiar, a home away from home. We know where the good markets are now, the cheap butcher, the best baker in our neighbourhood, the guy who sells the best mussels and fish—and we cook up our little feasts on our humble two hotplates with, I like to think, a suitably Parisian elan and imagination and attention to detail!
The colour and beauty and grace of the city continue to fill our senses, and now that an impressionistic smudge of spring is starting timidly to color the edge of the winter sky, and the three signs of the warmer season approaching are beginning to show themselves—musicians busking in the street rather than just in the Metro tunnels, people clustering around the outdoor tables of cafes, and demonstrators starting to wave placards (a time-honored French sport!)–we are even more excited at being in this wonderful and inexhaustibly interesting place.
Yes, Paris is a feast for the senses—but it isn’t just the five senses that are richly rewarded. For a writer, one of the beauties of being here is that French love of words, particularly of witty—or poetic—words. It’s not only that this is a city of innumerable bookshops, a city where writers both living and dead are celebrated and feted—you can hear this love of words even in very ordinary conversations in little shops and at the checkouts of supermarkets, where people will very often make little remarks of both a very personal (much more personal than most English-language people are used to!) and witty kind.
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