In a recent interview, I very confidently said, I dont understand how people can say that shopping is retail therapy. Isnt compulsive shopping some kind of disease too, rather than a cure? And then I remembered my own weakness in bookstores. How I am unable to leave a bookstore without buying at least one book. How I think of those books as animals at a shelter, waiting to be rescued from solitude. How after splurging I will find myself stumbling out of a bookstore, somewhat dazed, a part of me chiding what have you done and another insisting, its done, crush the receipt, dont look at it, life continues. In a Paris bookstore, where the books were all in French, I found myself at a loss. Sacrilege to leave without a book! Should I pick out a childrens book instead? What is A for Apple in French--Arbre? Avion? But I thought, why not poetry instead, so I asked if they had any Paul Eluard. Shopkeeper corrects me--its a silent d. (Oh French people, why cant you just pretend that you know what Im saying instead of correcting me all the time? I know youre correcting me because you dont say Paul Eluard? like a friendly question, but grimly, as if I have done something unmentionable to your language, as if to enunciate the d is to point out something courteous and civilised people ignore, like someone elses physical defect. Paul Eluar-D. Oh look, that man has a hunchback!) And I got another book by Sophie Calle. The Eluard one has illustrations by Man Ray, and the Calle one has photographs. Some people will tell themselves that they will have that one occasion where they will get to wear that impulse buy--like a trenchcoat. I tell myself that one day I will learn French.
Posted on: Fri, 03 Oct 2014 09:59:29 +0000
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