Tuesday, April 4, 2017

April in Paris isn't like the song

April in Paris 

Today, you can see this post also on the Poison Pen blog by Lesa Holstein. I apologize for double dipping. Lesa asked me to write a post awhile ago and I thought I'd spruce this post up with some Paris pics - only here!

Almost spring time in Paris and time for crime. Daffodils and cherry and almond blossoms are popping up and that goes for crime fiction.
Especially in April, which rides the coat tails of the Paris March book fair celebrated as Salon du Livres, the annual uber Paris book publication party of hundreds of French books. Some ancient decree or Ministry directive decided that once a year the French publishers will birth their product to inundate the market for the rest of the year. So in April, you’ll find readers, the French love books, on the buses, the Metro, in the parks buried in a book. I really noticed in Paris how so many people read on public transport and in the park.
 Here's a happy bookseller at Compagnie - great book store near the Cluny museum - holding up a French translation of my pal Naomi Hirohara's book. He was so thrilled to hear I knew her!
Speaking of crime fiction, my detective Aimée Leduc, these days with a baby, only has time to read Parent how-to books while her partner René Friant, who is an ardent bibliophile loves Agatha Christie. I’ve had fun with this in the series and the interplay between them - he loves literary fiction and thrillers and she’s always teasing him about that. In Murder in Saint Germain, Aimée’s next investigation, it’s a plot point because René likens surveillance to a Georges Perec novel - nothing happens - and I can’t reveal how, but it stimulates a discovery. 
In the series, we’ve seen a few years pass and the seasons change. That’s one thing I love about writing books set in Paris - there are four seasons. I live in San Francisco where we have one season - fog. But life in the City of Light is very much dictated by the seasons; the seasonal produce in the markets, the holidays and of course, fashion.  Paris Fashion week, the bi-annual clothing sales - again dictated by the government - the way you know winter’s arrived when the fountains are drained so they don’t freeze, the Paris plage in summer when the city makes a sandy beach on the Seine’s river banks and you can buy glacé ice cream.
April in Paris isn’t like the song, says Aimée Leduc in Murder in Belleville, my second book in the Paris investigation series.
 Mais non, I can hear a bus driver on the #29 driving through the Marais his tires splashing over the puddles and gusts of wind, it’s liquid sunshine.
Cara - Tuesday

1 comment:

  1. April in Paris may not be what the song says, but it sure beats mud season in New Jersey. Viva la Paris!