Review: Paris France by Gertrude Stein

I originally read Paris France by Gertrude Stein in January 2020. I had heard of the book before and I finally got the chance to read it when I found it nestled amongst all of the other books that Yasmine gave me before she left Paris. It’s a collection of Stein’s observations on Paris, art, war, love, and more. She opens the novel with, “Paris, France is exciting and peaceful.” Stein published the novel in 1940 and yet the opening line really rings true with my own experiences in Paris lately.

In January, little did I know that Covid-19 would whip through Paris just a few months later. On March 17, we would be ordered to stay in our homes. We were allowed to leave, for up to 1-hour, to go grocery shopping, to the bank, or to the pharmacy. We were required to fill out forms called attestations if we did leave the house. It involved putting our addresses, birth dates, and reason for being outside. Then we had to sign and date it. If we were caught outside without an attestation there was a 135 euro fine.

To say that Paris felt different during the first national lockdown would be an understatement. In French, the lockdown was called le confinement, which translates to what you’d assume: confinement. And that’s what it felt like. We were truly confined to our homes. Paris itself was a ghost town and there was a definite eeriness to the city. It was so…quiet. Paris’ soul was closed: its bars, cafés, restaurants, museums, and parks were all shuttered up. There were no outdoor markets or museums. Half the city had fled to their second homes in the airy French countryside, and there were obviously no more tourists. It’s funny to say but I never really realized how much tourism runs this city. In the beginning, it was fun to explore my normally bustling neighborhood. I had never seen the area that quiet and empty. But after a while, the eeriness set in.

Much of my life (and for most Parisians) used to happen outside my apartment. That’s why it’s pretty normal to live in a small space here. My first apartment on my own was the size of some people’s walk-in closets but I didn’t mind. In fact, I loved it and ended up living in less than 100 square feet for 2.5 years. It didn’t matter to me that my bedroom, shower, and kitchen were all in the same space. I was away all day, either working or at school, and in the evenings I usually went out to see friends: for dinner, drinks, or just to go for a walk. I used my apartment to sleep in, shower in, and cook in. When I didn’t feel like going out it was the perfect place to spend a cozy evening in bed.

Then, we had to stay inside, were forced to (I’d like to note here that I was not against the lockdown - if it’s for the greater good and I’m all for it). Thankfully at this point, I was living in a larger space (although my apartment is small by American standards). I didn’t mind at first, like every book worm, I have a homebody side and I think there was a certain novelty to the whole thing in the beginning.

And, despite it all, I was in my dream city. I picked up my life and moved here 7 years ago and now this is home. But, the more I stayed inside, the more I realized that everything that I loved about Paris had been put on hold - the city was frozen. It led me to reflect on why I came here, what brought me to Paris? I felt like I (re)found my reason when I read this line in Paris France:

“That is why writers have to have two countries, the one where they belong and the one in which they live really. The second one is romantic, it is separate from themselves, it is not real but it is really there.”

That’s right. I needed my second, romantic, separate-from-myself place. When I left home all those years ago it was because I had lost myself on a path that I knew I didn’t want to follow. I decided to do what my heart was telling me to: go to Paris and become a writer. My favorite part about Paris was just how separate it was from myself, my old self, the one who I wanted to leave behind in my hometown. I’m not the first American writer to do this. I won’t be the last.

Stein herself left her hometown in Pennsylvania to move to Paris where she would live for the next 40 years, until her death. Stein had a major impact on the art and literary scene in Paris while she lived there, opening up her salon to the likes of Pablo Picasso, Hemingway, James Joyce, Henri Matisse, and several others you’ll recognize from your art history books. Her opinion was highly valued and she was responsible for catapulting many artists’ careers. She also published dozens of books and critical works herself. I enjoyed Paris France and I also love her poetry. If you’ve ever heard the quote, “Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose,” that’s Stein.

I realize this is more of a reflection of my own experiences in Paris, France during the pandemic, but I also hope that I sparked your interest in Paris France by Gertrude Stein. She’s a modernist writer you’ll want to add to your reading lists - especially if you like stream of consciousness.

The real Paris, my real Paris, is hopefully starting to open back up. Vaccinations are finally starting and slowly but surely cafés and restaurants will be too. In the meantime, the parks are back open, and I can relish in a little no-tourist calmness with another good book, at least for a little while.

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