As I creak through the last of the book, and work on a difficult project I find myself just dang sick of IA and all things computery at the end of the day. I just finished reading The Piano Shop on the Left Bank, the last half read entirely in the back yard in the hammock and while walking around watering tomatoes– I couldn’t set it down. Not because of plot cliffhangers, which is the usual motivation for carrying a book around with me everywhere, but because I didn’t want to break the spell.
It’s lovely, just really lovely. Part an exploration of being allowed into a secret subculture of Paris, part a reverant rediscovery of the joy and obligation of a piano in your life, this book seduces and relaxes in such a gentle way that as you finish you feel healed– at least I felt healed– like spending a weekend on an island. The craft of writing is so skilled, reading it is like having a leisurely coffee with an interesting friend.