Ellen Grace, Assistante Editoriale.... aka, the intern.

With the preceding tales of cultural excursions and lazy afternoon strolls, you’d think I was on a not-so-mini-break in the capital, wearing the corners of my Gilbert&Jeune map-book and trying to avoid the flock of tourists that May has brought to Paris (despite the rain). However, regardless of appearances I am not a 9-5 sightseer. Au contraire, my primary role is that of stagiare. For those unfamiliar to the concept of interning, it boils down to a handy exchange of interesting and necessary work experience for the student, in return for the financial benefit of cheap labour for the employer. Add to this a French-speaking environment, and an excuse to live in Paris.... it sounds good to me.

With the official title assistante editoriale, I am in effect working as an intern in the editorial department of a small publishers, banlieu-located, and interestingly eschewing all normal conventions of the sector. The vision of Edilivre is to open up the market to any inspired writer, regardless of experience or genre, allowing amateurs of any level to see their work on the shelf. Granted they might not be about to win the prix Goncourt 2013 but at the very least budding authors can make the move from a 106-page word document to something that actually resembles a book. And working in editorial means my role is in this very process.  My main duties thus far have been in the initial “selection” of manuscripts, which involves “reading” what we receive, and offering a summary/comment/score to facilitate the next stage. Some are interesting; some need work, and others downright questionable. Not my place to judge whether the vocation of certain authors has been wisely chosen, I put it down to literary democracy and diversity, and move on. Aside from reading, I am also implicated in the editing side of things. Checking and logging modifications (primarily the small details, but hey, getting the spelling of the authors name right is pretty important) has been the latest learning-curve, with the main challenge being the navigation of a rather confusing online administrative platform, and colleagues who combine both being incredibly busy with being incredibly Parisian, resulting in much interpretation (on my c.v. I’ll put “initiative”) rather than actually comprehending the instructions I receive. 

Though the tasks may be somewhat repetitive, the environment a little unique, and my place categorically at the bottom of the book-chain, I am learning none the less what it means and takes to work in editorial. And my small input in the creation of a book, plus a significant amount of time spent reading (however varied the material), means it’s not with reluctance that I resume my post of a Monday morning. After 7 months “working” as a language assistant, adapting to the 9-6 rhythm of full-time employment has proved a slight challenge, but for now I am relishing the routine and sense of productivity. It is also a relief that the commute i.e. twice daily battle with the French underground, is proving manageable. Having mastered the art of reading standing/squashed up against a metal pole, I make the most of my morning 50 minutes to read (this time material of my choosing). That is of course in between seeing the funny side of being so involved in fellow passengers conversations it’s almost impolite to not join in, and playing a favourite metro-game of sussing out the literary tastes of other commuters (you can tell a lot about a person from their livre de poche). Thus passes a day in the life of the assistante editoriale, literally book-ended and worthy of a few stories of its own. 

Premier pas à Paris

Errer est humain, flaner est Parisien

To wander is human, to stroll is Parisien…

(Victor Hugo, Les Miserables)

Typically French isn’t it, to claim an activity universally undertaken is somewhat more meaningful when its them doing it… add à la française to anything, and its ultimately, infinitely, just better.  My first week in the capital has afforded me plenty of occasions to embark the Parisian stroll, aided by the fact that two bank holidays (also typically french: declaring un jour ferié at every opportunity) meant an initiation into the hard life of a stagiaire (more on this later) that consisted of a 3-day working week. Thus, map in hand I embarked on many a meander, ditching the tourist checklist for a more spontaneous (trying something new here) approach to discovering my new home.

Wednesday, being a day devoid of sunshine, took me to the Pompidou centre – home to a modern art gallery, alternative-cinemas, other random exhibitions and a cool view over the city. Despite being hardly a connoisseur, I benefited from a guiltless free entry (France likes 18-25 year olds, or at least is on a mission to make us cultured) to browse the galleries and generally feel artsy and (fake) Parisian, before indulging in some people watching in their conveniently placed mezzanine café. Parfait.

Thursday saw a rather elegant choice of location for a day’s balade, less cultural but equally appreciated. After pause at the Arc-de-Triomphe (they’ve even put a little seating area opposite for this purpose – it is after all, a cool way to eat your packed lunch) I meandered my way down the Champs-Elysées, browsing but not buying, before finding myself in and pulling up a seat at the Jardin de Tuileries (another beautiful green space no one told me Paris actually contained) to work out where I was and how I would get home. Convenience had it that I wasn’t too out of my way to take a detour home past another, if different, discovery: Gilbert Jeune, a second hand bookstore that covers 5 floors (and this is just the literature department). Many a student is to be found on Place St Michel picking up a livre de poche or 3, and I am now amongst the regulars that have to limit themselves to one-a-visit (these visits will have to get less frequent) for the sake of bank-balances and suitcases alike.

The weekend brought with it a little less warmth, but luckily a well-timed Sunday-educational-excursion (last weeks got good feedback from all participants). On the itinery was a visit to the apartments of Victor Hugo, situated in an impressive building in the 4^th arrondissement overlooking another (if smaller) garden.  Not only do you get to see where the Hugos ate their Sunday-lunch, and how bad their taste in interior design was (mind clearly on other matters), I also satisfied my inner geek with a visit to the exhibition currently running on this famous French writers often side-stepped political legacy. So busy shedding a tear over the death of Fantine in Les Miserables, we sometimes forget that old Victor also had quite a lot to say where politics, education, and social justice were concerned. AND, even more exciting, his literary talent was the primary means of such political engagement. Perhaps you don’t find this quite as thrilling as I do, but hey, chacun son truc. Strolling back in the vague direction of chez moi, brought me through the Marais, a lovely little area heard of but up to now unlocated on my self-guided walking tours. The cute but overpriced boutiques gave the signal that this is the quartier of choice for the trendy-professional-strolling-type but I wasn’t letting that dampen my pleasant perusal. Whilst thus wandering (I’m human, not Parisian), I stumbled across Village St Paul, curiously named by in fact a series of four courtyards, hidden in behind the designer labels, and containing all sorts of antique and generally random-stuff shops that abandons all pretention to become nothing but cute and French. It was here that I couldn’t resist one petite pause, at a simply named establishment, le café de la cour that ticked all the boxes: nice coffee, well presented, colourful furniture (with cushions) and a potted plant on the table for good measure.

And so my premier pas à Paris have been literally that, first (and subsequent) steps. Aware that I lack the necessary Parisian sophistication, I will stroll none the less, pretending to be cultured, and wandering through the weekend map-in-hand. Sounds rather like a holiday doesn’t it. Don’t worry, its back to the office tomorrow.

Rendez-vous with Paris

It is a sunny Sunday evening, and I am writing from a small terrace surrounded by a host of apartments on a busy street complete with boulangerie on the corner that winds up to an array cafés still adorned with street-side coffee drinkers making the most of the weather and the last few hours of the weekend before the working week commences. 5 days into life a Paris, and already it is taking a rather different shape to anything I have previously experienced. Landing here somewhat apprehensive (guilty of a few two many preconceptions) I have been pleasantly surprised by what I have discovered thus far of my new abode. My first impressions and musings as a newcomer to the French capital:

-  ‘Parisian chic’ actually does exist. Well in the arrondissements I have thus far frequented anyway.  Keeping it smart and simple seems to be key, though French women gain few points for originality, I have seen the same block-colour-or-no-colour repertoires several times always accompanied by the same neat-as-ever carefully pinned or alternatively sweeping tresses.

-   Sadly so does Parisian rudeness. Perhaps a little too early to be arriving at this conclusion, but several brusque encounters that leave a lot to be desired in terms of customer service makes me wonder if the stereotype is true, at least of city dwellers in general perhaps.

-   The scenic side of life didn’t stop in Alsace. Granted I’ve swapped mountains for a more urban-environment, but I have been surprised by the impressive architecture, pleasant green spaces, and a general smart-ness which makes it a chic residents clearly feel at home. Of course as in any city some areas are more agreeable to look at than others, but my preconceptions of “metro and grime” were a little harsh.

-   L’ennui isn’t an option, as there is no way one could become bored with both enough to do and see that tourists come back, and enough pleasant spaces that just “going for a wander” can turn into an afternoons entertainment. Accompanied by my dad for the first few days of Parisian life, we enjoyed ourselves being touristic (cooing alternatively at Notre-dame, and the Eiffel Tower), stopping for refreshment in cafés, and benefiting from the sunshine for an informal picnic in the Jardins de Luxembourg. Today I continued our exploration solo and visited the Pantheon – once church, now civic building of impressive stature, and the burial place of many famous French men (and women – well, Marie Curie). Perhaps a little odd to spend Sunday afternoon in a crypt alongside Rousseau and Victor Hugo, but I’m all for educational weekend excursions.

-   The metro system deserves a lot more credit than my initial reticence (fear) allowed. Yes, the stations may be lacking in decorum and insufficient in light levels, but with a navigo-pass that leaves me hopping on and off to my hearts desire, getting around Paris couldn’t be easier.  It also helps that the French decided to use numbers and colours, which are proving a lot easier to remember than the confusing names we English used to organise our underground system.

Perhaps my impressions of both public transport and life in the capital will change when the metro-boulot-dodo routine commences tomorrow (apparently the commuting-working-sleeping routine jades a little the optimism induced by Sunday afternoons in the sunshine) but we shall soon find out.

It remains to be seen if my rendezvous with Paris will blossom into a true histoire d’amour, I think a little more getting-to-know-one-another is necessary first.  Good thing then we’ve got three months to continue the story.