New York and Paris

Today I spent some time reading the scrap-books Wendy compiled of our experiences in New York in 1978-79 when I had a year-long period of sabbatical leave. By means of a little creative planning we stretched the time away from Ottawa to almost 15 months, mainly by adding holiday time at each end. Wendy's scrap books flesh out my photo album so we have a fairly detailed record of that wonderful experience, definitely among the highlights of our life together. New York is undoubtedly one of the world's great cities, and as Wendy's record attests far better than mine, we made the most of our time there. New York is a superb place for bike-riding, a fact that startles some when I make the assertion. The traffic density slows things down and bikes can weave in and out to some extent in perfect safety; and at weekends, Central Park is closed to cars, accessible only to people on foot or propelled by their own muscles on bikes or roller blades. Another long stretch of road inaccessible to cars was, in our time, the remains of the old West Side Highway, an abandoned elevated expressway. We could and usually did cover the 13-mile distance from our apartment building on west 123rd street to the Battery at the south end of Manhattan Island, on many weekends. In that way, and with the all-round view that a bike provides, traveling at a speed that makes assimilation of all the sights, sounds and smells eminently possible, we explored Manhattan very thoroughly. Until I got busy working on editing "The Book" - the massive public health textbook that is now called Maxcy-Rosenau-Last Public Health and Preventive Medicine, we went out about 4 nights weekly too, mainly to the little Off-Off-Broadway theatres that are dotted all over the island; we went to art galleries, museums, exhibitions. And in the hours I spent every day at Mount Sinai School of Medicine, Wendy went on her own to museums and galleries, all recorded faithfully in her scrap-books. They are a marvelous treasure trove.

It's interesting to compare and contrast Wendy's record with Renee Michel's view of Parisian life and culture, as set out in L'elegance du berisson (The Elegance of the Hedgehog). This delightful novel presents a microcosmic view of Parisian life among the occupants of an elegant hotel particulier or small apartment building. The perspective is mainly that of the concierge, Renee who is inconspicuous to the point of invisibility to the posh occupants of these luxury apartments. But Renee is an unusual concierge, a highly intelligent, self-taught voracious reader, attender of galleries, exhibitions and the like in her time off, more intelligent, more perceptive, more insightful than any save the 12-year old gifted Paloma Josse who is a genius trying to disguise her gifts. Then they are joined by a new occupant, Kakuro Ozu, a wealthy, cultured Japanese man who has lived most of his adult life in Paris, selling Japanese electronics to Parisians. We see Paris principally through the eyes of Renee and Paloma, but such is the skill of Muriel Barbery, author of this delightful little novel, that when (with very mixed feelings) I finished her novel, I felt as if I knew at any rate these facets of Paris and Parisian life as intimately, as thoroughly, as if I had lived myself at Number 7 rue de Grenelle. And how I wish my French were good enough for me to read this in the language in which it was written, rather than merely in translation, albeit I think an excellent one. Perhaps then I would understand why the author chose to conclude her brilliant little masterpiece on such a sad note.