My goal this year (aside from 1. Finish the first draft of my novel, 2. Get married, and 3. Run away to Paris) is to read 30 books. Doable, yes? In January I read “The Paris Architect”, “The Goldfinch”, and “Sotheby’s: The Inside Story.” If I keep up this 3/month pace, I’ll be fine. Right now I’m almost halfway through “The Paris Wife,” a fictional account of Hemingway and his first wife and their time in Paris in the 1920s. The description of the first apartment they rent reminds me of the line “All that’s missing is the tuberculosis.” I’ve made that joke before, but I swear every attic apartment in Paris just begs for it.
Well, almost every attic apartment in Paris. This one, for sale at €865,000 ($1.17m) is more ‘loft penthouse’ than ‘bohemian attic hovel’, and the clear exception to the notion that top floor Parisian apartments are dens of iniquity and disease for starving writers. Check out that view, and that bookshelf! I don’t know which is dreamier.