Falling Through The Cracks

 

Shakespeare and Company
photo credit- Iwannadancewithsomebody2 

        Yesterday was Halloween. I celebrated by listening to Neil Gaiman, in heavy black-rimmed glasses and a black top hat, read live from an eerie candlelit library at his home in Skye, Scotland. I could hear wind howling on the other side of the library's darkened windows while his lilting, smokey voice lured me into a Click Clack Rattlebag story, which was scary - but not too scary -and yet now my house feels just a bit too big and my front door, a little too slammy.

I was first introduced to Neil Gaiman by my friend Nik Palmer. Nik suggested I read Neverwhere, the story of a man who found another world, an Otherworld, beneath the streets of London. I loved it and went on to read everything Mr. Gaiman has ever written. Nik was pleased.

Nik and his wife, Ana, used to live nearby. Nik is into fantasy video games; he designs them, plays them, and even works on fighting skills in real life. I went with Ana one time to watch Nik compete in a mixed martial arts competition. He fought like a dragon, never worried about getting hurt, only being the thing he was being when he was being it. He was inspiring but I didn't think fighting was something I wanted to try. Fortunately, not everything we did together was dangerous. Boardgame nights were also something that we all enjoyed. Nik was the rule-following gamemaster while Ana plotted strategies to kneecap me and steal my monopoly money while I was in the kitchen pouring white wine spritzers. Play hard or go home was their mantra. No wonder I miss them so much.

"There are two Londons. There's London Above – that's where you lived – and then there's London Below – the Underside – inhabited by the people who fell through the cracks in the world. Now, You're one of them. Good night." Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman

Ana and Nik moved away to the otherworld of Georgia, and I wonder if it is them or me who has fallen through the cracks. I think it's me. They've moved on and found new adventures while my world seems to be crumbling at the edges. They understood my silent nature, and since they've gone, I struggle to find companions as accepting or as real. But have I reached out? No, instead, I am wondering what Mr. Gaiman is doing today.

Neil and I are on a first-name basis now. I call him Neil, and he calls me Reader. Today he tells me that he's worried about a famous indie bookstore on Rue del la Bucherie, in Paris called Shakespeare and Company. When I look into it, I learn that this amazing place is more than just a bookstore for Parisians; it's a part of history. It has been 69 years since George Whitman opened the doors to what he called "a socialist utopia masquerading as a bookstore."  With that in mind, he created a shop where beds were tucked among shelves where aspiring writers could sleep for free in exchange for helping around the shop, agreeing to read one book a day and writing a one-page autobiography for the shop's archives. These writers were called "Tumbleweeds", and it is estimated that 300,000 people have slept among the musty books since 1951.  Publications have been birthed at the bookstore, and Whitman even named his only daughter after Sylvia Beach, who ran an ill-fated predecessor to the shop on Paris's rue de l'Odeon from 1919 to 1941. This original version of Shakespeare and Company hosted writers and artists such as Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Gertrude Stein. James Joyce even used it as an office, but when Paris was occupied by the Germans in WWII, Sylvia was forced to close the doors.

Today, Sylvia Whitman manages the bookstore which hosts literary festivals, Sunday tea parties, and writer's workshops.  Or, they did until COVID shut down the city in March and again now in November. Shakespeare and Company has fallen through the cracks into the Otherworld, operating at a loss with sales down 80%.

“The world seems to work in predictable ways, and you think you see the pattern. But that’s fatal. Because it’s only a pattern until you meet the first event that doesn’t fit. And by then it’s too late. By then, all the tricks you’ve learned to deal with the world – well, they just don’t work anymore.” Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman

Neil pleads with me to reach out, to order my books through their website even if it takes longer and is a bit more expensive. He offers to do a personal doodle for me if I send him a receipt proving I have spent $500 at the shop before November 15th.  I don't know what kind of picture Neil would doodle for me. Since he knows me so well, he could probably come up with something cool that I could tape on the fridge.

Or maybe I could send it to Nik and Ana with an invitation to a game night on Zoom. Now that I think on it, there is no reason for anyone or any place to fall through the cracks and there doesn’t need to be an Otherworld, not really. Nik would swoon over a doodle from Neil, but the best part is that if we game on zoom, Ana won't be able to steal my monopoly money.

 

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