As a full-time writer who came to Paris from the San Francisco Bay Area not to write, but as a "trailing spouse," I opened this book with some skepticism. I should start by saying I loved the book, even though I have entirely differing feelings about the city itself.

As a writer, I find Paris difficult and uninspiring compared to San Francisco, New York, and many vibrant European cities. it's hard to find decent coffee, and the whole. "writing in cafes" thing really doesn't work if cigarette smoke makes your eyes water and your throat close up and sends you into spasms of coughing--because cafe culture in Paris, unlike in San Francisco, Copenhagen, Helsinki, London, Porto....(the list goes on), is cigarette culture. Sitting outside is impossible if you don't enjoy breathing lungful after lungful of smoke, and even if you sit inside, you're subjected to smoke coming in through the windows, as well as a smoking staff. Maisel pokes fun at an editor who makes exactly this observation, which tells me he has never raised a child in a city that smells like any ashtray and watched his child's health deteriorate accordingly!

Maisel holds onto a romantic notion of Paris that ignores the reality of everyday life here: the lack of green space for children (despite a progressive mayor's edict 20 years ago, schoolchildren are still not allowed to play on the grass in Paris parks), the difficulty of procuring healthy food, the dismal air quality, the frequent tear gas fumes and protests that shut down the metro, the difficulty of sending children to schools whose primary aim seems to be to stifle creativity and produce sleep-deprived, anxious robots. And while it's true that no one keeps you from writing but yourself, those helicopters hovering over your apartment building, the boom of water cannons, the casseurs breaking things below your window, and the apartment building around the corner going up in flames, with children and old people scrambling to escape, simply because there happened to be a bank on the bottom floor (the casseurs hate banks)-- don't exactly set the tone for creativity.

I think part of the disconnect may be that the book was originally published at a time when many of the problems that plague Paris today were less pronounced. At the time of the initial publication, Paris was, if not a bargain, at least affordable. With milk costing more than $10 euros per gallon, in addition to an unfavorable exchange rate, living in Paris is too expensive to be feasible for many writers. Maisel also encourages writers to go to Paris in the summertime, despite the fact that temperatures in Paris the last two summers have risen to 109 degrees Farenheit, and most apartments, restaurants, and cafes have no air conditioning. Paris has been under extreme heat advisories during the last two summers, which is why tourists flock here but Parisians, who know the score, leave town. The steady drumbeat of weekly riots, smashed windows, tear gas, and burning cars has also left a pall over the city. Parisians and expats who have lived her for any length of time will tell you that it is currently a bad time to be in the City of Light, which so frequently these days descends into darkness.

All that said, this is the right book at the right time for me, because it inspires me to try to overlook the nastier sides of Paris and simply write more despite it all. The tales of tiny studio apartments also made me appreciate what I have here in my spacious apartment. My apartment looks into a large modern office building, and, for four months last year, was in the center of the riots as the police pushed protestors away from the Champs Elysees and. into surrounding neighborhoods--but at least it is large and comfortable so I can stay in and write in my own space. And I can be grateful that the man who scaled the side of the building and came through the window late at night missed my family by one window, instead terrorizing our next-door neighbors. Lest you think I'm just in the wrong neighborhood, I'm in a tony district, right next to the lovely Parc Monceau that Maisel pays tribute to in the book. And Parc Monceau is truly beautiful. Marcel Proust himself lived in the building across the street from me, and a number of his original letters are on display in the lobby of a Best Western a few blocks away. It is the mystery and madness of Paris--so often ugly and difficult, yet so filled with pockets of beauty, and with history.

I never had a dream of Paris, and I can't wait to get home to the blue skies, ocean views, amazing coffee, open-all-day restaurants for any budget, and relaxed vibe of Northern California, where I do my best writing. That said, I do write every day in Paris, and I will continue to do so, and this book was a little espresso shot I needed right about now. This book is inspiring for writers no matter where you are. Although I can't share the author's rose-colored adoration for Paris, I thoroughly enjoyed the book.

The City of Lights from a Writer’s Perspective

What an unusual and delightful book! I'm been finding it hard to describe precisely. The author is a writer who has spent time writing his books in Paris, and this book is meant to encourage other authors to make a similar pilgrimage for their art. He is very specific about places to go, sometimes just to appreciate the place and sometimes to inspire writing. It's broken down into 34 lessons, which are bite-sized nuggets about writing, Paris, or some aspect of the French or France. He discusses practical issues on occasion, like writing blueprints for your time in Paris and how to work around the potential language barrier. The glimpse he gives of Paris is very intimate, discussing things like footbridges and the human scale of the city. You can tell the man has a great affection and appreciation for Paris, and not only for what magic it evokes for his creative Muse but also for itself. I have never been to France—but took the language in high school and college—but I will admit that this book has given me a bit of the travel bug, making me wish that I would take such a writing pilgrimage. Perhaps one day. And I know just the guidebook to help me along the path.