The legend of a tiny, socialist utopia

George Whitman offered refuge to writers and readers at his unique bookstore in Paris, writes Carl Dixon

ANY bibliophile who has visited Paris will be familiar with Shakespeare & Co, the bookstore at 37 Rue de la Bucherie, across the Seine from Notre Dame. The death last week of its American proprietor, George Whitman, has caused great sadness, but no one could argue he had not done enough in the service of literature. Whitman devoted much of his 98 years to buying, selling and loaning books, and spent 60 of those running his uniquely ramshackle business.

Whitman was born in New Jersey on December 12, 1913, and reared at Salem, Massachusetts. He studied journalism at Boston University, and devoted the seven years to trekking through Central and South America. He served in the Merchant Marine during the Second World War, and spent several months stationed in Greenland, claiming later he had lived with an Eskimo woman.

Whitman fetched up in Paris in 1946, studying briefly at the Sorbonne before putting his GI Bill book allowance towards opening a small lending library at the rundown Hotel de Suez. He bought the premises at Rue de la Bucherie — a former Arab grocery — with a legacy of $500 from his aunt, and opened his bookstore in August 1951, calling it Le Mistral. Some say this was the nickname of his first French girlfriend, after the legendary wind that blows through Provence; others claim it was in honour of the Chilean poet Gabriella Mistral.

From the beginning, Whitman loaned books for free to those who could not afford to buy them, and allowed struggling writers to sleep in the store in exchange for a few hours’ work each day, the only other condition being that they read a book a day. Those already published slept in the Writer’s Room on the third floor, where they were awakened by Whitman at 10am each morning with coffee and pancakes. A sign in the store quoted WB Yeats: “Be ye not inhospitable to strangers; lest they be angels in disguise.” By Whitman’s estimation, at least 40,000 strangers slept among his bookshelves down through the years.

Whitman became great friends with Sylvia Beach, the proprietor of the original Shakespeare & Co bookstore and publisher of James Joyce’s Ulysses. On her death in 1962, Beach bequeathed him a small treasure trove of rare and valuable books, as well as permission to use the name of her bookstore. Whitman changed the name above his door &in 1964.

For a time, Whitman was associated with the Left Bank literary magazine, Merlin, which published work by Jean-Paul Sartre, Jean Genet and Samuel Beckett.

Like the original Shakespeare & Co, Whitman’s store became the haunt of European and American writers, and he enjoyed enduring friendships with many of the Beats, including Allen Ginsburg and William Burroughs.

Burroughs did much of the medical research for The Naked Lunch in Whitman’s store, and read from his work-in-progress at one of the regular literary soirees it hosted. “No one was sure whether to laugh or to be sick,” Whitman later recalled.

British author Simon van Booy, who won the Frank O’Connor Short Story Award in 2009, was among the legions of young writers who availed of Whitman’s hospitality. In an interview with the Irish Examiner, he recalled how, as a young art school drop-out, he had visited Shakespeare & Co and spoken with Whitman.

“I was 21 or 22,” said Van Booy. “I just turned up one day and asked if I could work there. George asked what I had written, and I said, ‘nothing yet’. But he let me stay anyway.” Working at Shakespeare & Co was, Van Booy recalled, the turning point in his life, the first decisive step towards establishing a career as a writer. He had intended staying for a month; he stayed for seven.

In his later years, Whitman spent much time in bed, but was still happy to receive guests. He suffered a stroke two months ago, never fully recovering. He died at home in his sleep last Wednesday.

The good news for those who love Shakespeare & Co is that Whitman’s daughter took over its management in 2003, and intends keeping it in business. Sylvia Beach Whitman is just 30 years of age: her involvement should ensure the survival of what Whitman called his “tiny, socialist utopia masquerading as a bookstore” long into the 21st century.