I wrote this a year ago when I first discovered La Belle Aurore:
“I have wept with the war victims in Pakistan,have tasted forbidden love and equally sinful food in Mexico, investigated a dog’s death in the south of England, have been lost in the intricacy of life in Prague, have cowered in a burning church in Auschwitz, found home in a private library in Takamatsu, fished for Birkins in Cape Cod, took a souvenir photo in the moon, flew back to earth in my unicorn. And I did it all curled up in bed, in my pajamas or over a hot cup of Orange Mandarin coffee in a small coffee shop.
Books,
it can do so much. From evoking feelings whose names have yet to be coined to
fabricating societies and dismantling institutions. It is one of the
foundations of awareness and education. A tangible piece of imagination, the
end product of ideas.
I
love books. I find solace in the smell of newly opened books, the feel of every
leaf, the sound of flipping pages; a different consciousness in every chapter.
I can spend days inside a bookstore and weeks in a library, ogling at every
lovely piece, immersing myself in every story.”
I can remember
being so inspired and charmed by this quaint discovery of mine. I think I
literally hopped, skipped and pranced from one shelf to another. I was over the
moon, I really was.
And just when I thought that I couldn’t be more charmed, they opened another
branch. There I was, slaphappy, doe-eyed, bemused. Once again I was won over.
As effortlessly as the first time. I almost forgot that there was a dinner and
program set for that night as I headed straight to the shelves. What a sight, books
from floor to the ceiling. Stories from different walks of life, eager to be
read, yearning to be shared, desiring to be told.
The program was very, very lovely. I had goosebumps the entire duration of the program and at one point, my goosebumps had goosebumps. Scrumptious dinner, breathtaking (without exaggeration, breathtaking!) musical numbers, poetry reading, wine and cheese, laughter (a lot of it), new friends, stolen pictures, stolen kisses and books: Ahh, C'est Parfait!