Sylvia Beach and the Lost Generation; A History of Literary Paris in the Twenties and Thirties Book

"Yet for all her freewheeling and independence, Sylvia Beach was a woman for others. ...Although she had no pretensions to literary talent herself, she lived her life among books, trusted her own literary judgement, and helped those artists she believed in. Indeed, she vicariously shared the joy of their success. She possessed an outgoing and vivacious personality; a nervous, restive energy; and a witty unsentimental intelligence. Occasionally she used the flattery and disarming diplomacy of the parson's daughter, but was as wise as Machiavelli. She retained her identity in a crowd of dominant personalities."

Shakespeare & Co was more than a bookstore. It was a lending library, performance venue, post office, hotel, and meeting space for some of the biggest names in the art scene of 1920's Paris. The store's legacy continues to this day - Shakespeare & Co is still operating (and I think it's owned by a direct descendant of Sylvia Beach, but I could be wrong about that) and they have a program that provides free room and board for aspiring writers. Shakespeare & Co - not just the store itself, but everything it stands for and the people it affected - exists thanks to the efforts of two women. One was Adrienne Monnier, a French bookstore owner. The other was Sylvia Beach, an American woman who came to Paris in the beginning of the 20th century and stayed in France for the rest of her life. She became the close friend of numerous artists, and kept her bookstore alive through the the 1920's, saved the books from the Nazis, and kept the shop afloat even when she was drowning in debt. She was also instrumental in getting Ulysses published, and having it smuggled into the United States when it was initially banned.

As other reviewers have pointed out, the main focus of this book is Beach's relationship with James Joyce. I knew that this would be heavily emphasized before I bought the book - flipping through it in the store, every single random page I turned to mentioned Joyce's name - but even then, there is a lot of Joyce in here. Like, this book should have been called Slyvia Beach and James Joyce. Other famous 1920's artists and authors make appearances, but it's clear that Fitch is most interested in exploring the Beach/Joyce dynamic.

Which, ugh. I don't like James Joyce's writing, and I definitely don't like James Joyce the person (a dislike that was only confirmed by the stories in this book - Slyvia Beach, despite barely keeping the bookstore in business, would frequently give Joyce money for food and rent, and he would frequently stop by the store and help himself to cash from the register). But honestly, even fans of James Joyce don't really like James Joyce. Here's what Fitch says about Joyce's efforts to make the publication and reading of his work the biggest goddamn headache for everyone involved:

"He did not merely correct or change words and phrases, he added to the copy, always complicating the material with interrelated details. He told Jaques Benoist-Mechin, 'I've put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that's the only way of insuring one's immortality.' His statement proved to be more than jest. Joyce has become the favorite of exegetes the world over."

Translation: James Joyce was a dick.

The pacing of this book is meandering, as Fitch sort of wanders from one anecdote to the other. When the book is good, it's very good, like when she's discussing Beach's efforts to keep the bookstore open during the Nazi occupation (at a time when, I might add, Gertrude Stein was busy taking vacations and helping the Vichy government) or telling stories about the artistic scene in the 1920s. One of my favorite stories was about George Antheil and his plan to drum up publicity for a performance of his Ballet Mecanique: he went into hiding while his friends fed a story to the newspapers that Antheil had gone off to Africa, and then disappeared. The plan was for Antheil to make a miraculous return to Paris, but while he was "missing" Antheil proposed to his girlfriend, and they were on their way to Budapest to get married when Sylvia Beach sent him this telegram: "FOR GOODNESS SAKE GEORGE COME BACK TO PARIS IMMEDIATELY AND DENY THIS IDIOTIC NEWSPAPER STORY LIONS ATE YOU IN AFRICA OR ELSE YOUR NAME WILL BE MUD FOREVER STOP TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE STOP SYLVIA BEACH."

I also enjoyed all of the subtle shots that Fitch takes at Gertrude Stein and her (carefully cultivated) reputation as the queen of literary Paris. Stien, as far as Fitch was concerned, ain't shit.

"Gertrude Stein's declaration that 'America is my country, but Paris is my home' more accurately described Sylvia Beach than Stein. Unlike Gertrude, Sylvia knew the language well and made her closest friendships among the French. ...On the one hand, she never attempted to deny her American heritage by embracing a national identity that was not hers by birth. She did not embrace all things French with uncritical enthusiasm. Nor did she, at the other extreme, choose to live within an American community in Paris, avoiding the French people and customs."

Ultimately, this was a frustrating read, not just because of the (over)emphasis on Joyce, but also because Fitch can't seem to find a narrative to focus on. It's just a collection of anecdotes, and even though some of them are very good anecdotes and give the reader a clear picture of life in 1920's Paris, it doesn't make up for the book's larger faults.

Sylvia Beach was cool as hell, though.