Genre Fiction
![Janet Skeslien Charles - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B002TIU8RG.jpg)
The Paris Library: A Novel
An instant New York Times, Washington Post, and USA TODAY bestseller-based on the true story of the heroic librarians at the American Library in Paris during World War II-The Paris Library is a moving and unforgettable "ode to the importance of libraries, books, and the human connections we find within both" (Kristin Harmel, New York Times bestselling author).
Paris, 1939: Young and ambitious Odile Souchet seems to have the perfect life with her handsome police officer beau and a dream job at the American Library in Paris. When the Nazis march into the city, Odile stands to lose everything she holds dear, including her beloved library. Together with her fellow librarians, Odile joins the Resistance with the best weapons she has: books. But when the war finally ends, instead of freedom, Odile tastes the bitter sting of unspeakable betrayal.
Montana, 1983: Lily is a lonely teenager looking for adventure in small-town Montana. Her interest is piqued by her solitary, elderly neighbor. As Lily uncovers more about her neighbor's mysterious past, she finds that they share a love of language, the same longings, and the same intense jealousy, never suspecting that a dark secret from the past connects them.
"A love letter to Paris, the power of books, and the beauty of intergenerational friendship" (Booklist), The Paris Library shows that extraordinary heroism can sometimes be found in the quietest places.
Paris, 1939: Young and ambitious Odile Souchet seems to have the perfect life with her handsome police officer beau and a dream job at the American Library in Paris. When the Nazis march into the city, Odile stands to lose everything she holds dear, including her beloved library. Together with her fellow librarians, Odile joins the Resistance with the best weapons she has: books. But when the war finally ends, instead of freedom, Odile tastes the bitter sting of unspeakable betrayal.
Montana, 1983: Lily is a lonely teenager looking for adventure in small-town Montana. Her interest is piqued by her solitary, elderly neighbor. As Lily uncovers more about her neighbor's mysterious past, she finds that they share a love of language, the same longings, and the same intense jealousy, never suspecting that a dark secret from the past connects them.
"A love letter to Paris, the power of books, and the beauty of intergenerational friendship" (Booklist), The Paris Library shows that extraordinary heroism can sometimes be found in the quietest places.
Editorial Reviews
"As a Parisian, an ardent bookworm, and a longtime fan of the American Library in Paris, I devoured The Paris Library in one hungry gulp. It is charming and moving, with a perfect balance between history and fiction." -- Tatiana de Rosnay, New York Times bestselling author of Sarah's Key
"A fresh take on WWII France that will appeal to bibliophiles everywhere. I fell in love with Odile and Lily, with their struggles and triumphs, from the very first page. Meticulously researched, The Paris Library is an irresistible, compelling read." -- Fiona Davis, national bestselling author of The Chelsea Girls
"The Paris Library is a refreshing novel that celebrates libraries as cradles of community, especially when we need them the most. It shows how literature can be a means of escape, a catalyst for human connection, and a moral center in grim times. A thoroughly enjoyable read, kind-hearted and brimming with delightful bookish allusions." -- Matthew Sullivan, author of Midnight at the Bright Ideas Bookstore
"Having lived in an apartment just above the current location of the American Library in Paris, I've always felt connected to the institution and wondered about its story, so I'm grateful to Janet Skeslien Charles for penning such a vivid, enjoyable, based-on-a-true-story tale. In THE PARIS LIBRARY, the beloved library, its staff, and its subscribers come to life and remind us of both the horrors of World War II and the vital role books play in keeping us afloat in difficult times. Well-researched, stirring, and rich with detail, THE PARIS LIBRARY is an ode to the importance of libraries, books, and the human connections we find within both." -- Kristin Harmel, New York Times bestselling author of The Book of Lost Names
"Intelligent and sensuously rich....A novel tailor-made for those who cherish books and libraries." ― Kirkus Reviews
"A love letter to Paris, the power of books, and the beauty of intergenerational friendship." ― Booklist
"Delightful...richly detailed...Historical fiction fans will be drawn to the realistic narrative and the bond of friendship forged between a widow and a lonely young girl." ― Publishers Weekly
"A fresh take on WWII France that will appeal to bibliophiles everywhere. I fell in love with Odile and Lily, with their struggles and triumphs, from the very first page. Meticulously researched, The Paris Library is an irresistible, compelling read." -- Fiona Davis, national bestselling author of The Chelsea Girls
"The Paris Library is a refreshing novel that celebrates libraries as cradles of community, especially when we need them the most. It shows how literature can be a means of escape, a catalyst for human connection, and a moral center in grim times. A thoroughly enjoyable read, kind-hearted and brimming with delightful bookish allusions." -- Matthew Sullivan, author of Midnight at the Bright Ideas Bookstore
"Having lived in an apartment just above the current location of the American Library in Paris, I've always felt connected to the institution and wondered about its story, so I'm grateful to Janet Skeslien Charles for penning such a vivid, enjoyable, based-on-a-true-story tale. In THE PARIS LIBRARY, the beloved library, its staff, and its subscribers come to life and remind us of both the horrors of World War II and the vital role books play in keeping us afloat in difficult times. Well-researched, stirring, and rich with detail, THE PARIS LIBRARY is an ode to the importance of libraries, books, and the human connections we find within both." -- Kristin Harmel, New York Times bestselling author of The Book of Lost Names
"Intelligent and sensuously rich....A novel tailor-made for those who cherish books and libraries." ― Kirkus Reviews
"A love letter to Paris, the power of books, and the beauty of intergenerational friendship." ― Booklist
"Delightful...richly detailed...Historical fiction fans will be drawn to the realistic narrative and the bond of friendship forged between a widow and a lonely young girl." ― Publishers Weekly
Readers Top Reviews
beth
I think anything that involves a Paris library set in the 1940s is a instant purchase for me, and I’m glad that this book lived up to the expectation. At first I found it a little hard to get into but after the first third of the book I couldn’t stop reading, quite literally as I was up into the early hours after reading 200 pages in one go! I was unsure to start with of the two timelines, one set in Paris in the 1940s at the library and the second of the main character Odile’ new life in Montana, America. As I continued to read I loved them both equally as they really added to the setting of the story and the background of the characters. It explored some tough themes of the WW2 and the Jewish subscribers of the library and how they were handled, how books were the saviour for lots of people especially those at war that had little else and how families coped with so much pain during the war. The only thing I would have liked is a little bit more conclusion at the end as I felt there were still a few unanswered questions into how certain characters felt after a certain departure (no spoilers)! Overall though it was a really lovely book and written very well and explored a side to France during WW2 in a different way.
Wendell. M. Steav
Not exactly great literature, but a lovely story, and for once no violence, gratuitous sex or unresolved ending. For anyone who knows Paris and loves reading.
AngelaWendell. M.
A dual time-line story set in Paris during the occupation and the US of the 1980s. I found this a thoroughly enjoyable read and I found the parallels between the central characters in Paris and their later counterparts in the US fascinating. I thought the the two timelines were very cleverly woven together. I loved the attention to historic detail and found the day-to-day work of the library a comforting distraction from the intense and constantly shifting tension created throughout because of the occupation and the increasing menace of Nazism. A great book and I will be reading more of this author's work.
Vicky S. Angela
Anything to do with WWII interests me and I was particularly curious because the theme was a library. I did not find the writing particularly good, there are a lot of clichés, the characters are flat, it is more in the style of Mills and Boon, ie a romantic story without depth. The dual timeline was irritating, I was not moved and it did not grab my attention. Could have been so much better!
Jeannie ManciniL.
I too wanted to like this novel but after giving it 100 pages I threw in the towel. I think writing it as a dual-timeline format was a huge mistake. The section that takes place with teenage Lily in 1983 was pointless and read like a YA novel. And, if the writing was more accomplished, I think having Odile tell the whole story of her past would have made a better read. She is the only likeable character who is interesting enough to push on with. I can't say this new novel is much of an attention grabber, and unfortunately I doubt I would try another of the author's books since her writing style does not match my reading taste. That's not a criticism to the author, this book was just not my cup of tea.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1: Odile CHAPTER 1 
Odile
PARIS, FEBRUARY 1939
NUMBERS FLOATED ROUND my head like stars. 823. The numbers were the key to a new life. 822. Constellations of hope. 841. In my bedroom late at night, in the morning on the way to get croissants, series after series-810, 840, 890-formed in front of my eyes. They represented freedom, the future. Along with the numbers, I'd studied the history of libraries, going back to the 1500s. In England, while Henry VIII was busy chopping off his wives' heads, our King François was modernizing his library, which he opened to scholars. His royal collection was the beginning of the Bibliothèque Nationale. Now, at the desk in my bedroom, I prepared for my job interview at the American Library, reviewing my notes one last time: founded in 1920; the first in Paris to let the public into the stacks; subscribers from more than thirty countries, one-fourth of them from France. I held fast to these facts and figures, hoping they'd make me appear qualified to the Directress.
I strode from my family's apartment on the sooty rue de Rome, across from the Saint-Lazare train station, where locomotives coughed up smoke. The wind whipped my hair, and I tucked tendrils under my tam hat. In the distance, I could see the ebony dome of Saint-Augustin church. Religion, 200. Old Testament, 221. And the New Testament? I waited, but the number wouldn't come. I was so nervous that I forgot simple facts. I drew my notebook from my purse. Ah, yes, 225. I knew that.
My favorite part of library school had been the Dewey Decimal system. Conceived in 1873 by the American librarian Melvil Dewey, it used ten classes to organize library books on shelves based on subject. There was a number for everything, allowing any reader to find any book in any library. For example, Maman took pride in her 648 (housekeeping). Papa wouldn't admit it, but he really did enjoy 785 (chamber music). My twin brother was more of a 636.8 person, while I preferred 636.7. (Cats and dogs, respectively.)
I arrived on le grand boulevard, where in the space of a block, the city shrugged off her working-class mantle and donned a mink coat. The coarse smell of coal dissipated, replaced by the honeyed jasmine of Joy, worn by women delighting in the window display of Nina Ricci's dresses and Kislav green leather gloves. Farther along, I wound around musicians exiting the shop that sold wrinkled sheet music, past the baroque building with the blue door, and turned the corner, onto a narrow side street. I knew the way by heart.
I loved Paris, a city with secrets. Like book covers, some leather, some cloth, each Parisian door led to an unexpected world. A courtyard could contain a knot of bicycles or a plump concierge armed with a broom. In the case of the Library, the massive wooden door opened to a secret garden. Bordered by petunias on one side, lawn on the other, the white pebbled path led to the brick-and-stone mansion. I crossed the threshold, beneath French and American flags flittering side by side, and hung my jacket on the rickety coatrack. Breathing in the best smell in the world-a mélange of the mossy scent of musty books and crisp newspaper pages-I felt as if I'd come home.
A few minutes early for the interview, I skirted the circulation desk, where the always debonair librarian listened to subscribers ("Where can a fella find a decent steak in Paris?" asked a newcomer in cowboy boots. "Why should I pay the fine when I didn't even finish the book?" demanded cantankerous Madame Simon), and entered the quiet of the cozy reading room.
At a table near the French windows, Professor Cohen read the paper, a jaunty peacock feather tucked in her chignon; Mr. Pryce-Jones pondered Time as he puffed on his pipe. Ordinarily, I would have said hello, but nervous about my interview, I sought refuge in my favorite section of the stacks. I loved being surrounded by stories, some as old as time, others published just last month.
I thought I might check out a novel for my brother. More and more now, at all hours of the night, I would wake to the sound of him typing his tracts. If Rémy wasn't writing articles about how France should aid the refugees driven out of Spain by the civil war, he was insisting that Hitler would take over Europe the way he'd taken a chunk of Czechoslovakia. The only thing that made Rémy forget his worries-which was to say the worries of others-was a good book.
I ran my fingers along the spines. Choosing one, I op...
Odile PARIS, FEBRUARY 1939
NUMBERS FLOATED ROUND my head like stars. 823. The numbers were the key to a new life. 822. Constellations of hope. 841. In my bedroom late at night, in the morning on the way to get croissants, series after series-810, 840, 890-formed in front of my eyes. They represented freedom, the future. Along with the numbers, I'd studied the history of libraries, going back to the 1500s. In England, while Henry VIII was busy chopping off his wives' heads, our King François was modernizing his library, which he opened to scholars. His royal collection was the beginning of the Bibliothèque Nationale. Now, at the desk in my bedroom, I prepared for my job interview at the American Library, reviewing my notes one last time: founded in 1920; the first in Paris to let the public into the stacks; subscribers from more than thirty countries, one-fourth of them from France. I held fast to these facts and figures, hoping they'd make me appear qualified to the Directress.
I strode from my family's apartment on the sooty rue de Rome, across from the Saint-Lazare train station, where locomotives coughed up smoke. The wind whipped my hair, and I tucked tendrils under my tam hat. In the distance, I could see the ebony dome of Saint-Augustin church. Religion, 200. Old Testament, 221. And the New Testament? I waited, but the number wouldn't come. I was so nervous that I forgot simple facts. I drew my notebook from my purse. Ah, yes, 225. I knew that.
My favorite part of library school had been the Dewey Decimal system. Conceived in 1873 by the American librarian Melvil Dewey, it used ten classes to organize library books on shelves based on subject. There was a number for everything, allowing any reader to find any book in any library. For example, Maman took pride in her 648 (housekeeping). Papa wouldn't admit it, but he really did enjoy 785 (chamber music). My twin brother was more of a 636.8 person, while I preferred 636.7. (Cats and dogs, respectively.)
I arrived on le grand boulevard, where in the space of a block, the city shrugged off her working-class mantle and donned a mink coat. The coarse smell of coal dissipated, replaced by the honeyed jasmine of Joy, worn by women delighting in the window display of Nina Ricci's dresses and Kislav green leather gloves. Farther along, I wound around musicians exiting the shop that sold wrinkled sheet music, past the baroque building with the blue door, and turned the corner, onto a narrow side street. I knew the way by heart.
I loved Paris, a city with secrets. Like book covers, some leather, some cloth, each Parisian door led to an unexpected world. A courtyard could contain a knot of bicycles or a plump concierge armed with a broom. In the case of the Library, the massive wooden door opened to a secret garden. Bordered by petunias on one side, lawn on the other, the white pebbled path led to the brick-and-stone mansion. I crossed the threshold, beneath French and American flags flittering side by side, and hung my jacket on the rickety coatrack. Breathing in the best smell in the world-a mélange of the mossy scent of musty books and crisp newspaper pages-I felt as if I'd come home.
A few minutes early for the interview, I skirted the circulation desk, where the always debonair librarian listened to subscribers ("Where can a fella find a decent steak in Paris?" asked a newcomer in cowboy boots. "Why should I pay the fine when I didn't even finish the book?" demanded cantankerous Madame Simon), and entered the quiet of the cozy reading room.
At a table near the French windows, Professor Cohen read the paper, a jaunty peacock feather tucked in her chignon; Mr. Pryce-Jones pondered Time as he puffed on his pipe. Ordinarily, I would have said hello, but nervous about my interview, I sought refuge in my favorite section of the stacks. I loved being surrounded by stories, some as old as time, others published just last month.
I thought I might check out a novel for my brother. More and more now, at all hours of the night, I would wake to the sound of him typing his tracts. If Rémy wasn't writing articles about how France should aid the refugees driven out of Spain by the civil war, he was insisting that Hitler would take over Europe the way he'd taken a chunk of Czechoslovakia. The only thing that made Rémy forget his worries-which was to say the worries of others-was a good book.
I ran my fingers along the spines. Choosing one, I op...
