One thing Anna Burns, author of the prizewinning 2018 novel Milkman, does astonishingly well in the book is to portray the scary, unsettling realities of being young.

So many novels glamorize youth. One can find so many confident youngsters in books. They know how to make tough decisions, they know how to make and keep friends, and they know how to relax while alone. And they never, ever have an awkward conversation—unless of course it’s perfectly staged and thus not awkward at all.

One might argue that all of these well-adjusted kids should serve as good role models for all the less-adjusted kids of the real world. But this will only be true if those real-world kids don’t see through the farce. And this will only be true if the less-adjusted kids are not actually all that different from the well-adjusted ones. For the kid who’s mainly adjusted, but needs a few tweaks, sure. Such lucky kids might be able to see a better version of themselves in the heroic kids in books. But for the kid with big issues—and what kid has no big issues?!—even the most realistic novels can seem like farfetched fantasies.

I am probably biased in this matter, having grown up as one of those less-adjusted kids myself. Not to mention one of those less-adjusted adults. So for me, it is a relief to read a novel that keeps it real in the areas of social awareness, personal awareness, and level of mutual affinity to one’s world when one hasn’t been in it for all that long.

The protagonist of Milkman is an adult, but only barely so. I could very much identify with her social-emotional state at that age, as described in this passage:

“At eighteen I had no proper understanding of the ways that constituted encroachment. I had a feeling for them, an intuition, a sense of repugnance for some situations and some people, but I did not know intuition and repugnance counted, did not know I had a right not to like, not to have to put up with, anybody and everybody coming near.”

(Yes, she is referring to the man who appeared and drove up in one of his cars, as mentioned in my last blog post.)

Before closing today, I would like to mention that the author keeps it real in other ways, as well—most notably as regards politics. While the terms “Ireland” and “Catholic” are not used even once in the book, Burns is brilliant about making her setting clear. The protagonist, against her will, for she’d rather hide within her nineteenth-century novels, is embroiled in all the politics of her place and time. Burns does not sugarcoat the hard truths of this place and time. Additionally, she tells her story with great respect for humanity, in all its strangeness and variety.

How well adjusted were you as a kid? How well adjusted were you as an adult?

Lest you think I’ve abandoned writing about books in favor of writing about travel, let’s talk books today. My next blog post will preview a book about America—promise! But today, let’s linger overseas. Let me first tell you about a famous English-language bookstore in Paris called Shakespeare and Company. It’s located across the street from Notre Dame, it has an exquisite selection of books (in English!), and it has a motto to live by (see the photo). And let me now tell you about a book I read about Paris, before traveling to Paris.

Book Club Fiction and Women’s Fiction

Paris by the Book, a recently published novel by Liam Callanan, was given to me as a gift by a family member, upon my sharing that I was planning a trip to said city. Although it’s not the type of book I usually read, I read it before my trip and thereby learned a few facts about the city, and picked up a few additional French words. Paris by the Book is what publishing professionals call “book club fiction” or “women’s fiction.” These labels don’t mean that the book can’t be read outside of book clubs or by men. They merely mean that the book is well suited to be read in women’s book clubs . . . which are a huge source of revenue for the publishing industry.

In such books, there is often a relatable female heroine. And such books often raise issues that pertain to modern women’s lives, without being too inflammatory: issues easily discussable over wine and cheese in someone’s stylish living room. Often, the reader doesn’t need a lot of background knowledge to understand the book, or too much grit to make it through the entire thing; in other words, such books are accessible to a wide audience.

Literary agents with whom I’ve had contact seem to wish that my books were in the “book club fiction” category and/or “women’s fiction” category. Such books sell like hotcakes. When one women reads one, all the women in her circle have to read it, too.

Paris by the Book is indeed an easy read. There is indeed a relatable female heroine. (She is an American woman with two daughters; they all end up traveling to and living in Paris.) And indeed, the book raises issues pertaining to modern women’s lives.

Yeah, I’m a Woman

In fact, the book seemed so relevant to my own life that, upon reaching a certain point, I had a strong reaction. Anger. I was so angry! At a character in the book, yes, but also at people in my real social circles. I had trouble sleeping one night, I was so angry. And upon finishing the book, I immediately gave it to a female friend to read, because I’m eager to discuss it with another woman.

Book club fiction? Women’s fiction? Spot on. And, as my Airbnb host in London said to me, upon my confession that I could not stop crying while watching the play Emilia, “If it provokes an emotional reaction, it must be doing something right.” (I describe the play and my reaction to it here.)

Art’s Purpose

And that’s what art is all about! If I’m reacting, a connection was made. True, other people might react completely differently, or not at all, to the same work. However, if the artwork is making a connection with at least a substantial proportion of its audience, it’s doing its job. It’s expressing something in a format that other humans can understand. It’s communication in the emotional sphere.

Paris by the Book is far from perfect. I agree with the critique of it in this excellent review. But a certain key aspect of the book caused me to react, and this prompted me to think. Why am I so upset about this? wondered I. And I learned something about myself, and others, as a result.

When was the last time you had a strong emotional reaction to a work of art—such as a novel, play, or visual piece? Did you learn something about yourself, or others, as a result?

What do women really want? Flowers? Chocolate? Doors opened for them? To be tied up on a train track and saved in the nick of time?

Honestly, I have no idea. I have a hard enough time figuring out what I want—let alone all women on earth!

So let’s talk about something I do know about: what you want. You, apparently, want to read a blog post called “What Women Really Want.” Furthermore, it’s likely that at least some of you want to read such a blog post not because, ten minutes ago, you were thinking to yourself, “The best use of my time right now would be to read a blog post about what women really want!”—but, rather, because you saw the title and felt mildly intrigued, while also feeling disinclined to do something more cognitively demanding than clicking a link.

In other words, it’s possible that some of this post’s readers—not you, of course!—fell for the clickbait I so slyly threw out there. But, trust me, they’re not alone! I succumb to clickbait all the time. I mean, it’s called “bait” because it lures us helplessly in! Moth to a flame! Nonetheless, however you ended up here, I’m genuinely glad you did, because I want to tell you about a great book called Digital Minimalism by Cal Newport.

Newport dedicates three separate chapters of the book to three different ways that we can spend the free time we will acquire if we stop mindlessly clicking around on the Internet. According to Newport, these three uses of time are essential to human health and happiness, and yet are often neglected in the digital age:

• Solitude
• Conversation
• Demanding activities

At this point, I’d like to share a passage from Newport’s book. It’s from his chapter on demanding activities, but, in my opinion, it applies to all three of his recommended uses of time:

“The value you receive from a pursuit is often proportional to the energy invested. We might tell ourselves there’s no greater reward after a hard day at the office than to have an evening entirely devoid of plans or commitments. But we then find ourselves, several hours of idle watching and screen tapping later, somehow more fatigued than when we began. . . . If you instead rouse the motivation to spend that same time actually doing something—even if it’s hard—you’ll likely end the night feeling better.”

Obviously, demanding activities are hard. (I’m trying to learn French at the moment, and facile isn’t exactly a word that applies.) But I would argue that solitude and conversation are also hard, at least for us moderns. With various technologies filling every waking moment, carving out time for solitude and conversation is hard to do. It’s also hard to learn how to enjoy being alone, or how to enjoy being social, if those aren’t activities that come naturally to you. But I agree with Newport that the hard work does pay off.

And if you have made it through this entire, 500-word blog post? Congratulations: that counts as a demanding activity! Will you also make time to be alone and to be social today?

Just as the illustrator of these Parisian women of the late 1800s wearing fashionable hats did a brilliant job of capturing the nuanced variety of the attire, Émile Zola did a brilliant job of capturing nuances of the nineteenth-century female experience in his novel The Ladies’ Paradise.

Moreover, as in his descriptions of large versus small businesses, the themes he describes are universal—and astoundingly applicable to the world today. Take, for example, this description:

“She could not go downstairs to buy a candle . . . without feeling a warm breath behind her, and hearing crude, insulting remarks; and the men pursued her to the very end of the dark passage . . .”

Replace “candle” with “pizza” or another modern consumable, and . . . #MeToo, anyone?

Oddly, the description on the back of my paperback copy pretends that the male big business owner is the protagonist. The description does not mention the actual protagonist—a woman—at all! This, along with the omission of the word “Ladies'” from the title, makes me suspect that the marketer of this edition was trying to scrub it of its female-oriented qualities. Do books about men sell better than books about women? At least the photo on the cover accurately depicts the content: a young woman in a fancy dress stands behind a counter, assisting two female customers in even fancier attire.

In any case, without a doubt, this is a book about women. It’s a book about women and consumerism; women and beauty; and women and manipulation, sex, and power. It’s a book about relations between women and men and between women and women. It’s a book about intelligent women and frivolous women; about women who abide by the dictates of society and women who abide by their hearts and minds.

Somehow, through the amazing and very human powers of observation and imagination, Zola, though a man himself, has captured some important truths about womankind. I won’t give them away here. I will note, however, that the protagonist is wonderful. She has her faults, as do we all, but she also has many admirable qualities. On the whole, I think you will love her. I hope you get the opportunity to meet her one day!

What different metaphorical hats have you noticed twenty-first-century women wearing?

Thanks to Masterpiece on PBS, I recently discovered and read an incredibly good novel. Written and set approximately 150 years ago, in the late 1800s, the book is about—as far as I can tell—Amazon.com.

But let me explain. I was browsing through my local brick-and-mortar book store, which fortunately still existed at that moment in time, for that was where I happened across a book with a cover featuring TV actors in period costume. As I am not a big watcher of TV or movies, such covers usually turn me off. However, this particular cover featured a famous name: Émile Zola.

Having never read anything by the great French writer Émile Zola, I impulsively snatched up the book, deciding, on the spot, that my acquaintance with this author could be delayed no longer. Truly, I couldn’t help it! Call it feminine weakness, if you will. Or, call it a helpless surrender to consumerist culture. In any case, there I was, inserting my credit card into a chip reader, in exchange for an exquisitely pretty paperback labelled The Paradise—but which I soon discovered was originally titled The Ladies’ Paradise.

In the novel, The Ladies’ Paradise is the name of a large store in Paris that is crushing the small businesses nearby. Women are nearly powerless before it: they roam its galleries in awe of the delicate merchandise, and they flock from within and outside of the city to purchase the fabrics and ready-made clothes on offer. Meanwhile, the mom-and-pop competition try to hold their own by adhering to old-fashioned values such as artistry, intimate knowledge of a particular trade and its goods, family-oriented service, and high prices that indicate value. Zola describes one small-business-owning family in this way:

“The Baudus were not a bad sort of people. But they complained of never having had any luck.”

That is—unluckily for them, most customers preferred cheaper prices, more spectacle and grandeur, and a wide and ever-increasing selection of merchandise.

“Had anyone ever seen such a thing?” Monsieur Baudu rants at one point. “A draper’s shop selling everything! Why not call it a bazaar at once? And the employees! . . . treating goods and customers like so many parcels . . . No affection, no manners, no taste!”

Sound familiar? Twenty-five years ago, had anyone ever heard of a bookstore selling everything?! Treating customers like so many shipping boxes?! No taste!!

Thus the wisdom of Zola was revealed to me; a 150-year-old story that resonates so well today must be describing some sort of universal theme. And best of all: the author does not take sides. He does not present big business owners as any better or worse than small business owners. He presents them all as humans making choices—and the moral is that those who obstinately refuse to adapt to changing times, and those who fail to actively, persistently work toward positive innovation, will suffer for their inflexibility, no matter who they are.

How do you handle the choice between shopping big and global, versus small and local? How do your favorite small businesses stay in the black—have they made innovations, or developed specialties, that enable them to compete successfully in a difficult marketplace? Have your favorite big businesses made innovations, or developed specialties, as well?