KC never tried to find out what type of Author he was. Instead, he was trying to find out what type of people were the readers...
His books were written posthumously after KC died at the beginning of his novel. It is his memoirs, written in his endless semi-off dark black notepads, non-fiction of course, while he finds himself retracing his steps in Paris, where he lived not by choice; but something that always was… ‘always…’
This book gives you a clue into our lives, clusters of short, meticulous stories and no matter what life throws at us, we keep moving forward, barely. But, when he was in the process of writing his novel, he wanted to write something with emotion, beautiful like the Ballet that will make you reexamine your life: driven by lovely thoughts, a narrative that will linger in your mind, carrying you through our works like an epitaph, based on affinity.
From the first few words of this book, life is foretold, with a sense of urgency of living, it is time conscious while the ultimate deadline awaits. It is a retrospective novel of a devoted love and friendship, tea/thé, cupcakes, grape bubble gum, a bowl of fruit, mannerisms, and meticulous observations of Paris: understanding the significance of the city, and the importance of enjoying the moments that he lays out to the readers while taking you to their favorite places with a purpose. You can call it more than just a blueprint and this isn’t a Frommer’s travel guide.
You’ll find no shortage of stories here and how he unexpectedly engages with the readers quite creatively. His profound ability to just write from the heart, an intimate way he delved into a narrow period of time, about actual people and their events, and why you will come to care about them, as well as their lifestyles, by reading a book that an author lived in part and the unique formula he had used to tell his stories. KC has the ability to write, while wanting more or to cut off a thought only to bring it out later as an introduction where you will infer all of it; with a few of the details in a sentence or two or a fragment of a sentence while he talks or distracts you and that’s where his writing goes to another level and you will appreciate how effective it was.
One interesting note that I will share with you is that KC is constantly keeping that inner circle protected at all costs. At times, it feels as if there is nowhere to hide, but one place, by the sea as he dives into her ocean blue-green eyes; a calm emotion, like the morning sunrise sparkling across her gentle seas, rippling in time, up to her shores, of a gentle love, the most precious gift, the love from a woman, a love that always was… ‘always…’ with deep pauses.
But nobody will ever know what it was like to be him, us, while his writings bear his stamp knowing that he was an original. KC died firmly believing he had failed. And yet when you read this novel, it reads so smoothly that every chapter is arranged around one simple word: LOVE.
And in the end, what made all of us happy was quite simple — ‘The life we shared in Paris, so simple, yet so blissful, a simple life of doing something you love, in a place that you love to be.’ —KC
So, a toast to Renée and Isabelle, Baby Renée and Baby Gabrielle, Madeleine and Baby Isabelle & Baby Gemma, Yulia and Baby Gabriella, Alla and Baby Yasmina, Chloé and Emmanuelle, Solèn and Baby Amélie, Anabelle and Baby Natalia, Anastasia and Baby Natasha, Adalene, Manon, Mikey, Kevin, Tommy, Billy, Johnny, Pete, AJ, Vlad, Tim, Doc and lots of Hugos.
Intro Book I Book II Book III And...