Rememberist

Rememberist

@rememberist.bsky.social

Owner/bookseller at Berkeley Books of Paris (2005-2019). Veteran of St. Mark's Bookshop and Posman's in NYC, and Serendipity Books in Berkeley.

896 followers1K following553 posts

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Sylvia Plath, born #OTD 27 October 1932, with her bike on the wall of the Shoulder of Mutton, Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire. Today would have been her 94th birthday. She's buried in Heptonstall extension churchyard on a hill above the town.

If I weren't a few thousand miles away from Cambridge, MA (that fair city) I'd go to this for sure.

You Must Remember This@rememberthispod.bsky.social

New England: Tomorrow 10/27 and Wednesday 10/28, Karina will be presenting films at @brattletheatre.bsky.social in Cambridge! On Tuesday you can see DREAMS THAT MONEY CAN BUY at 6 and make it a double feature with LAURA at 8:45. Tickets: brattlefilm.org/purchase/169...

This is the article I'm sharing with my stateside friends. It's a very good explainer, as explainers go.

‘These were the first national demonstrations in which many lycéens had taken part, but they knew what to expect, having grown up with images of protests and police violence.’ Daniella Shreir on the protests in France, online early from the next issue. www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v4...

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If I was to write a haunted house story it would be about a techbro billionaire who buys an old castle, installs all the latest AI tech to make it a SmartCastle™, invites all his techbro billionaire cronies to a celebration party and the castle, in its ancient wisdom, destroys them all without mercy

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Replying to @nicolechung.bsky.social

We need indie publishers. We need our literary communities to thrive. Catapult was a place where I saw students become published writers, then authors, and sometimes teachers. Where I was lucky to work and collaborate, for a while, with some of the most brilliant & kind people in the business.

Finally, a proper rainy day in this small corner of France. I'm appreciating it by staying in my PJs and working on this beast. My bookshop was only about 10 blocks away from the cathedral, and the fire was a traumatizing time. Putting Notre Dame together piece by piece is the opposite of that.

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Artist Beauford Delaney, writing in his journal in 1962: "Is this the last day of my life? How does one tally the score? Love is all and that I give the world. Painting only now begins to explore all that I have felt and suffered."

Evergreen, this. One of the in-jokes in my family is that I was born a wordy Cubs fan, and my first complete sentence was, "There's always next year."

Levi Stahl@levistahl.bsky.social

I am sad about the Cubs.

Rememberist reposted

🍂🌰 Hey my lovely friends, here’s a new pinned post with updated autumn tour dates, some beautiful shows coming up! Next stop: October 1st, National Poetry Day Special with Bradley Taylor, Georgie Jones, Zakariye & friends at Birmingham Museum & Art Gallery! Tickets & links in bio!

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This extraordinary map for "Moby Dick" was made in 1956 by artist Everett Henry for a *calendar*! Its caption read: “We hear the call of 'Moby Dick,' still echoing today for anyone who yearns to feel the magic and terror, the stress and calm of the sea and its ships.” blogs.loc.gov/maps/2026/09...

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Where I'm from, you can't see across the lake. It has its very own weather systems. And sometimes, in the winter, the water gets ornery and has "lake effects" which try to kill you with weather.

You can take the Chicagoan out of Chicago, sure, but that person will have lifelong urges for Italian beef sandwiches in the wintertime. Also, they will do things like put Mike Royko's books in the niche meant for saints in a French country kitchen.

Being born in Chicago comes with a double dose of pride. We're city proud, of course, and then there's the lake. After I moved away and saw other bodies of water, I had to bite my tongue to not say, "You call that a lake?"

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Right on. I booked a place close to Chapters and about a dozen other bookshops. The plan is to tumble out of bed, eat massive breakfasts, hunt for books, and ogle the architecture as discreetly as possible. I hope it's good and cold when I get there.

It's just like me to get excited about books and breakfast. When I arrived in France, I adapted in a million ways. Eventually I lost the habit of eating a heap of food in the morning. For years, it's been strong coffee and pains au chocolat. So breakfasts in Dublin are downright Proustian for me.

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Happy publication day to DIARY OF A FILM by Niven Govinden, a sun-drenched tale of art-making and queer love, for fans of Rachel Cusk and Luca Guadagnino. Now available in paperback!

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We're only a small shop, but our fiction in translation bays - divided by language - now have fifty languages. Welcome Bulgarian to the club. Some, most, sections are small... we know of only two books in translation from Swahili... but we cover from Albanian to Yiddish. #booksky #booksintranslation

I'm just amazed at what I've uncovered in the archives. In this picture, the handsome gent on the right is my father's cousin Roger. He was a machine-gunner on a French bomber during WWII. His sister Jeanine escaped occupied France and fled to England, where she joined the Forces françaises libres.

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One of the most charming discoveries I made in his letters is his film criticism. At Camp Lucky Strike in Normandy, he saw Fritz Lang's The Woman in the Window and was over the moon about it. The following week he saw The Falcon in Hollywood and, well, not so much.

I'm just amazed at what I've uncovered in the archives. In this picture, the handsome gent on the right is my father's cousin Roger. He was a machine-gunner on a French bomber during WWII. His sister Jeanine escaped occupied France and fled to England, where she joined the Forces françaises libres.

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In one of his letters, he assured his wife that he was still alive and breathing French air. He was always a funny man, even when in combat zone. "Today I saw a wild boar and a rabbit. Two hundred pounds of pork chops on the hoof and me without a bullet or a rope."

Even his lack of drawing skills makes me laugh. Here he is telling his wife that he's grown out his mustache. "It's that dashing type, usually seen with a cane and a top hat. As we say in aircraft recognition, it has a dihedral with a gentle bevel toward the tips. Graceful like a B-17...

I'm just amazed at what I've uncovered in the archives. In this picture, the handsome gent on the right is my father's cousin Roger. He was a machine-gunner on a French bomber during WWII. His sister Jeanine escaped occupied France and fled to England, where she joined the Forces françaises libres.

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I have some of the letters he wrote while in between battles in Germany. His unit was the first U.S. Army group to liberate a camp, and he describes Ike and Patton showing up to witness what they found there. Here's a lesson for our times from one of his letters home:

He was a keen observer and candid about what he saw. He said the Army had to introduce a curfew for its soldiers in Normandy in an effort to protect the local women and girls. I also learned that he was issued false dogtags with the name Johnson in case he was captured by Nazis. His name was Cohen.

I'm just amazed at what I've uncovered in the archives. In this picture, the handsome gent on the right is my father's cousin Roger. He was a machine-gunner on a French bomber during WWII. His sister Jeanine escaped occupied France and fled to England, where she joined the Forces françaises libres.

I wonder if my father, who was an infantryman fighting Nazis inside Germany, knew what his Parisian cousins were up to. Maurice joined the Résistance and served with distinction, and Roger was up in the air shooting the bastards. I was born late in my dad's life and he never spoke of the war.

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I heard you like epic poems... Yes, having given you pocket sized versions of The Iliad, The Odyssey, and The Aeneid, next week I'm standing up for The Argonautica 🌊🐏 That's the one with Jason, the Argonauts, and the Golden Fleece - and of course Medea. Shout out to Apollonius of Rhodes!

Bright side: Apparently, the summer-long heatwave is due to break tonight. I'll beat the last of it by going to see The Conversation on the big screen. In rural France. I'm just a lucky so-and-so. And I just did a headcount of the gang of cats who live next to my house. They're all good.

Damn! I'll be thinking about that for quite a while. Also, what a pleasure to go to the cinema in this little corner of France. There's a sense of respect and thoughtfulness around great movies. When Harry complimented Paul's suit, and he replied, "You like it? It's French," the audience chuckled.

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