True story: a year ago I ran into my friend David at the courthouse where I work in Austin and as we talked, he shook his head ruefully. “I bought my wife The Bookseller,” he said, “and now she wants to go to Paris. Insists on it.”
I shrugged. “So take her to Paris.”
“Yeah, that’s cheap. Plus I don’t have a passport and I don’t speak French. And I hear they hate Americans.”
I sighed. “Take her to Paris.”
Six months went by and I didn’t see David until I ran into him in the courthouse again.
“Oh, my goodness,” he gushed. “We went to Paris and now we’re doing everything we possibly can to move there. We’re in love!”
I was happy, am always happy, to share my favorite city in the world, but I wasn’t surprised. The city of light, of love, has that effect on people.
That’s why I always smile when readers ask me why Paris, what the city means to me, why I set my books there. And it’s certainly true that I get asked those questions more than any other. In truth, and as corny as it may be, it comes down to that one word: love.
Victor Hugo wrote in Les Miserables, “If you ask the great city, ‘Who is this person?,’ she will answer, ‘He is my child.’” Yes. As soon as I land or step off the train, Paris wraps herself around me, sometimes like a parent and sometimes like a lover, enveloping me with the sights, sounds, and smells that are its own.
Credit Doug Crawford
Paris Mon Amour
Author Mark Pryor who's best selling Hugo Marston series is set in Paris, including The Paris Librarian and The Book Seller reveals the Paris he loves...