Book Notes: The Elegance of the Hedgehog

Originally published in France in 2006 as
L'Élégance du hérisson.

In recent weeks I've come to realize that I suffer from a severe case of Reading ADD. No matter how great the book I'm reading at the time, my attention soon inevitably drifts to another title, and then to another one, and another, until my nightstand fills up with a pile of half-finished books, all equally great and equally neglected.

So reading, which is supposed to be a pleasurable escape into my own private world, has become yet another source of guilt and stress. How do I expect to finish life's grand projects if I can't even finish a book? Why can't I commit to one title and give it my full attention? My scattered reading habits have got me worried that I might be a generally fickle individual with a serious shortage of patience, attention and faith. After all, in life and in love, just as in reading, these are important qualities to have.

That's why I was happy to  find a book that kept my attention from the first page to the last. It's called The Elegance of the Hedgehog, and it's a wonderful tale of a secretly erudite French concierge whose life transforms through small encounters with the residents of her Parisian apartment building. The author, Muriel Barbery, is a philosophy professor, and her scholarly training comes through in her poignant ruminations on the purpose of literature, music and art. This adds a welcome dose of enlightenment for those like me, who feel they're indulging in a guilty pleasure whenever they read a novel instead of an educational text. The book is a little too smart at times, but it left me with new vocabulary in my pocket--hubris or incunabulum, anyone?--and introduced me to a wide range of works, from 17th century Dutch still lives to Japanese films.

It was also made into a movie--which, I'll admit I watched first--that makes a wonderful companion to the book.




I love it when a book gives you the urge to learn things, to write things down. Here are some of the gems hidden inside...

creature comforts

The process of becoming an "adult" and gradually taking on greater responsibility for my personal expenditures has meant that I am much less prone these days to spend money on sweet nothings. But since I was little, I've felt a magical pull toward certain objects that seem to have their own character or personality, particularly if these objects speak to my inner home body--like warm socks, wool sweaters, or well-worn books. It's these homey items that I can never resist taking home with me. And that's what happened when I found these little cuties in a little shoe store in Bethesda. They are made from soft leather and canvas, with apparent stitches. Their simple, unfinished appearance is friendly. And they are quiet.

These shoes are special because of what they evoke in me--a long-lost sense of childhood, with its cozy routines, its simple pleasures and tiny, everyday adventures. When the weather gets colder, I'm going to put on these shoes and go crunching around in the autumn leaves. New shoes for a new adventure, and for a big Olga who still wishes she were small.


 

Sunday morning

Three months since my move to Washington, DC, I've decided to start a blog. Yes, it's about time.

Sunday mornings at the "U Street Mansion" mean classical music and languid sifting through the Sunday Post, signs of what we like to think is a refined household. My four housemates and I range from the artsy (graphic designer, swing dancer) to the athletic. Our collective resume includes positions at CNN, the Holocaust Memorial Museum, the American Geophysical Union, the National Democratic Institute and the Department of Homeland Security.

We live in a brownstone Victorian home built in 1905, a three-story old beauty with narrow creaking stairs and a stubborn gas stove. Our porch opens up to a secret garden, a former cement lot transformed into a green haven by the initiative of our neighbors. I have come to love this home, and the people in it, dearly.

This music is playing as I type. Outside, a slow, gentle rain. The beginning of the end to another precious summer weekend.