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hat was it that made writers in France seekout cafés as places to work and why does thattradition seem to be dying? I have a friend who hasa charming house in the 16th arondissement witha quiet garden and all the comforts necessary fortranquil writing, who gets up every morning andcrosses Paris to his favourite café where he hasbreakfast and lunch and for the rest of the day sitswith a glass of wine in hand, writing. It’s no usetrying to ring him or visit him at home - you phoneor go to see him at ‘his’ café.I also recall evenings at La Coupole, some timeago, with the director Victor Garcia urgently andbibulously discussing a play which never happeneduntil two in the morning, when we were thrown outand had to go to Le Falstaff just round the corner.But I fear these two are part of a dying race. LesDeux Magots and the Café de Flore, where Sartrecould be seen writing calls to liberty at the height
WRITING IN FRENCH CAFÉS
DAVID KELLEY
 
of the Nazi occupation, are no longer places wherewriters work. True, La Closerie des Lilas remainsthe hang-out for what used to be the Tel Quel set,but they don’t work there, and the food is awfuland extremely expensive.All this is really rathersad. Why is it that the Parisian café society thatso fascinates the English (and which they are nowtrying to emulate) no longer exists in France?Part of the trouble is that Paris is now extremelyexpensive. You’d have to be an extraordinarilysuccessful writer to spend your day sitting in theCafé de Flore. And if you went somewhere cheaper,you’d have to put up with a barrage of cacophonousnoises - dreadful French attempts at rock musicand the zapping sounds of electronic games - not tomention the oppressive effect of garish uorescentlighting.The improvement of housing also has, I suspect, itspart to play. When I rst came to Paris in the earlysixties, only thirty per cent of French householdshad a bathroom. Many people - and particularlyaspiring writers - lived in rather sordid hotel rooms,with no facilities for cooking. They had to go outto eat and would have felt embarrassed by invitingfriends or acquaintances ‘home’. They also wouldnot have wanted to spend all day in their grottylittle room.Of course, there were also extremely positivepleasures for writers who worked in cafés. Writing,unlike most other arts, doesn’t require much of abudget. A piece of loo paper and a burnt matchstickand you’re away! But it also makes the writersometimes feel in solitary connement, as if trapped in the prison of the mind. To go to the café
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