Jeremy Mercer

"2. , , Paris, France has been running what he calls "a socialist utopia masquerading as a bookstore" for 50 years. His store has long been a literary hub, attracting the likes of Henry Miller, Richard Wright, and William Burroughs. More importantly, George has been inviting people to live in his shop from its very first days. There are now 13 beds among the books, and he says that more than 40,000 people have slept there at one time or another. All he asks is that you make your bed in the morning, help out in the shop, and read a book a day. After living here for five months, I was inspired to write my own book about the place."

"is the anti-Paris. Lodged among the rocky cliffs on Frances southern coast, it is a brash and sun-scoured city. Instead of the refined culture and polished façades of the capital, this sweaty port exudes a raw humanity difficult to find in the north. There is little of the wealth of Paris and none of the rush; in Marseille, it is still custom to take a in the afternoon and to spend the early evening sipping apéros under the cooling sky."

"During my four months at the bookstore, I read over one hundred and fifty books. ... Thats the biggest luxury in life, right? Time. To have that time to be in one place to read ... or whatever you want — whatever your passion is."

"I used to be a crime reporter for a newspaper in a midsize Canadian city. We liked to say we had a population of a million people, but that figure included farming communities an hours drive from downtown. For me, a more relevant statistic was the murder rate. There were a steady fifteen or twenty a year, maybe twenty-five if things were particularly good, at least good from a crime reporters point of view. Mine was a foul profession. The object was to pry into the dark corners of life and drag out all that was vile and diseased for public contemplation: an infant girl raped with a flashlight, a toddler drowned in a backyard swimming pool while the baby-sitter napped, a young father crushed by a rowdy car of drunken teens. This was the daily routine, a steady stream of sorrow that gradually colored my vision of humanity and dulled my sense of compassion."