It was horrible. So horrible in fact that I spent no more than five minutes in there. Just enough time to wander up and down the shoddy stairs and browse the shelves for Maurice Blanchot and Blaise Cendrars titles (of which they were disappointingly bereft).Enough said. A bookshop in Paris without Blanchot is like a Waterstones without a 3 for 2 display.
Speaking of Blanchot, does anyone know anything about a rumoured translation of Christophe Bident's Maurice Blanchot: Partenaire invisible, an "essai biographique"?
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