The ideal francophone getaway is not a flight away anymore, but a train ride to Albertine, a specialty bookshop on New York’s Upper East Side. I discovered this world of francophile frenzy by chance, searching for a Camus novel for my French class. An eye swoon housed in the French Embassy, namely the Beaux-Arts Payne Whitney mansion between East 78th and 79th streets on Fifth Avenue, greeted me. It opened its door only last autumn.
As I walked past the road construction on the corner of 79th street, a French flag was the only hint to my destination. Nothing else gave away the idea that I was entering a bookstore but a guard on the left that greeted me, “Bonjour!”
Enormous doors adorned with golden designs opened outwardly exposed a statue of a naked boy in the center of the lobby.
“Michelangelo,” pronounced a handsomely dressed French man regarding the statue that I had been looking at. The statue is actually a replica of Michelangelo’s “Young Archer,” the original loaned to the MET a few blocks away. The original stood in the lobby of the mansion until it was discovered to be a Michelangelo in 2009.
In a haze, I stood questioning whether I had the correct address. But behind the marble columns that surrounded the statue the bookstore peeked, inviting in its direction. I walked past the statue and into the book haven: a dreamy two-floor space designed for real aficionados of the art of literature. Albertine’s interior is lush with a prétentieux vibe, setting the literature on a pedestal where it indeed belongs.
The first floor offers an array of books, French and English, settled on dark wooden tables and shelves against deep sky blue walls. Busts of Voltaire, Descartes, and others stand above the shelves. Two bright yellow hanging lamps illuminate the space. I walked to the right, a rectangular opening in the ceiling revealed the second floor winking with lights from the same kind of lamps. The second floor holds some of the 14,000 titles and functions as a reading room with dark brown leather sofas. Those passionate about literature are invited to reflect and be inspired in the cozy room, and they will be so certainly.
Overhead and venturing onto the walls, a midnight blue ceiling embellished with golden stars and zodiac symbols (modeled after the ceiling of the music room in Villa Stuck in Munich) guards over the reader. The ceiling provides a certain spice of magical aura. When I was looking around, I noticed a girl, no older than ten, reading a book on one of the sofas. Perhaps, she was related to someone in the embassy, but regardless of her origin she seamlessly belonged. Anyone belongs in Albertine, with only one prerequisite: love of literature.
Jacques Garcia, a French architect and interior designer, created this splendid space where literature lovers and careless visitors can alight, nestled under the stars and wrapped in stories. In fact, Albertine itself stands for the main love subject in Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past. Everything here revolves around the power of literature.
At the counter, I asked for L'Etrangèr by Albert Camus. The man behind the counter left the room to fetch the book while two female employees spoke between themselves in French. I felt an urgent desire to join them and practice my French, but they certainly made me feel like the stranger. I did not attempt my French. Those were the infamous French manners and arrogance. However, they could not dissolve the warm soul of the place that is neither a bookshop nor a library. Maybe next time I will speak in French when I visit.
With my book in hand, I bowed goodbye to the archer centerpiece and hummed “L'Été indien” by Joe Dassin as I headed towards the yellowing Central Park.
