One overcast weekend in October 1974, Georges Perec set out in quest of the "infraordinary": the humdrum, the non-event, the everyday--"what happens," as he put it, "when nothing happens." His choice of locale was Place Saint-Sulpice, where, ensconced behind first one cafe window, then another, he spent three days recording everything to pass through his field of vision: the people walking by; the buses and driving-school cars caught in their routes; the pigeons moving suddenly en masse; a wedding (and then a funeral) at the church in the center of the square; the signs, symbols and slogans littering everything; and the darkness that finally absorbs it all. In An Attempt at Exhausting a Place in Paris, Perec compiled a melancholic, slightly eerie and oddly touching document in which existence boils down to rhythm, writing turns into time and the line between the empirical and the surreal grows surprisingly thin.
Perhaps, it is time for a break. It is not that I didn't enjoy this reading as much as I felt like I didn't get anything new out of it. So either the book is exhausted or I am (and it's probably the latter)
To what degree should I consider Perec's attempt a success? It appears as if the place exhausts Perec before he can exhaust it. Each subsequent day's entry is shorter than the last, as is the time he spends on it.
By the second day, he's already grown tired of the transit buses. One could argue his reporting on them Friday removes the need to discuss them on Saturday, but his return to them on Sunday firmly places their absence on Saturday as a change in Perec.
I think this is largely to the book's credit. Better Perec exhausted than the reader.
Probably not day in day out but perhaps once.
Stripped of most everything expected of a book, it's sparseness and gentle monotony are oddly compelling. Too short to overstay its welcome, I think this book is a good premise, executed well.
"Why Count Buses? Probably because they're recognizable and regular"
On the first and last days of this book, Perec tells us about most if not all buses that he sees pass by (on Saturday, he skips this because he's "lost all interest in them"). He also regularly tells us the time, so we can make estimates about the regularity of 5 of the 6 bus lines that run through the place (we must ignore the 84 because when he is sitting in the Café de la Marie Perec notes that "it is only by chance that [he] can see 84s pass by").
On Friday, Perec counts buses over a 390 minute period (non-contiguous, there are some breaks and he is unable to see any buses from his location at la Fontaine Saint-Sulpice). His bus tally is: 63: 31 buses 70: 26 buses 86: 28 buses 87: 20 buses 96: 30 …
"Why Count Buses? Probably because they're recognizable and regular"
On the first and last days of this book, Perec tells us about most if not all buses that he sees pass by (on Saturday, he skips this because he's "lost all interest in them"). He also regularly tells us the time, so we can make estimates about the regularity of 5 of the 6 bus lines that run through the place (we must ignore the 84 because when he is sitting in the Café de la Marie Perec notes that "it is only by chance that [he] can see 84s pass by").
On Friday, Perec counts buses over a 390 minute period (non-contiguous, there are some breaks and he is unable to see any buses from his location at la Fontaine Saint-Sulpice). His bus tally is: 63: 31 buses 70: 26 buses 86: 28 buses 87: 20 buses 96: 30 buses
Paris maintains the same bus numbers for the 5 remaining lines so we can also compare the schedule RATP currently lists on their website (dated at November 2019). For several lines, frequency changes by time of day, so min and max intervals will be given. 63: 12.5' (1975) vs. 6-8' (2019) 70: 15' (1975) vs. 8-10' (2019) 86: 14' (1975) vs. 11-16' (2019) 87: 19.5' (1975) vs. 10-12' (2019) 96: 13' (1975) vs. 4-7' (2019)
We can't know how many buses Perec missed in his tallies, but there's nothing to suggest he'd be more likely to miss a given line (it is heavily implied they all share the same stop). With that in mind, it stands out that the 86 is the only line where the 2019 intervals aren't 1/3 to 1/2 shorter.
On Sunday, Perec notes buses for 125m and tallies 10 63s and 8 96s (2019 numbers would have us expecting 6-10 63s and 12–18 96s). It seems like historically, the 63 ran more often on Sundays, but was reduced once the 70, 86, and 87 started running that day.
A reason I've felt like reading this book lately is that I miss the boring everyday world it describes. I read this today while walking to my (empty) office for the first time in 3 months.
The trip still feels familiar, but even after the better part of a year, the nearly-empty downtown feels surreal. I can't pretend things are normal like I might be able to in the cities still-popular parks and walking paths.
The pandemic is boring (and I'm lucky it's merely boring for me), but I long for the nothingness of walking in a crowded space; of sitting in a busy café and watching people going about their day; of bumping into a friend, chatting, and then going about with my day. And for now at least, this gives me that
A question I've been asking myself is whether I can actually picture the area Perec is describing. I'm not great at visualizing things but surely, if I took a few notes I'd be able to make a rough sketch that was broadly correct.
I stare at my notes (which resemble something between a logic problem and a conspiracy). It feels like I'm either moments away from a complete picture or fundamentally wrong about even the shape of the area being described. And it feels like a success.
I might not have the space right, but I've made it more real. I'm starting to see the differences in the locations Perec observes from. How have I never noticed that the Friday afternoon café has no view of the bus stop?
It gets me to think about the places I know that I substitute into Perec's descriptions. To the extent that Perec …
A question I've been asking myself is whether I can actually picture the area Perec is describing. I'm not great at visualizing things but surely, if I took a few notes I'd be able to make a rough sketch that was broadly correct.
I stare at my notes (which resemble something between a logic problem and a conspiracy). It feels like I'm either moments away from a complete picture or fundamentally wrong about even the shape of the area being described. And it feels like a success.
I might not have the space right, but I've made it more real. I'm starting to see the differences in the locations Perec observes from. How have I never noticed that the Friday afternoon café has no view of the bus stop?
It gets me to think about the places I know that I substitute into Perec's descriptions. To the extent that Perec is writing about anywhere, it let's me appreciate them in ways I've overlooked. And in the way Perec is writing about his place, it lets me appreciate the mundane things that make my places familiar and comforting.
An idea I've had for years is to travel to Paris for the 50th anniversary in this book in 2024, and see if and how things felt different.
When I first had the idea, I'm not sure I thought much deeper than "things will be different because technology". To the extent that's true, the biggest change may be that I have less patience to stay focused on the task when I have my phone available to distract me at any moment.
At this point, I'm much more curious to know how capitalism has affected the square. Have real estate prices driven certain kinds of residents and businesses out? Have the few and simple advertisements Perec seen been replaced with larger and gaudier billboards?
Perec only mentions people who appear to be homeless once—it seems hard to imagine there wouldn't be more people taking refuge in the square now (at least …
An idea I've had for years is to travel to Paris for the 50th anniversary in this book in 2024, and see if and how things felt different.
When I first had the idea, I'm not sure I thought much deeper than "things will be different because technology". To the extent that's true, the biggest change may be that I have less patience to stay focused on the task when I have my phone available to distract me at any moment.
At this point, I'm much more curious to know how capitalism has affected the square. Have real estate prices driven certain kinds of residents and businesses out? Have the few and simple advertisements Perec seen been replaced with larger and gaudier billboards?
Perec only mentions people who appear to be homeless once—it seems hard to imagine there wouldn't be more people taking refuge in the square now (at least without invoking more recurring appearances by policeman no. 5976).
A final difference I wonder about is the implied whiteness in the square of everyone other than Japanese tourists. A case where things have changed but Perec's account seems already anachronistic.
"My intention in the pages that follow has been to describe the rest instead: that which is generally not taking note of, that which is not noticed, that which has no importance"
With more things than Perec could describe, it's perhaps interesting to note what of the infinite things that aren't there Perec makes time for: "there's no water gushing from the fountain", "two-wheeled vehicles (with and without motor)", "there are two taxis, their drivers aren't there", "there is no one at the bus stop", "A man with a black satchel and no pipe", "I don't see the third [moped] leave", "there are no more taxis at the taxi stand", "I didn't find Le Monde", "a customer ... goes to pay for his drink; but he doesn't have change", "there are no birds to be seen", "I already saw [a little girl] yesterday, but yesterday there were two of …
"My intention in the pages that follow has been to describe the rest instead: that which is generally not taking note of, that which is not noticed, that which has no importance"
With more things than Perec could describe, it's perhaps interesting to note what of the infinite things that aren't there Perec makes time for: "there's no water gushing from the fountain", "two-wheeled vehicles (with and without motor)", "there are two taxis, their drivers aren't there", "there is no one at the bus stop", "A man with a black satchel and no pipe", "I don't see the third [moped] leave", "there are no more taxis at the taxi stand", "I didn't find Le Monde", "a customer ... goes to pay for his drink; but he doesn't have change", "there are no birds to be seen", "I already saw [a little girl] yesterday, but yesterday there were two of them", "the lions mouths aren't spurting out any water", "for long intervals, no buses, no cars", "there are fewer or even no trucks or delivery vans", "the church square is empty", "no car", "the church square is empty".
Other missing things are murkier. When Perec writes "An 86 goes by empty/A 70 goes by, full", he describes something the other is missing. When Perec notes that "the rain has stopped", should we consider that describing something that isn't there? What about when Perec tells us "the sun is hidden".
Perhaps the most interesting non-thing Perec describes is a lack of nothing: "the crowd is dense, no more lulls".
I'm left wondering, what isn't there that Perec doesn't see?
On his second day in the square, Perec contemplates the ways the square has changed. His second observation is about how he has changed: "I'm drinking a Vittel water whereas yesterday I was drinking a coffee (How does that transform the square?)".
On my second day observing Perec observe the square, I'm drinking a coffee instead of a water. I'm at my desk taking notes on my computer instead of taking notes on my phone while I read in the bath. In much the same way, these difference change the square both imperceptibly and fundamentally.
Perec aims to catalogue the mundane, but there is no end to the mundane, so there is no single thing that can transform the square more than he can. There is no single observation more descriptive of the other project than "I have the impression that the square is almost empty (but there are at …
On his second day in the square, Perec contemplates the ways the square has changed. His second observation is about how he has changed: "I'm drinking a Vittel water whereas yesterday I was drinking a coffee (How does that transform the square?)".
On my second day observing Perec observe the square, I'm drinking a coffee instead of a water. I'm at my desk taking notes on my computer instead of taking notes on my phone while I read in the bath. In much the same way, these difference change the square both imperceptibly and fundamentally.
Perec aims to catalogue the mundane, but there is no end to the mundane, so there is no single thing that can transform the square more than he can. There is no single observation more descriptive of the other project than "I have the impression that the square is almost empty (but there are at least twenty humans in my line of sight)". Perec notes that he counts the buses because they're regular against the randomness of the cars and the people, and yet he still is drawn to describing the novel. He counts the buses for their regularity, but not the light poles for their constancy.
This small book is also bigger than I can take in. On day two, I find myself seeing people I missed last time, observing details I never saw, finding threads I hadn't connected without the square fresh in my mind. As Perec notes, the differences stand out.
On my day 1, I'm taken by policeman no. 5976 becoming 'policeman no 5976 ("Michel Lonsdale")' on Perec's day 3. On my day 2, looking for it, I realize that we're told on Perec's day 2 that no. 5976 "bears a certain resemblance to Michael Lonsdale" (the differing spellings of the actor's name are also present in the original French edition). What more will become clear as I read on? What more will stay hidden
Content warning spoilers ahead
Living Things Perec sees by order of appearance: humans, pigeons, dogs, lettuce (Perec guesses Endive), stone lions (if this counts, should I consider a sign advertising "wholesale potatoes" to be potatoes?), some green emerging from a shopping bag, bouquets of flowers (always stems up), a bird (previously, the birds have unambiguously been pigeons. This is a bird—forever a mystery), celery, carrots, oranges.
The kinds of dogs Perec sees:, some kind of basset hound, a dog, a dog like Snowy, a basset hound, a big dog, a poodle-type dog, a spaniel, dogs, two Snowy-type dogs, a beautiful white dog with black spots, a dog, a black dog, a dog.
The increasing number of pigeons seen on the morning of the rainy second day, no birds, pigeons (fewer than yesterday), 200 maybe.
Examples of the varying level of descriptions of people:, none or almost none (e.g., human beings, people, individuals, a man), professions as people (e.g., a cop, two nuns), ethnicity (e.g., a Japanese man [the only people given an ethnicity are Japanese. Otherwise, ethnicity only shows up when describing vehicles (e.g., a German bus)]), visual description (e.g., a little girl wearing a long red hat), description of activity (e.g., a man who has just parked his car), description of character (e.g., old schmucks, young schmucks), comparisons to other people (a sort of double of Peter Sellers, A stroller who looks a little like Michel Mohrt [later, Michel Mohrt's distant double], c.f. Snowy-type dogs), by name (Jean-Paul Aron, Geneviève Serreau, "I think" Duvignaud), exact and yet anonymous (The proprietor of the Trois Canettes restaurant, Policeman no. 5976 [later, we are told 'Policeman no. 5976 ("Michel Lonsdale")'. This increase in detail between days two and three is left to the reader]).
