The Paris Bookseller

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2022

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Themes

Freedom Versus Censorship

One of the strongest guiding threads in the novel is Sylvia and Joyce’s ongoing battle against the censorship and oppression that oppose the publication of Ulysses. Even though the focus is on this one particular text, the battle to publish Ulysses also represents a larger problem in the wider world, where nontraditional ideas and identities are consistently silenced. Kerri Maher uses this historical issue to implicitly critique the nature of similar controversy that dominates modern-day social and political arenas. Within the context of the novel, however, Sylvia herself acknowledges that Joyce’s work might not be for everyone but still wholeheartedly believes that his work should be allowed to speak for itself. Thus, her crusade to bring the novel to light symbolizes the larger belief that people should be given the choice of how to interact with art rather than having that choice made for them. This lack of trust is truly at the heart of the censorship issues presented in the novel, for Maher’s story emphasizes the fact that people in power do not trust readers to determine their own values.

The issue of Freedom Versus Censorship is heightened even more powerfully by the gender dynamics that are also at play, for Sylvia, Margaret, and Jane command less intellectual trust than their male counterparts. Sylvia’s acute awareness of the misogynistic attitudes that surround her become apparent as she states, “Girl Editors. Could they be any more patronizing?” (107). Tellingly, this dismissive attitude is deeply ingrained in the women’s allies as well as in their enemies; for example, the lawyer John Quinn disregards the women’s advice in favor of his own traditional ideals, thereby delaying their progress considerably. In closer colleagues, like Ezra Pound, this sexism manifests as a form of self-censorship, for he often restrains himself from voicing his true opinions to Sylvia, feeling that their friendship is too fragile for full openness. While this action comes from a place of love, it also inhibits both Sylvia and Ezra from embracing their authentic selves when they spend time with each other, thereby restricting their freedom in a different way.

Following the book’s success, Sylvia and Joyce also fight against literary piracy—which is in many ways the polar opposite of censorship. Rather than hiding the work from view, literary piracy removes all obstacles entirely and makes it freely available to anyone. However, this practice creates large, ethical questions about the true nature of intellectual property. When Sylvia refuses to give up her publisher’s rights to the book, she effectively delays its arrival in the hands of readers. Although she sees this choice as an act of self-care rather than of censorship, it does create a curious parallel with her initial fight to have the story published. Ultimately, she releases the rights for no money at all, putting her original mission above her own needs. She feels confident in this choice, knowing that her true purpose was always to fight against censorship and help Ulysses find its way into the world.

Infatuation and the Fluidity of Love

Throughout the novel, romantic relationships are portrayed as being eternally fluid, for although Maher avoids falling into the narrative trap of conforming to any of tired tropes such as the overused pattern of the love triangle, she nonetheless honors the idea that romantic relationships—just like the nature of attraction itself—are always shifting and evolving. Sylvia’s early years in Paris reflect this pattern, for even as she acknowledges the growing attraction between herself and Adrienne, she nonetheless respects Adrienne’s existing relationship with Suzanne even as the three women create a mutually supportive group relationship. Thus, Sylvia and her growing circle of friends foster an open-minded community that welcomes people of all genders, orientations, and philosophies. As the circle of intellectuals who frequent Sylvia’s shop continues to widen, this theme becomes a widely celebrated aspect of her life.

As several characters in The Paris Bookseller express, Sylvia is lucky and somewhat unique in her constant relationship with Adrienne. Sylvia feels immediately attracted to her at their first meeting—a literary device that often suggests an element of destiny or fate. When Adrienne’s lover Suzanne is removed from the story, her absence creates space for Adrienne’s relationship with Sylvia to grow. Although Sylvia sees Adrienne as being a secure force in her life, her sister Cyprian immediately perceives that love and attraction are more fluid concepts for Adrienne than they are for Sylvia, for she states, “Adrienne strikes me as a woman with appetites, who might get bored easily” (20). Although the word “bored” is used here as a loosely derogatory term, what it really reflects is Adrienne’s hedonistic willingness to embrace all facets of life.

Other characters throughout the novel take this idea even further, engaging in fluid relationships with little attention to conventional societal expectations or traditional gender roles. For example, Cyprian theorizes that Adrienne’s sister is “clearly sleeping with both Fargue and her husband” (20); similarly, when a friend suggests that Sylvia consider a marriage of convenience to a man in order to deflect attention from her true relationship with Adrienne, she silently reflects on the behaviors of the person in question, for the narrative states, “She could hardly keep track of the competition between Bob and Bryher and H.D.; the three of them swapped beds like it was going out of style” (149). This observation suggests that real love is messier and more complex than any one connection between two people, no matter their gender or sexual orientation.

Ernest Hemingway is a particularly notorious example of the fluid nature of both infatuation and love, in the novel as well as in literary history. He shifts from an apparently safe, stable relationship with his wife and indulges in several equally intense affairs. At one point, Sylvia expresses both concern and superiority, thinking to herself, “Oh Ernest, […] will you ever learn?” (300). Sylvia often compares her stalwart relationship with Adrienne to the flightier, more ephemeral loves of both the younger generation and of her own friends. Ultimately, however, she also becomes a victim of the unpredictable nature of love as Adrienne turns away from her and seeks satisfaction and personal fulfillment with a different woman.

Art as Purpose

As a novel that is particularly focused on the drama surrounding the inception of the arts, The Paris Bookseller promotes the themes of art and creation as a driving force that is worthy of representing one’s primary purpose in life. This pattern emerges quite early in the novel, for even before she begins her bookshop endeavors, Sylvia harbors a passionate desire to contribute something important to the world. She initially believes that she must follow the path of a writer herself in order to fulfill this ambition, but it is far more accurate to say that she feels drawn to the idea of “Art that would remake the world” (10). In Sylvia’s mind, “[T]his was the purpose of art—to be new, to make change, to alter minds” (10). Although Sylvia doesn’t truly feel innately drawn to engage in the art of storytelling herself, she nonetheless feels a pressure to fill this void somehow, and so she works endlessly “in libraries and at desks, hoping her words and ideas might be discovered someday” (10). In the end, the drive to champion the creation and distribution of art does indeed become her life’s purpose—only in a different way than she expected, for as the narrative states, “A. Monnier had shown her that a life for and among books was not just possible but worthy” (24). In her lifelong endeavors to create both literal and figurative safe spaces for artists, Sylvia dedicates herself to helping the writers around her give voice to their art, and thus, as a facilitator of creativity and a patron of the arts in her own right, Sylvia finds a new driving force that sustains her throughout her life and helps her to forge a unique place amongst Paris’s quirky community of artists and creatives.

Artistic creation or championship also becomes the guiding purpose for countless other characters throughout the novel, including but not limited to Margaret Anderson, Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, Gisèle Freund, James Joyce, and Ernest Hemingway. Joyce himself becomes so utterly consumed by his need to create that he puts a measurable toll on his physical health and on his relationship with his family. His internal crusade expands to engulf Sylvia as well, and it nearly destroys her and the other women who choose to support him. Ultimately, she overlooks his many abusive and exploitative qualities over the years because she is committed to helping his art find a place of honor in the public consciousness. Thus, his purpose becomes her purpose as well. By contrast, Ernest Hemingway often falls into the writers’ trap of comparing his own works to the output of others, most notably F. Scott Fitzgerald; Hemingway therefore pushes himself to compose and to publish in order to gain a sense of worthiness to stand alongside those he admires. Although different characters throughout the novel have different relationships with art—productive, antagonistic, empowering, or some combination of all three—each person, in their own way, is driven forward by the overwhelming need to understand and create.