My bookshelf is appalling bare, but I have so little time to read this month that it isn't likely to change, although I'm getting that itch to go to the library and carry an armload of books home.
Here's the intro:
I didn't set out to sleep with Philippe. For one thing, he was my parents' friend; for another, he was married.
On one of their many trips to Paris before I lived there, my parents met Philippe Rousel, an ophthalmologist, at Aux Charpentiers, a neighborhood restaurant near Saint-Germain des Pres, where long, family-style tables bring you into closer contact with other diners than you might wish. In his travel diary, which I discovered after his death, my father reported that the French friends who had recommended the resyaurant had said that "while not modern or elegant it was a place where intellectuals came to eat."I hope the book is closer to that first paragraph than the second.