By the title, I expected this book to be tightly honed on Paris, and with a chronological flow that allowed me to get a sense of the city's seasons. Instead, the subject matter wandered much as one might as a flaneur in Paris itself. I really didn't care to find out about his sexual exploits of the 1970s right near the beginning, but as I read on I found some chapters to be more engaging. The chapters fluctuate between personal explorations around France or the world, and some intriguing insights into France's tumultuous history, especially as it relates to the calendar and Fabre d’Églantine. Those bits made the read worthwhile for me.

That said, I'm glad the book was short. It is very much for the literary set. He name-drops and quotes highfalutin lit constantly. This might alienate some readers who pick up the book expecting a casual travelogue. A number of the introductory bits to chapters don't seem to connect to the rest of the text at all. The book lacks any kind of logical flow, which I found especially frustrating since it often addressed the theme of time's passage. Maybe this was an attempt to be contradictory and daring, but I found it just plain annoying throughout.

Baxter had some great lines and insights here and there:

"California found no merit in dwelling on the past, whereas France seemed to do little else."

"I’d already learned some other oddities of the French calendar from experience. Museums close on Tuesdays, and on Wednesdays schools hold classes only in the morning. Food and produce markets take Sundays and Mondays off, in return for opening on Saturdays. Even then, many close at 12:30 p.m. and don’t reopen until 4 p.m., but then remain open until 8 p.m. Also, for no particular reason that I could discover, our local baker closed on Wednesdays.

And somewhere behind all this, Foucault’s pendulum kept its steady tick tick tick, measuring out the hours to a timetable that only Parisians know." ( )

After returning from a short visit to Paris and France, my fifth, I longed for more and bought this book. As I read it, I thought if I had not just returned and wasn't hungry for more French culture, I would have thrown this book away. There are interesting bits in the book, but it is disjointed and highly oriented to the author and his hubris. Written by a transplant Australian who has made a living writing about Paris and leading tours in Paris, it of course has merit, but could have been sooooo much more! ( )

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this book. I learned a lot, not only about the city of Paris but other things such as history facts that I did not know. His considerations of difference in culture were also very interesting. Most importantly, reading this book motivated me to read more travel memoirs and to make plans to visit Paris once again because now I will view the experience differently. ( )

Books having anything to do with Paris -fiction, history ,essay, even pictorial -are always a welcome read for me. This one ,however, left me a little froid. I have greatly enjoyed several of John Baxter's efforts in the past so it is with a particular disappointment that I must report this one doesn't compare favorably. Not without some fine moments of wit and charm, it lacks a cohesiveness and pace one expects in a themed volume such as this. Did I learn anything of significance about Paris? Not much. Tant pis. ( )

A collection of thoughts (I can't really call them essays) and snippets of the author's life in Paris. Although they followed the calendar chronologically, the stories really didn't make sense. Remember that Friend's episode where Joey wants to write a letter of recommendation to the adoption agency for Chandler and Monica? He uses the thesaurus and his heart-felt letter turns into a jargon-drive string of words that don't really make sense? This book is kind of like that. ( )