Perdu himself is the story, the croissant. That soft center of understanding was there
for others, but not himself. He “reflected
that it was a common misconception that booksellers looked after books. They look after people.” He considered himself (as did others) a “literary
apothecary” and prescribed books as medication to heal the heart, revive the
soul.
Then one day he realized that his soul needed reviving and
he parted on what can only be called an epic journey filled with adventures and
misadventures (is there a difference?) where he sought his soul as well as the
true author of his favorite soul saving book.
This book deals with loss on a number of different levels,
including the loss of love, the loss of self, death of loved ones, and death of
inspiration. It offers hope and comfort
via literature and friendships formed over literature and over common ground. “It was the season for truffles and
literature.” What could be more hopeful than that?
This is a bread and butter book because the bread is the
butter, the butter is the bread. The
rich croissant of the story is the very butteryness of the language and vice
versa. You can taste each word and find meaning in
each stage of discovery that Perdu experiences.
“…tasted of honey and pale fruit,
of a tender sigh before sliding into sleep. A vibrant, contradictory wine, a
wine brimming with love.”
Who wouldn’t want to taste that? Read the book to find out what this really
means and to experience butteryness for yourself.
