Books like All Signs Point to Paris

In Maybe in Another Life, I was moved by how two distinct journeys stemming from one somewhat insignificant life choice can lead to a pre-destined outcome and fated love.

This book really leans into how the Universe may have bigger plans for us, regardless of how we choose to get there, which challenged my notion of the “one path-one destination” outlook when it comes to fate. I was left intrigued and inspired by the role of free will, but affirmed that destiny is destiny, after all.

Miranda’s professional setback in Miranda in Retrograde summoned a spark in me – what would I do if I had a year off from my current life to do or be anything? 

As a type-A overthinker and overpreparer, like her, I loved the idea of abandoning my rational self to instead follow my horoscope. But, in reality, would I do it? Perhaps – as long as I embarked on the journey like she did, basing spontaneity off of a clearly methodical approach, relentlessly following astrological predictions each day, without fail.

In the end, though, I resonated with her realization that happiness and love might be in plain sight, less any astrological prophecy, if we just let go of the avid hunt to find it.

This book inspired me to see that second chances at love might not simply be an opportunity to reconnect with an old flame, but instead, the Universe’s way of guiding us to our destiny.

I have always believed soulmate romance to be one in which you cross paths with a stranger, and a magnetism emerges. But the idea of finding your way back to someone you already know affirmed for me that trusting my intuition, leaning into divine timing, and taking chances might lead me back to a great love that somehow got away. 

This was a breath of fresh air for me, affirming how messy, raw, and sometimes completely chaotic the quest to heal and move on after heartbreak can be, particularly given that I read it after a difficult breakup.

As I tagged along with Gabrielle through her travels, witnessing her make one questionable decision after the next, all in an effort to stop hurting and find love and happiness, I saw how forging through “the mess” is simply part of the healing process.

Her book inspired me to take chances, even if they backfire, put myself out there, and embrace the idea that the journey to heal and find love can be far more important than any destination.

While this story isn’t about actually finding that fated love, it’s about her own destiny to embark on a journey of self-love, which, to me, is the best love you can find.

Regent’s of Paris takes place in a struggling small town automobile dealership during the week preceding a Memorial Day sale.

It’s Glengarry Glen Ross without shoving the reader into a tar pit of despair. I like books that don’t make readers need a shower and antidepressants at the end, at the same time addressing uncomfortable truths. This one delivers with a measure of cynicism.

There’s cynicism in my own work too. I view a cynic as a blend of idealism and sentiment: idealistic enough to see the world as it should be and sentimental enough to recall the exact moment of his/her/their disillusionment.

I loved this book by Robin Patchen for its fast-paced action and compelling love story. The suspense grabbed me right from the start when the heroine fled Paris with her newborn, escaping her dangerous husband, a complex and well-developed villain if ever there was one.

The plot kept me on the edge of my seat as the heroine navigated the threats from her husband's crime family while seeking refuge in her childhood home. The reappearance of her first love added an emotional depth that enriched the story. 

Patchen’s skillful writing and well-crafted characters made this book impossible to put down. Convenient Lies is a thrilling read that perfectly combines suspense and romance.

People often ask me what is the best book to take with them to Paris if they can only take one, and this is the book I always recommend. This collection of essays, which can easily fit into a purse or a backpack, is brimming over with fascinating stories about “the people, places, and phenomena” of Paris. Downie’s encyclopedic knowledge of history, and the idiosyncratic curiosity that draws him (and his readers along with him) into a variety of offbeat situations make for fun as well as highly informative reading. It’s a great book to take with you to read in Paris, or sitting at home dreaming of or remembering Paris—and the selection of topics is varied enough that I believe there’s something in it to interest almost anyone. 

If we want to understand medieval or modern Paris, we need to gain some familiarity with all of the stages along the way. Robb provides some episodic portraits of some of those stages, and the chapter on the eighteenth-century architect Charles-Axel Guillaumot is one of the most arresting discussions I’ve ever seen of how the actions of those living in one epoch can reverberate for generations to come. Guillaumot literally saved Paris from collapsing in on its medieval past by bracing up the swiss-cheese-like network of tunnels that had been left behind by its medieval quarry workers.

This classic is not a history book as such, but as a single source, it provides great insight into nineteenth-century park-making and context. It uses the Parisian situation as a pretext to recommend improvements to park provision in other cities, and I love it because the author is so direct and critical, not only with respect to the situation in the French capital but also elsewhere. He is an enlightened observer of fashion and governance.

Terse criticism is provided where required, and which I Iike, and sensible, practical recommendations that are intended to improve the situation in England and often still resonate today. I also like the horticultural detail provided and the sensuous lithographs of plans and views, and I adore the cover of the original edition, which I treasure. 

How Parisians survived Nazi Occupation—to what extent they resisted or collaborated—has been debated for decades but Sebba looks through a new lens: What did Parisiennes, specifically, do during these years? She was just in time to interview some key women who, having survived concentration camps, went on to live defiantly long lives. Others wouldn’t speak, still traumatised by their experiences. But Sebba has plenty to work with, and the pace at which she pulls it all together propels this book’s sense of importance. One can’t help but feel relieved that these stories have now been told. Some of it is shameful, sure, but you ultimately remember the tales of until-now-unsung heroines, whose fierce love for their city, above even their own welfare, makes them well deserving of a place in Paris history.