Today we're excited to spotlight In Paris With You by Clementine Beauvais.
Read on for more about Clementine and her book, an excerpt, plus an giveaway!
Meet Clementine Beauvais!
Clémentine Beauvais writes for both the UK and French market. Her books written in English include Sesame Seade series, the Royal Babysitters series, and her bestselling French book, The Three Piglettes. She is an award-winning author in France; In Paris with You (French title Songe a la Douceur) has been in the bestseller charts since it was published, selling 30,000 copies in the first three months and reprinting three times in the first two. Clémentine lives and works in York, UK.
Meet In Paris With You!
A runaway bestseller in France, Clémentine Beauvais's In Paris With You is a love story you won't soon forget.
Eugene and Tatiana had fallen in love that summer ten years ago. But certain events stopped them from getting to truly know each other and they separated never knowing what could have been.
But one busy morning on the Paris metro, Eugene and Tatiana meet again, no longer the same teenagers they once were.
What happened during that summer? Does meeting again now change everything? With their lives ahead of them, can Eugene and Tatiana find a way to be together after everything?
Written in gorgeous verse, In Paris With You celebrates the importance of first love. Funny and sometimes bittersweet this book has universal appeal for anyone who has been in love.
~ Excerpt ~
IN PARIS WITH YOU
By Clementine Beauvais
On Sale 1/8/19
Excerpt Credit Line:
From In Paris With You by Clementine Beauvais. Copyright © 2019 by the author and reprinted by permission of Wednesday Books.
Now Tatiana’s feet
are aching and her head
is still filled with pictures of Eugene.
And she still hasn’t fallen asleep.
Yet another sunrise to be seen
from her window. She’s high
on exhaustion and suddenly feels
The truth is, she thinks,
I missed my chance, earlier today;
I could have I should have told him.
And yet . . .
And yet . . . why not!
Here, now, she will do it, she will be
the person she wants to be: someone better.
I am going, she tells herself, to write him a letter.
A letter of unspeakable beauty. A letter
that is honest, true, real;
lines written straight from her heart
like the straight dark line of hairs that NO NO
DON’T THINK ABOUT THAT. I said NO.
So . . .
write this letter now, Tatiana, in haste,
instead of imagining the path of that dark line
below his waist.
Tatiana runs to her desk and picks up a pen.
Intelligent, she thinks, be intelligent.
She thinks she’ll write something full of references.
Something spiritual. Subtle. Something to impress Eugene,
who loves quotations more than he loves his parents.
Yes, that’s it!
She’ll compose a letter littered with quotations.
He can have fun spotting each one
and at the same time
admire her sophistication,
while simultaneously guessing
at her feelings.
Tatiana makes several failed attempts,
which we won’t list in detail right now;
it will be the task of future archivists
to decrypt those crumpled scripts.
The last one, written around three in the morning,
reads as follows:
I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages hence:
How I saw a proud rider on a horse’s proud back;
Oh, how his broad clear brow in sunlight glowed!
And from underneath his helmet flowed
His coal-black curls, his flashing eyes,
For he had fed on honeydew, and drunk the milk of Paradise.
My love, had we but world enough and time . . .
Alas! At my back I always hear Time’s chariot arrive!
And as love is life, and life hath immortality,
Let me wake forever in this sweet unrest,
And so live eternally—or else swoon to death.
Tatiana contemplates her shanty-town verse,
cobbled together from others’ words.
In itself, it has to be said,
the poem is not
Put it this way: if Eugene does not spot
the references, he might well wonder
what exactly she’s been sniffing.
And as the original verses were not all in the same meter,
she had to plug the gaps with words of her own:
an oh here, a how there,
an alas where it does not belong,
and to make it rhyme,
she had to alter some of the lines,
and you can tell, a little bit, she thinks.
(Who is she kidding? It stinks!)
But the biggest problem is that none of the thoughts
are really hers.
It is the work
of a thousand others, and yet of no one.
It is half past three in the morning when she scrunches up
the sheet of paper.
She sits down at her desk again,
concentrates and at last frees herself.
Sometimes, she realizes, you can try too hard to be
perfect. Reaching for rhymes and rhythm when you could write
freely. Being clever when you could be sincere. Writing a letter with
ink and quill, when you could just Open a New Message.
Eugene’s email address will come in handy, after all.
Tatiana turns on her computer,
which takes ten minutes to sputter into life (it’s 2006),
and she opens her Hotmail inbox
and finds she has an email from Myspace
reminding her it’s her birthday
(it’s not: she gave the website
a false date of birth;
her actual birthday is in two weeks’ time)
and another one, some spam, that yells
SEND A VIRTUAL CARD
TO THE PERSON YOU LOVE!!!
MORE THAN 250 ANIMATED CARDS!!!
FOR FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, CONDOLENCES
Tatiana smiles at this coincidence (which is nothing of the kind,
since she gets messages like this almost every day).
In a corner of the screen, MSN
lights up too.
Sometimes the little men are blue, other times gray or green;
is a little gray man.
At this hour of the night, of course, everyone
is a little gray man.
(Except for SmarterChild, the robot from MSN,
every insomniac’s friend,
always available for weird conversations.
I used to chat with him sometimes,
because I liked the odd sensation
of conducting a discussion
with someone who couldn’t answer
any important question;
just like all of us,
but at least he admitted it
instead of trying to bluff.
Have you ever fallen in love, SmarterChild?
Robots do not fall in love.
What should I write in a love letter, SmarterChild?
If I were to write a letter,
the first thing I would consider
is the person to whom I am writing.
I can’t sleep, SmarterChild.
I am sorry to learn
that you are having difficulty
What is the meaning of life, SmarterChild?
I am afraid that I have not been
programmed to respond to this question.
I miss SmarterChild; it’s a pity
he no longer exists. Siri tries too hard to be witty.
Even though he sometimes made no sense,
I preferred SmarterChild and his wise innocence.)
Tatiana is not done with robotic questions.
She clicks on Microsoft Word,
starts to write . . .
and right away
it looks as though you’re writing a letter
exclaims the animated paperclip, with his bulging eyes
and vicious smile
can I help you?
No, thanks—I’m fine.
Tatiana clicks on the X in the top right corner of the screen
and the paperclip vanishes. Now she can proceed.
She writes her message to Eugene with disconcerting ease.
No verbal acrobatics.
It is simply a message that tells him how she feels.
It’s beautiful, in its way. I kept it. Would you like to see?
Good evening Eugene,
or rather, good morning.
It was really nice to see you again today.
Recently, maybe because of the way
I’m feeling (bored), or the hot summer weather,
or maybe some other reason,
sometimes I just wait
for you to arrive.
Then I hear the creak of the garden gate,
and there you are,
with Lensky by your side.
But until you turn up, I’m all distracted.
I find it hard to concentrate.
I wait and wait,
but when we’re waiting, we don’t really live;
reality seems unreal.
For weeks now, it’s like reality’s been passing me by;
I can’t touch it, I can’t feel
until the gate swings open and you enter our garden.
It’s strange, but
only when you’re there with me
do I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.
The rest of the time, I’m like a girl at the window
watching myself live,
out there, down below,
with the feeling that life is happening to someone else
and I am trapped behind glass.
I know what I’m writing is not very elegant—
I don’t think of myself as poetic—
and I also know that it’s probably because
I’m a bit too romantic,
I just wanted to ask if maybe
you might have feelings for me?
by the way.
I’ve known it ever since we first met.
You’ve probably got loads of girls after you, though; in fact,
sure you have to brush them off your trouser legs
all the time.
Maybe you have a girlfriend back at home,
that you’ve never mentioned?
Maybe you don’t have any feelings for me,
Or maybe you’re gay?
Not that I have a problem
with that—no way!
But if you’re not
gay, I mean
and you don’t
have a girlfriend
and you do
have feelings for me
could go to see
together, or something, one of these days.
I heard Spider-Man
is out at the moment. But it doesn’t have to be
that film in particular. Anything will do.
I like pretty much everything, honestly.
Or we could just go for a walk in the park,
or lie on the grass and gaze up at the stars (haha).
I hope I don’t sound hysterical
and I hope this isn’t embarrassing,
and I really hope you don’t feel like I’m pressuring
you into anything. If you don’t reply, I promise you,
I won’t be upset.
So good morning, and I’ll see you soon,
hopefully this afternoon! Better go . . .
The message makes a sound
like a rocket blasting off into the sky.
Tatiana imagines Eugene opening it. She imagines
his (blue) eyes
line after line,
It is four fifty-four in the morning;
a shard of sunlight spears the plum sky.
This is exactly the letter that she’d felt deep inside.
Tender, honest, direct.
Sweet, yet discreet.
In Paris With You
By: Clementine Beauvais
Publisher: Wednesday Books
Release Date: January 8th, 2019
Three winners will receive a copy of In Paris With You (Clementine Beauvais) ~ (US Only)
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