ANONthology: Letter from Paris by Laura Spinney

This story was originally published anonymously as one of the stories in Fourth Estate 25th anniversary publication, the ANONthology.

Space is at a premium in Paris, and one of the early challenges Professor F faced upon arriving in the city was lack of it. As the newly appointed director of the Department of Cognitive Studies at one of France’s most prestigious centres of higher learning, he knew that his young and expanding unit would soon outgrow the 250 square metres that had been allocated to it, and that it was his job to find room for the overspill.

Before long his gaze turned towards the window in his new office, at the back of the building, towards the garden beyond. Next door to his department was the Department of Decorative Arts, and rising majestically out of the greenery directly behind it was a shiny, curvy postmodern structure, the 1998 design of Philippe Starck with Luc Arsène-Henry Jr. Directly behind his own department was a sad, peeling prefab, which stood unoccupied and neglected. An idea took shape in his head: demolish the prefab and get Starck to put something chic in its place. The new building would provide a certain aesthetic continuity and a welcome boost to his people’s morale.

The money was there; it was simply a question of getting permission. When the College’s director gave the project her blessing F thought he had cleared the biggest hurdle. But he hadn’t reckoned with the land registry, or rather with the functionary at the College who had gone searching for the paperwork therein. ‘It’s impossible,’ she told him flatly. Being of the school of thought that nothing is impossible, F felt his hackles rise. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked her. ‘The building doesn’t exist,’ she replied, with great sang froid.

The prefabricated pavilion had been constructed in the years before, during or immediately after the Second World War, she explained, and either no document had been created to prove its existence, or the document had since been lost or destroyed. F argued with her, but soon found himself ensnared in a nightmarish loop of faultless logic: the building was not officially there, therefore permission could not be given to knock it down. Since nobody wanted to waste money doing up a building that didn’t exist, it was sinking slowly into disrepair.

Slyly, F asked what would happen when it became a health hazard, given that it was on the College’s territory and people occasionally entered it. The functionary replied that the health and safety people would have to be informed, and it would then be up to them to take it up with the land registry. She couldn’t speculate on the outcome of their discussions.

F, an Englishman, spoke fluent French. But at this point in the conversation he learned a valuable new word in the French lexicon: dérogation. This is how the French get things done; it’s a sharp knife for slashing through red tape. When a bureaucratic obstacle prevents a person from doing what he wants, the unwritten rules of French culture allow him to ask that an exception be made in his case. Naturally he has to have good grounds for appealing, and the appeal process is not quick.

F lodged his dérogation, sat back and waited. He was prepared to wait for as long as it took, but other exigencies weighed on him, namely the need to find space for his new recruits. In the end, he was forced to abandon his postmodern dream. The spare money went towards the refurbishment of the pavilion. When it was complete, some philosophers moved in. They are still there, mulling over intangible ideas in an intangible building that everyone can see, but nobody can prove exists.

To read the other stories from the ANONthology, click here.