Published: New York Times Style Magazine
May 2008

 

Off a cobblestone street in Montparnasse, behind a small courtyard, down a poky alleyway, hides something called the Territory. Two juniper trees cling to the alley wall; a tin roof hangs over an entryway; and the only outward clue of habitation is a "Beware of Dog" sign that, oddly enough, is written in English. The Territory had been described to me variously as a youth hostel, an art studio, a submarine, a dreamscape and a favela — to which one could add, on first impression, a firetrap, a serial- killer lair and Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.
The best way to start wrapping one's mind around the Territory is to consider it the contemporary counterpoint to Shakespeare & Company, the Paris bookstore that has sheltered penniless writers for more than half a century. One of its erstwhile managers introduced me to the Territory, insisting that his old haunt is now frozen by the rigor mortis of its own legend and that the Territory has sprung up as its self-conscious alternative, a semi-commune dedicated to artsy poverty in an era that has not been kind to artsy poverty.