The Gilmore Book Club

When was the last time you felt the spark? Our lives are often spent in pursuit of that spark. For some, it’s a romantic spark, for others it’s the spark of professional success, but for artists, it’s the spark of inspiration. All too often, that spark is elusive, rare, and fleeting, but when you find it, when that spark hits your heart, there’s an overwhelming sense of excitement and purpose, a bright light to wipe out the dust and shadows that have tormented your soul for far too long. But where do you find such as spark?

Over the preceding months, I had felt the light in my soul grow so dim and feeble that a strong gush of wind might extinguish it. A seemingly endless barrage of days transpired as my soul withstood the blizzards and tornados of life, miraculously continuing to forge ahead in hopes of balmier weather. Now I stood before Cathedral of Notre Dame, gazing up at the intricate facade adorned with Saints of stone. As the falling snow muffled the audible traces of the outer world, I began to feel a change on the horizon.  

Years ago on a trip to Paris, I had visited Notre Dame, but due to time and budget, I had left the monument without journeying up into the iconic bell tower. Now, I could finally do what I couldn’t then. However, access to the tower had been sealed off due to the weather, threatening to derail my plans not only for the day, but for my blog as well. I strolled down the path to Sainte-Chapelle and stood in awe of the stained-glass windows that seem to stretch down from the heavens, gracing the earthly mortals with a glimpse of celestial divinity. The towers of Notre Dame were still closed. I browsed through stacks of new and vintage books in two popular bookshops nearby, reverently running my fingers down the spines of countless novels as if trying to absorb the essence of their writings with a simple touch. Still closed. I enjoyed a leisurely lunch, reading The Hunchback of Notre Dame in view of the holy site that inspired it all. A third time I returned to the Cathedral, and this time, I was rewarded for my persistence.

Three hundred and thirty-three steps, if I remember correctly, separate the streets of Paris from the choir of bells and their gargoyle companions. With aching legs, I ascended to the top. The City of Light stretched out before me, the cityscape now a snow globe full of streets, stunning works of architecture, and iconic monuments. Then a sound so powerful and pure erupted from behind me. The bells of Notre Dame were singing, and it felt like they sang just for me. For there I was, in a modern recreation of the moment of inspiration for Victor Hugo’s novel. As the bells rang, I envisioned Quasimodo climbing the steps to his beloved bells, Esmerelda dancing upon her cobble-stone stage, and the sinister eyes of Claude Frollo peering at his prey through the darkness.

Victor Hugo had seen a story behind the stone towers of the Cathedral of Notre Dame. He had heard the peel of the bells and the voices of his characters, whispering their dreams, their agonies, and their grief to him. Did Hugo know what flash of genius was awaiting him high up in the belfry? How long was his labored search for his next devotion, or was he even searching at all? Nevertheless, he wrote and poured his talent, his energy, and his devotion onto the page, and the Hunchback was created. Artists whole-heartedly offer themselves upon the altar of creativity, often sacrificing their time and energy to maintain the moment of inspiration and bring their creations into the world. Their art is their world, and the world is their art.

Personally, I wasn’t searching for a project, I was just reading- a lot. I had committed to reading all of the titles on the Rory Gilmore Book Challenge and was nearing the one hundred mark when an idea streamed down from above like a shooting star. What if I wrote about my experience? What if I chronicled my life- the good and the bad- in relationship to Gilmore Girls and all the books on the list? And so, as Quasimodo came to Victor Hugo, the Gilmore Girls came to me and gave me something unexpected, something marvelous, and something life-changing.

In the end, both of our inspirations stemmed from the work of others, work that took years of hard work, vast teams of people, and an immense amount of creativity and inspiration. Maybe a part of art has always been that way, observing creations and the surrounding world, funneling that through your point of view and talent, and producing something new. Though it often appears to be the work of an individual, our creations are due to those who surround us and those who came before us. Where would I be without the cast and crew of Gilmore Girls, and all the books on the show? Where would the world be without the characters of creator Amy-Sherman Palladino’s imagination? And the inspiration keeps going back, spanning the centuries, always dependent on the triumvirate of time. On a universal level, our creative future is imbedded in our past, but influenced by the present.

It’s up to us to travel through time like an artist, and to be inspired like a Gilmore. Experience everything you possibly can. Watch films, read books, listen to music, travel the world, and never stop learning. Value ancient ruins as much as modern day attractions. Keep your soul open to the world, for you never know where your next inspiration is waiting to greet you.

This post is important to me because it’s the first book that I’ve featured on the site that I’ve actually been able to visit the places described in the novel, to stand where the author would have stood as he looked upon his subject, and to experience what it could have been like to really be in that book. I’ve been planning these posts and photos for several months, but recent events have added a bittersweet sentiment to this subject.

As I wrote this, I was struggling to comprehend the events of the day as if I’ll wake up and it will have all been a dream, the day Notre Dame was engulfed in flames. Even as I watched the grand spiral collapse and the building succumb to the blaze, I kept pulling out my phone to look at pictures. I kept thinking, “I was standing right there, just a few months ago. I have pictures of that spiral, of those towers, of the famous bells. And my favorite gargoyle, who appears to be lost in thought, he’s no longer there watching over the city of Paris. I’m heartbroken to think of the devastation this iconic monument has endured, the priceless history that was lost and can never be regained, the grief of all those who hold a special place for Notre Dame in their hearts. Though historical artifacts and works of art were saved and the cathedral will be rebuilt, the effects of the fire will be felt for years to come.

This post is my tribute to Notre Dame, and though it pales in comparison next to a volume so iconic and beloved as Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame, my writings will stand as the novel’s companion, for Notre Dame brought us both the inspiration of a lifetime, and for that, I’ll be forever grateful.

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