The Most Beautiful Book in the World was certainly less beautiful than I expected, although I found its reading original and typically French-brewed. For a bookworm who flirts with littérature française, I immediately recognized E. E. Schmitt’s signature. 

The author of several famous works, including Oscar and the Lady in Pink, The Visitor, and The Other Part of the Story, Schmitt is best known for his deep exploration of human emotions, philosophical themes, and complex characters.

A few weeks ago, searching for something to read, I found myself confronted with one of Schmitt’s book titles. The Most Beautiful Book in the World is leisure reading, encompassing eight novellas that have women at their center.

At one point, I thought the narrator was making fun of the female character and couldn’t help sensing a slight touch of irony in the book. I thought—this is a man’s point of view on the opposite gender, nothing ill-intended—so I armed myself with a decent dose of irony until I finished the book.

Two novellas, in particular, keep wiggling in my memory—A Fine Rainy Day and The Intruder. Both are bittersweet stories that relate the life of a woman, with its romantic connections and existential turmoil. 

Schmitt’s book left me with the impression that, after dozens of readings, this was by far unusual and strange, to some extent. But hey, leisure time would become boring if we stuck to artistic conventions, right?