Book haven of Montolieu (France magazine) KEVIN WALSH tells how the sleepy village of Montolieu transformed into the Hay-on-Wye of France The Montagne Noire, west of Carcassonne, has some of the most charming villages in the Languedoc. Perched high above the Canal du Midi, they have far-reaching views to the jagged peaks of the Pyrenees in the distance. But orderly decline is a part of these villages’ story, and Montolieu seemed set to share the same fate in the late 80s. Its population had dropped to 850 from almost double that a century before. The local woollen industries had shut down. The young drifted relentlessly away to nearby Carcassonne and Toulouse in search of work. The local school had to close one of its classes. One man changed all that. But he wouldn’t live to see his dream transform the village into a bustling tourist attraction a decade later. His name was Michel Braibant. A bookbinder by trade, he worked in Carcassonne and lived in Saissac, a short distance from Montolieu. As he approached retirement, he determined not to spend it quietly at home but to realise a long-held dream: to create a ‘village du livre,’ a town devoted entirely to books. Even more ambitiously, his plans included creating a museum of the written word and the restoration of a paper mill. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, Montolieu had been the main paper producing town in the region. It was a natural choice. Book towns were not a new idea. Hay-on-Wye, on the English-Welsh border, had been operating since the early 60s. Bécherel in Brittany had also transformed itself into a literary tourist attraction, as had Redu in Belgium. And it was to the founders of those towns that Braibant turned to find help and support. Richard Booth, the driving force behind Hay-on-Wye, was so taken by the project that he even bought a house in Montolieu to convert into a bookshop. Interest was fast growing in Braibant’s idea. But one formidable obstacle stood in the way: Madame le Maire. She and the other local councillors were lukewarm about the idea of a book village. Even worse, Mme le Maire’s husband was none other than the president of the Conseil Général of the Aude department. Would this spell the end of Braibant’s dream? The elderly bookbinder was made of sterner stuff than that. He launched a charm offensive and rallied his supporters. He lobbied vigorously and in the end, he won over the mayor. He even persuaded the Conseil Général to print 30,000 leaflets promoting Montolieu. Road signs were put up directing tourists to the ‘Village du Livre.’ Mass mailings were sent out to encourage booksellers and artisans to come and set up in the village. A museum opened in the former ‘Manufacture Royale’ in the centre of town. Book fairs, theatrical evenings and carnivals were organised, and the media was invited to report the village’s transformation. By 1992, it was well on its way to becoming a French Hay-on-Wye. But in August of that year, his energy sapped by the effort of realising his dream, Michel Braibant died. His worked, however, lived on. Booksellers and artisans flocked to the town, as did tourists. Crumbling properties were lovingly rebuilt and refurbished. The school even reopened the class it had previously closed. Today, there are sixteen bookshops, with a total of over 100,000 books on all conceivable subjects. A wander through its narrow alleys reveals a bookbinder, a stonemason, a sculptor and an art gallery. It even has its own literary prize, the Prix Cabardès, awarded each year in June. On warm summer days, when a cool breeze blows up the valley, the town is thronged with tourists from all over Europe. From its position perched high above two deep gorges, Montolieu bustles with the confident busyness of a town that’s very much alive. Bougainvillea pours from hanging baskets. People weave their way through the narrow streets, poring over window displays or disappearing inside the shady interiors of quaint little bookshops. On crisp winter days, with shafts of strong sunlight picking out wisps of wood smoke, Montolieu still has a steady stream of visitors. One of the most popular attractions is the museum. Providing a fascinating insight into the history of writing, printing and paper, it organises guided tours throughout the year in both French and English. Fittingly, it is called the Musée Michel Braibant, in memory of the man who made it all happen. Here, among the piles of seductive-smelling books, his dream is very much alive and well. “Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested,” said philosopher Francis Bacon. For a rare literary feast in this corner of France, you won’t do better than Montolieu. © Kevin Walsh 2003