Zackheim applied the Page 69 Test to Last Train to Paris and reported the following:
From page 69:Visit Michele Zackheim's website.After Andy returned to the office, I went back upstairs to Clara’s room and insisted that we go for dinner. We strolled along the boulevard St. Germain. The street lamps gave off a pale yellow glow, blurring the evening like a painting by Utrillo. Even the voices of the pedestrians were soft, and we found ourselves almost whispering. We turned left onto the rue de l’Ancienne Comédie, meandering past a row of small galleries and antique shops. Displayed in one of the windows were three small charcoal drawings by Giacometti.I loved writing page 69. The challenge of weaving a painterly, emotional group of words together is most satisfying. I was a visual artist for half of my adult life and have spent the second half writing. Not only do I look for color, shape, and form in the world of cities and towns and nature and human beings; I also try to imbue emotions with the delicate vibrancy of Japanese sumi ink: a fluttering bird or a bold slash of an unexpected idea made with a huge horsehair brush.
“That’s what I feel like,” Clara said, “a line that’s disappearing into the horizon. Lost.” I took her hand and we walked.
“Let’s go to Deux Magots,” I said. “It’s late, and not so crowded, and I love to listen to that.” And I pointed to an old tramp wearing drooping and patched trousers held up by a thick leather belt, a peasant’s shirt, originally blue, but now black with grime, and a beret. He was clasping a battered violin to his chest. “He’s remarkable. When you hear him play, you’ll see what I mean.” I walked over and handed him money. For just a short time, we could forget our distress. The evening was transformed as the old man played Massenet’s “Meditation.”
My Book, The Movie: Last Train to Paris.
Writers Read: Michele Zackheim.