lessons in samstry
I am no chemist. Yet, I found myself relating to Elizabeth Zott and her daughter Mad as I rarely have in any other book.
Bookisher, it may be time for me to let you in before we continue our journey together.
You may by now have a vague idea of who I am: a London-based journalist who grew up in France—a part of me that I have tried to suppress as I built myself a new life in the British capital.
I currently work for Law360’s UK newsroom, covering financial services and litigation. I previously worked as a weekend business reporter for Business Insider, and before that, I tried my hand at freelancing (pretty successfully) for the likes of BBC, The Guardian, and The Sunday Times Magazine among others…
I studied journalism in London at the University of Westminster, and have been considering returning to academia this year to pursue studies of creative writing. While I was nearly ready to accept an offer, I decided to defer my return to study to Sept. 2025.
Considering my background, it would have made sense to start a newsletter about something that relates to my work; allowing myself more freedom in what I would cover as a journalist, and I indeed considered it as an option. But I wanted to create something somewhat unique, that is both personal and relatable for many.
So today’s newsletter is about me, my fascination and deep love for the written word, and one of my favourite quotes. (It might be slightly longer than usual… so please, bear with me!)
Current read:
Edgar Sawtelle, David Wroblewski
Tom’s Midnight Garden, Philippa Pearce
In my childhood, I developed a deep fascination with Dora The Explorer. I remember a specific morning before school, around 7 to 8 am when the show was airing, Dora, in her cheerful way, asked us to call her “sac-à-dos” in English (backpack), seeking our help to mend a broken rudder. From that point on, I had to watch it every morning so I could get my English dose. It sparked a strong desire within me to learn the language. I remember expressing to my parents soon after, "I wish we were English, not French."
Yet when I studied literature for my baccalauréat, which consisted of French, English and Spanish lessons, plus many hours of philosophy, I didn’t seem able to score good grades in English. I believed—and still do—that English lessons taught by French natives can be rather ludicrous. It’s all about theory when it should be about practice. (I could go on and on about this. Fortunately for you, we don’t have the time).
I moved to London in September 2017 as an au pair. I had planned to spend a year with a family to get accustomed to British culture (if there is such a thing) and perfect my vocabulary before applying to study. By that time, I had not opened a book written in English (or translated into) outside of school reading lists.
Where does my love for reading come from?
A question I wondered about for many years. My parents, aside from the Harry Potter saga and children's tales such as Tarzan, never put a book in my hands. They never encouraged me to read – yet my mom will proudly tell every single person I introduced her to the story of how I started reading. At the age of about four, I stood in front of the TV and started reading the news banners.
It wasn’t until I went to my local médiathèque and discovered aisles of books I realised that thousands of other worlds I had never heard about existed. I stumbled upon Guillaume Musso’s Et après… (Afterwards). The plot goes like this:
At the age of eight, Nathan drowned while diving into a lake to save a little girl. He experienced cardiac arrest, a tunnel of light, clinical death. And then, against all odds, he returned to life. Twenty years later, he became a successful lawyer in New York City. Scarred by his divorce, he barricaded himself in his work. That's when a mysterious doctor suddenly appears in his life. It's time for him to discover why he came back.
I was enamoured by the feel of the pages, the feelings I was experiencing through words. I had never felt anything like it. Despite that feeling, I hid that side of me. I did not know anyone around me, at school or elsewhere, who liked reading. I never saw a friend of mine with a book in their hands. I feared I would be judged for wanting to read instead of joining the boys on the football pitch.
As I grew older, my obsession with books only deepened. I found solace in the quiet corners of libraries, where the scent of old paper and ink felt more comforting than any crowd. It became my secret refuge, a place where I could lose myself in worlds far beyond the confines of my everyday life. Only, those moments were too seldom.
Sports took a big part of my free time. I became national champion in karate at the age of 11, was recruited by a national football club at the age of 14, and went on to grab the national championship in gymnastics at the age of 15.
My love for acrobatics took over my life entirely—I was no longer known as just Sam, but people knew me because of my skills as a gymnast. I learned skills so quickly that my coaches wondered if I had a gift for it. I quickly realised that my ambitions as a gymnast, i.e. to be an Olympic champion, would never come to fruition. I had discovered the sports too late, and I didn’t have the means to afford to be in a bigger club.
So, after high school, I decided to go to a circus school. Mind you, not one where animals are the show. We call it the new circus, whereby artists use their bodies (or objects) as tools to entertain. I spent my days perfecting my acrobatics, learning new skills and how to stop being so clean in my execution—because yes, circassiens favour messy acrobatics to cleanliness such as those in gymnastics. I had one of the best years of my life; performing and living a simple life. But it was financially challenging.
I realised then that what truly mattered to me was to be financially secure. I also missed academia and wanted to study. So I did. But all these years, I did not open one single book.
I returned to my mom’s house, worked for a year to get my driving licence and prepared for the baccalauréat as an independent candidate—which truly scared me. I passed it! I then went to a French university in the northern part of the country to study English and Spanish but quickly realised I was too bored.
One day, while driving to visit someone 600km away from home, I decided to use BlaBlaCar, a carpooling app, to avoid travelling alone. A girl booked a seat, and during the trip, she shared her aspirations of studying fashion journalism in England. She mentioned that unlike in France, where a bachelor's degree is a prerequisite for journalism studies, it wasn’t necessary in England. “SIGN ME UP,” I remember telling her.
The rest is history.
Reading transports you, severing the ties to the world around you. As you lose yourself in the words on the pages, it’s easy to feel as though you’re drifting away from the life unfolding around you.
I read for multiple reasons: to escape, discover, breathe, learn… but reading never came easily to me. I learnt how to enjoy the pages of a book, the plot and, sometimes, the boring stories despite my parents and surroundings. Many of my friends who read share that love with one or both of their parents or have somewhat fallen into books thanks to someone else.
This isn’t my story, as I kind of said earlier on in the newsletter. But if truth be told, my story is as simple.
I fell in love with books for the simplicity of what this object is; yet, one of the most powerful tools we have to convey history.
In openly embracing my love for reading, I realised that true acceptance doesn't require conformity. It comes from finding those who understand and appreciate what makes us unique. So I won’t try to hide my love for reading anymore. If that means queuing up at an R&B concert to get into the theatre while reading Deborah Levy, sign me up.
It was there that I would begin to write in the first person, using an I that is close to myself and yet is not myself.
Deborah Levy, The Cost of Living
I would appreciate any feedback on the format of the newsletter. Feel free to reach out via e-mail or Instagram @samtbrt.