conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Reed, Paris, Corner with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'A Novel Bookstore'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first two paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A Novel Bookstore
  It wouldn't have been anything to worry about if the messages hadn't arrived in the hundreds, repeated ten or twenty times over without the slightest variation, provoking in response hundreds of protests as well, a flood of incoming and outgoing messages that saturated the network and the inboxes, wrought havoc on the subscriptions, and took up time that Ivan could have spent much more fruitfully.
  Van had tried to hide from Francesca what he now considered to be organized attacks. With Oscar's complicity and some luck, he had managed to hide the systematic ordering of blockbusters. Poisoned darts arriving over the Internet, that was another story. Although Francesca came as rarely as possible to The Good Novel during the day, she was in the habit of spending long periods of time at the computer: she was responsible for follow-ups that took hours, one thousand seven hundred subscriptions, and almost daily suggestions for new titles (it was she who passed them on by telephone to all the committee members). She became aware of the change all by herself.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me three more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Eleven years had gone by. While Paul no longer hoped to see Mina again, he could not stop missing her. He almost never wrote anymore—he didn't think that "it" would come back. He had reached a point where he called the missing girl and his vanished inspiration by the same name, Mina.
  Then he no longer had hope? No, he did. Of course. It was no doubt because of his activity as an itinerant librarian and his regular contact with children, many of whom came from the Gypsy camp: he realized fairly quickly that Mina might have had a child by him. He even persuaded himself of the fact (and by extension, that she had run away to have the child all to herself). He had nothing but scorn for the passage of time, in a sort of desire for eternity—since eternity is not time that has become endless but the opposite, time suspended, non-time—and by reading stories to little Gypsies he was in a way preventing the embers from growing cold. He might be transmitting to an unknown son the most beautiful thing he knew and what was best about himself, his passion for words and sentences.
  As he was listening to this confession, in the little room at the hospice in Lyon that was both badly and too well lit, Heffner—he would tell us the story later on—abandoned the distance befitting his position for a moment, and looked at Néon, his dilapidated body, his yellow skin, the bags under his eyes, and he thought, How young he is.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: We were toasting bread, in our little kitchen. I love toast. I spun around, put my arms around Van's neck, placed my cheek against his chest and said, "It seems to me the time has come to ask you something I've been thinking about for a long time. Would you consent to give me your hand?"
  Van had not put his arms around me, and it hurt. I drew back, and looked him straight in the eyes, and shook my head. I even think I was smiling.
  I could see Francesca's smile. I had learned from her that there is not a great deal of difference between strength and weakness.
  And then, now I know how you try to woo someone who no longer believes in himself, how you must be patient, and trusting despite appearances, and it can take a long time.
  Sooner or later, The Good Novel will be looked on as a laboratory. No one will say that the experience was in vain. Francesca and Van wanted to do something good. And they did, that's the least you can say.