From sometime in the mid ’00s.
In the strip mall across the street from the original Cheapo. I assume it must have been connected to the BookSmart in Uptown, but I don’t remember for sure. Was this its original location?
(And this bookmark is so old, an area code was necessary.)
Exquisite used shop. An astonishingly broad selection for a place the size of my living room, ranging from the scholarly to the pulp. Great name, too. And so we beat on…
Pitch-perfect bookstore. I salute their buyers. For example, I can take in its poetry section almost without moving my head but I’d put it up against any of the best bookstores anywhere else, even those ten times larger.
I love places like Wallace and Mercer Street to the extent they remind me of the Book House. A magnificent clutter. (The St Paul branch, which I think I loved even more, was right across the street from the Hungry Mind.)
From sometime in the early or mid ’00s.
The Blackwell’s by the university was my bookstore during my semester in Aberdeen, but I haunted the Waterstones on Union street whenever I could.
I found Edmond Jabès’ Book of Questions here. Yes, in a Borders. In Richfield. Right there on the shelf. Remember when there were national chain bookstores? And even they actually carried books? Now it’s just the Amazon deforesting itself. And there isn’t even a tree museum.
The great Labyrinth. My favorite shop in NYC. Possibly the closest in feel to the Hungry Mind in its prime of any place I think I’ve ever been.
I preferred the Labyrinth name, but after they renamed it Book Culture its character didn’t change, so I can live with it.
From the mid-teens.
Okay, Green Apple, Black Oak, then City Lights. (I was sorry, therefore, to discover that Black Oak has closed…)
Love this place. A little house, with nooks and rooms devoted to different genres. In the SFF room, some authors are collected in milkcrates. Heinlein’s crate. McCaffrey’s. The fiction is alphabetical, but only by first letter. Perfect for endless browsing and serendipity.
I remember really liking Prairie Lights, but I’ve only been there once, passing through on a roadtrip — twenty years ago today, in fact.
This will always be the real Amazon Bookstore. Imagine the alternate universe where the venerable feminist cooperative prevails and the shabby little internet start-up has to change its name.
Another Sunday, another Powells. From around 2011 or ’12, I think. The period has vanished from the end of sell us your books, presumably to strengthen the symmetry between the two sides.