On Books-Some Thoughts on Local Independent Bookstores

Why am I addicted to the local independent bookstores?

I was participating in some online conversations about bookstores, specifically about what attracts me to certain books stores, the conversation opened a myriad of thoughts.

To begin, I beg your indulgence in allowing me to take a detour into my history with books, reading, learning, and the place books have in my hierarchy of importance. It is necessary background to understanding my relationship with books and bookstores,

I was brought up going to bookstores at a very young age, ever since I was a toddler. My father was a bookstore connoisseur, he had very little cash but an insatiable appetite for knowledge. He got the bookstore habit while a college student, as the lack of cash motivated him to visit the bookstalls that existed in Foochow and then later in Taipei after he became an engineer. His interest was not limited to technical books — although that was the main interest, as English language technical books were expensive and there was a lively trade in pirated editions of technical books — he was game for anything which caught his fancy. He passed this love of books down to me. We were not wealthy by any stretch of imagination, but he would always allow me buy at least one book when we ventured into the used book stalls. I rarely indulged as I couldn’t read at the time, but I took full advantage when we moved to Honduras, where I started to learn English and Spanish. The same rule applied, even though the books were no longer pirated editions and were therefor much more expensive.

As I became older, my book buying habit persisted, even as the burden of paying for the books became mine. Indeed, I bought even more liberally since it was my money. I never bought books with the idea that I needed to finish reading the books that I had on my To Be Read (TBR) pile; the coinage of the acronym TBR came much later. All I knew was that the apartments that I rented and the houses that I later bought were filled with books and I was happily ensconced in the maze created from teetering piles of books. I subscribed to the idea of the antilibrary well before I was even aware of Umberto Eco, who described his own library as an antilibrary; Eco’s antilibrary had 30,000 volumes at the time of his passing.

The term antilibrary was coined by Nassim Nicholas Taleb in describing Eco’s antilibrary:

books that many people own but have not read. Taleb argued that such collections of books make people more humble and curious…Taleb describes books that have been read as "far less valuable than unread ones", he also stated that "the more you know, the larger the rows of unread books. Let us call this collection of unread books an antilibrary.

I opportunistically adapted the idea that these books that I am accruing were the basis of my future research, having the hubris to assume that I would be doing something that resembles research in the future. It was a simple explanation for my book hoarding.

Deep in the recesses of my mind, there existed the glimmer of subconscious hope that one day I would tackle each book even though I knew rationally that this was an impossibility; I never let the impossible thwart any impulse book buy.

My collection of books sometimes serves both as a library, as I am able to find them in my boxes because I have a relatively good memory of what I have; and as a bookstore because there are always surprises when I dig into my boxes looking for books and finding a gem that I didn’t know I had. I usually give my past-self a pat on the back for having the prescience for having bought books that I would want to read decades later. Those are the best moments in life as contrasted with those moments where I am sure that I had a specific book but I could not find them. The good and the bad all evens out.

My feelings about books, books that I have, and books that I don’t have all serve to influence my views on what attracts me to bookstores. Those feelings have evolved over my lifetime as my preferences and needs have changed. There was a time that I loved nothing but to spend hours digging around in used bookstores or massive book fairs. The experiences are somewhat akin to a gambler gambling, hoping to find a diamond in the rough buried in the boxes and shelves of a small storefront packed to the gills with unseen treasures. I will still do that occasionally. It is a habit.

But when I have a specific book that I want, whether it is fiction or non-fiction, I usually buy it from independent bookstore websites. Since I live in a city that has just used bookstores and chain bookstores, the chances that I find exactly what I want is slim, as both used books stores and chains source their books from central suppliers which does not cater to any specific interests that I have.

So why do I still love visiting bookstores, more specifically, to local independent bookstores, if my specific and non-specific book needs are already being met? The answer to that question is also the answer to the question of what attracts me to bookstores.

First and foremost, I visit local independent bookstores to learn about the local book community, to get a pulse on the geographical community through the book community. Every independent bookstore has its own culture, vibe, essences, and ethos. It is the aggregate of all the people who live in that geographical community which shapes and forms the book community of that independent bookstore. Note that I am separating the geographic community from the book community associated with the geographic community; the book community is a subset of the geographic community. The synthesis of a book community is the great magic that the chains that cannot hope to replicate. Even as James Daunt has done in his own stores in the UK, and tries to replicate in the Waterstone stores in the UK and the Barnes & Noble stores in the US, they fall short of magic. The culture, vibe, essences, and ethos of the book community are influenced by the book people in that geographic community, their principles, their points of view, their opinions, and their inner lives. The feel of each independent bookstore is palpably different, there aren’t tangible characteristics that can be described, nor are there quantifiable measures to assess and compare one independent bookstore to another. Different is different. It is up to the bookstore browser to decide whether it is good different or bad different.

I believe that the culture of the book community manifests itself in many and varied ways.  Part of the manifestation has to do with how each bookstore presents itself and the amenities they present. Big, overstuffed chairs for the shoppers and a coffee shop are the ubiquitous signs of a modern-day bookstore, but those are extrinsic manifestation of the book community reflecting their personalities. But. They are not required. More importantly, NOT having the extrinsic trappings of the romance of the serious bookstore does not exclude the local independent bookstore from being a serious bookstore. It is a nicety that speaks of the people in the book community.

Many in the book business had written the obituary of the independent bookstores as the big box bookstores like Border’s and Barnes and Nobles proliferated. The drumbeat of impending closure became even more persistent as Amazon grew. COVID seemed to strike the death knell for the local independent bookstore, and yet many independents defied the probability and survived; indeed, many have thrived thanks to the book communities that grew up around them. The stories abound: customers who bought books from the online bookstores associated with the independents; customers who physically helped bookstores move locations to save on rent by forming chains and moving the bookstore, book by book to the new location; customers who cleaned up their independent bookstore after natural disasters. These stories reflect the place that the independent bookstores reside in the minds of the book community and these generous acts come from the heart which defies any attempts to describe or measure the importance of the local independent bookstore to the book community. It is that kind of magic that I want to touch and feel when I go to local independent bookstores. I may be romantic in my interpretation of the role of the local bookstores, but I would rather believe in my reality and not be so cynical, which is really saying something.

My second reason for visiting local independent bookstores is closely related to the book community factor; it is the book buyers for the bookstore. A key giveaway of a great bookstore is whether I extemporaneous buy books from the store while browsing. As I had stated, I have a basement full of books that I have not read, impulse buying books is not as haphazardly done as when I was younger. I am quite a bit more selective in my impulse buys if that is possible. The best local bookstores always seduce me into picking up a book, or two, or a bag full that I don’t need but want. The size of the store matters, but not consistently. I have walked out of Barnes and Nobles without buying anything, not even a bookmark. Yet I always walk out of bookstores like Carmichael Books in Louisville, Politics & Prose in DC, and Bookends and Beginnings in Evanston IL with something. The one or two books become boxed shipments mailed home when I go to larger stores like Powell’s in Portland or Tattered Cover in Denver.

Carmichaels in particular, has the magical spell with me, rather their book buyer has, they know what will pique my curiosity. The location in Bardstown Road is relatively tiny, yet I have never ever walked out empty handed. I have consistently picked up books on subjects that I swore I had no interest in prior to walking into the store. I assiduously read those books too, that is how strong their mojo is, which makes the books in my basement very jealous.

I don’t know what black magic those book buyers practice, but I can postulate. The best book buyers have their hands on the pulse of their book community; they have catholic preferences in reading material; and they are selective in the quality of the writing, which means that they are widely read while also being discriminating. While they cannot escape the scourge of  having to purchase the same books that occupy the Costo and Sam’s Club book tables — the least common denominator factor — I see them as caped superheroes pioneering a path away from blandness and bad books for us, the readers. Their crusade is about predicting whether our fickle fancies will be tickled by their choices. Their choices reflect not only their own tastes and unique perspective, but also that of their book community. Their buying decisions have a point of view and an opinion which represents their sensibilities, what is important to them and their communities. This is why I enjoy their choices. This does not necessarily mean that I will buy everything, but the serendipitous find sends my heart a beating or my mind swirling at the new perspective.

My third reason for going to local independent bookstores is that the book buyer’s knowledge many times translates into knowledgeable employees, as many buyers perform both roles. Even if the store employees are not buyers, the same intrinsic and intangible factors that I look for in book buyers are also reflected in the knowledge and recommendations of the store employees. The conversations I have had with bookstore employees range from purely transactional — which is what happens the majority of the time — to transcendent. It is the transcendent conversations that send me back: for information, conversation, recommendation, education, and pontification. It gives me the perfect excuse for intelligent and far-reaching social interaction.