There are
no bookstores where I live. The nearest one is about 1000 km. I live in an
island. Here, I find lots of natural history books, field guides, or the
few-and-far between natural history children’s book. You get the picture.
Whenever I
go out - into civilization, I must stop in a book store.
I go in and
a take big breath. To get that smell of book in high quantities, so it will last.
I survey the area and the heights of the bookshelves. I go and check the new bestsellers;
what is new in the kid’s department; browse through the travel section to learn
about some distant place that I would love to go; pass by the stationary and
notebook section where I dream of all the thousands of words I will eventually write
on soft pages and leather bound notebooks . I dream I live of my writing.
I cherish
the vast array of magazines. And read the last page of ‘that’ well-known one. I
go back and check the new editions of well-loved books. I breath books. I test
the knowledge of the bookstore attendants. They win testing mine. I remember
good friends and their book suggestions. I dream of owning (or even working in)
one.
I compare
the different stores with what one has to offer against the other. Their taste on
design and practicality. The carpet vs. the floor. The accessibility of books.
I envy the woman sitting in a comfy arm chair mesmerized in a book. I wish I
could be her. I applaud the parents with small children in the kid’s book section.
I wish I had mine with me then.
I miss a bookstore. Even a tiny wee one would do. I envy you meeting new ones.*
*Written as a comment to "Saying Hello to a New Bookstore" in http://bookriot.com/2013/04/16/saying-hello-to-a-new-bookstore/
