Any Bookstore Will Do

What is it about the bookstore?

The complete calm that comes over me at once -- at once.  As if it is my shrine, my altar, my place of worship, my Zen Buddhist temple and my yoga/massage all in one.

What if someday this should all go away? What would I do? It is my sanctuary. My respite from the world. 

In the bookstore, anything is possible. Any fact can be found, any story revealed. Ideas reign supreme. I see the books lined up on the shelves and I am filled with hope.  Pleased to see so many books that have made it onto the shelves, with their lovely covers, all lined up alphabetically by author. Ready for purchase.  Hopeful that one day my own book may be found among them.  It is where I belong.  There’s no other way to say it. Am I alone in this worship at the altar of books? Does this make me, somehow, one of the mass consumers that I dislike so much?

It doesn’t even have to be a 100-year old building with creaky wood floors and musty, moldy books. Of course, I do love me a good 100 year old book store.  But when it comes to books, and any structure with four walls that might contain books is in my proximity, my quality meter goes on the fritz. It could be a Barnes & Noble for crying out loud. With a Starbuck's. I don’t care, I’ll take it.

When I’m feeling blue, hit the bookstore.  When I’m giddy with excitement, hit the bookstore.  When I’m just in the middle, bookstore. When I don’t have anything else to do, bookstore. When I have too much to do, bookstore. Need a gift, bookstore. Don’t need anything, bookstore.  Even – if you can imagine – when I need an actual book. Yes. Bookstore.

I’m the same way with libraries. Gorgeous and new, stinky and old, it doesn’t matter. I commune among books as Thoreau did among nature. They are my breath, my air, my life.  (Yes, I know, it sounds ridiculous.  I avoid and even frequently mock books that have sentences like “my breath, my air, my life.” Yet my romance with books has rendered me a Richard Paul Evans emulator. I'm not sure what this says about my character and I'm not willing to examine it further at the moment.)

More than once, I have imagined the scene from Indecent Proposal when Demi Moore and Woody Harrelson, drunk with their culpability and the richness it has afforded them, roll about in a bed of money.  Yet in my scene, it is a bed of books.  I love to be surrounded by them.   (I'm also unclear on just what this says about my character, but again, to delve deeper seems a distraction, no?)

Is it the jazz? Piped all through the store as I browse with delight? It could be. A good bookstore makes me feel like a Charlie Parker riff. Like Louis at his best and Ella at her moodiest, all stirred up together for that unique cocktail of sadness and woe that makes your heart swell and let's you know you're alive by comparison. 

I feel more myself around books than I do anywhere else.  Well, except for when I’m writing. Which brings me full circle. The reading of good books engenders the writing. Enough writing may result in the creation of a book.  Good. And. Good. Yet it seems the ratio of reading to writing, if not properly managed, can tilt so much in the favor of just simply reading (and doing very little writing) so as to create a situation (read: this entire week) wherein I consume several books at a breakneck pace and don't so much as lift a finger in the general direction of what would be considered writing.  Unless, of course, you consider proper writing to include the addition of several handwritten entries onto my list of other books to be read.  And the purchasing of many books at various bookstores and the checking out of yet more books at the library. Yes, a stretch. I realize.

It is at this point, late in the week (the latest, really) that I wonder how I will ever get through all the books that I know I must read in order to further my craft and yet all the books I must truly force myself not to read so I can actually practice my craft.

I’m reminded of DFW’s comment about those who worship their intellect and always feel a fraud, stupid. Does this apply to me? Do I want to steep myself in the wisdom of books to compensate in some way for what I feel my intellect lacks? Or do I simply have an insatiable love of the written word, as sandwiched between the two covers of a book?

Comments

[patricia]

What a heavenly post! So many delicious ideas to digest! I could not agree more with everything you have expressed (nor could I have expressed it so well). At this moment I am having great fun visualizing myself rolling around in a bed full of books. No need to ever feel guilty, and at least you can be guaranteed of waking up next to something intelligent for a change!

[Isabella]

I often go to a bookstore when feeling blue and find solace when surrounded by books. However. In recent years, I find it does not lift my spirits the way it used to — certainly not just any bookstore will do the trick anymore. Maybe it's do with age — the realization once I open those books that I'm surrounded by so much drek, or the realization that The Answer may not be in a book. Bookstores now as often leave me feeling dissatisfied and even angry, a sort of agitation that, if I were a writer, it might inspire me to do something...

[JV]

Now that you mention it, the library has always been one of my favorite places, ever since I was a kid. Bookstores run a close second.

Unfortunately, the local public libraries are all shining examples of Information Age sterility. High ceilings, fluorescent lights, too-firm chairs, steel and concrete everywhere. Nothing that invites you to curl up and hang out for a few hours.

I miss the coziness of the children's section, in my day, with its nooks and corners and mats to sprawl out on. Even my high school library was a haven of exposed brick and warm colors.

I guess the powers that be see the adult version as a utility, rather than an escape. Find what you need, quickly, and hit the door. Grownups are too busy to read, and all that.

[bookfraud]

like the post, like the blog (which i found on booklust). can't tell how much i relate -- bookstores and libraries have always provided a sanctuary for me, ever since i was young. i, too, worship at the altar. as far as writing goes, i've never felt that you can read too much -- the best books make you want to write one. of course, i've procrastinated through reading, too. at least it's not tv.

[Owlhaven]

me too.. almost all of it.. . except for the rolling in books part... papercuts and bent pages... how unsightly!
smile
Here from Michelle's
Mary

[Quillhill]

"The reading of good books engenders the writing." Sometimes you just have to take a week to recharge your drive to write. A lovely paean to the book. Will you be the mascot for my bookshop?

[jane]

Your love of books is so very refreshing. I can just get lost in Bookstores, spend hour upon hour there.
I only read non-fiction, but there is plenty of that to be discovered in the stores.
I do like the quiet atmosphere in bookstores & the library, although I much prefer a bookstore. Afterall, they've got coffee shops in them!

[Kim]

What a lovely post! I have been trying to find the words for my book worship, but I haven't yet been able to do that satisfactorily. I, too, will find any reason to go to the bookstore, and I've just started working on a degree in library science. My hope is that being a librarian instead of a classroom teacher will give me more time to write, someting that I can't seem to find much time to do.

Btw, the Updike reading is Monday. I will try to post something worth reading on Monday night.