Career Guidance and Renewed Faith at the Second-Hand Book Store
Yesterday was a keeper.
After a morning of obligatory appointments, I tooled around town without intention. At the last minute, I veered into the parking lot of Wonder Book and Video, a used book place in a small strip mall on the north end of town. I ended up wandering the narrow, airless aisles, trolling for a copy of Ann Hood's "Ruby;" I didn't find it, but what I did find, was just fabulous.
Rows and rows of books. Stacked from floor to ceiling in long avenues that stretched toward the back of the store. My index finger gliding along cracked spines. My hands flipping through saffron pages. A musty scent, fanning out with the softness of feathers. An occasional inscription, "To Joanie, Love, Sam, 1977," scrawled in a front cover. I examined and studied. I wandered and perused. I'd been to this store in the past, but it never seemed to possess such limitless possibility before. Finally, I snatched up a copy of Pam Houston's "Cowboys are my Weakness" (1992 edition), Judith Rossner's "Looking for Mr. Goodbar," and Alexandra Johnson's "Leaving a Trace." My treasures, for only $14.
I cannot tell you how happy these purchases made me. I cannot explain the euphoria that I felt during each measured step, across the damp parking lot, to my car. I cannot convey the bliss that I derived from every inhalation/exhalation; each breath was one of anticipation. The sturdy bag in my hands was like a treasure; I felt the way I did when I was a kid, leaving B. Dalton, having blown my Christmas money on Norma Klein or Paula Danziger books.
Light. Joyful. Free.
I took my newly acquired books to Ruby Tuesday for lunch. We enjoyed light-hearted conversation. I am happy to say that they were not insulted by the way that I studied them, intrigued by their cover art and outdated fonts. I am pleased to say that we enjoyed a comfortable silence: their eagerness to be read coupled with my unconditional admiration.
Despite raindrops the consistency of spit, it was a beautiful day. It marked my renewed love for second hand book shops. It represented a moment when I realized how words and books are valued throughout time, long after first printings, final printings, and dead love affairs.
Besides, where else, aside from a used bookstore or a well-equiped flea market, do you have the opporunity to leaf through the pages of a gem entitled: "How to Make $18,000 A Year Freelance Writing"? Or to survey the myriad titles that both Irwin Shaw and Harold Robbins have published?
There's very little better.
After a morning of obligatory appointments, I tooled around town without intention. At the last minute, I veered into the parking lot of Wonder Book and Video, a used book place in a small strip mall on the north end of town. I ended up wandering the narrow, airless aisles, trolling for a copy of Ann Hood's "Ruby;" I didn't find it, but what I did find, was just fabulous.
Rows and rows of books. Stacked from floor to ceiling in long avenues that stretched toward the back of the store. My index finger gliding along cracked spines. My hands flipping through saffron pages. A musty scent, fanning out with the softness of feathers. An occasional inscription, "To Joanie, Love, Sam, 1977," scrawled in a front cover. I examined and studied. I wandered and perused. I'd been to this store in the past, but it never seemed to possess such limitless possibility before. Finally, I snatched up a copy of Pam Houston's "Cowboys are my Weakness" (1992 edition), Judith Rossner's "Looking for Mr. Goodbar," and Alexandra Johnson's "Leaving a Trace." My treasures, for only $14.
I cannot tell you how happy these purchases made me. I cannot explain the euphoria that I felt during each measured step, across the damp parking lot, to my car. I cannot convey the bliss that I derived from every inhalation/exhalation; each breath was one of anticipation. The sturdy bag in my hands was like a treasure; I felt the way I did when I was a kid, leaving B. Dalton, having blown my Christmas money on Norma Klein or Paula Danziger books.
Light. Joyful. Free.
I took my newly acquired books to Ruby Tuesday for lunch. We enjoyed light-hearted conversation. I am happy to say that they were not insulted by the way that I studied them, intrigued by their cover art and outdated fonts. I am pleased to say that we enjoyed a comfortable silence: their eagerness to be read coupled with my unconditional admiration.
Despite raindrops the consistency of spit, it was a beautiful day. It marked my renewed love for second hand book shops. It represented a moment when I realized how words and books are valued throughout time, long after first printings, final printings, and dead love affairs.
Besides, where else, aside from a used bookstore or a well-equiped flea market, do you have the opporunity to leaf through the pages of a gem entitled: "How to Make $18,000 A Year Freelance Writing"? Or to survey the myriad titles that both Irwin Shaw and Harold Robbins have published?
There's very little better.
posted by Cate at 11:51 AM
5 Comments:
No, I can think of very few things better. I love this entry. I relate and felt everything you were writing and you captured it magnificently.
Baylor said it perfectly. I think I lived vicariously through you while reading this. What a perfect day.
I love Cowboys are my weakness. Just love it!
good lord. this absolutely gave me chills. i'm nowhere near a used bookstore anymore. you've just mangled my heart with this post. every detail is so very true. and of course, the "raindrops the consistency of spit" made for a nice contrast.
Thanks for all of the comments.
I'm glad to be near a used book store. I just can't believe I don't go there more often.
I just started "Cowboys are My Weakness," and I'm already blown away by it. The first story, "How to Talk to a Hunter" is brilliant!
Nance, I thought that the "consistency of spit" reference was a bit over the top, but I couldn't think of anything better (and I was impatient to post)! I reread some of these entries and just cringe--like I'm providing free lessons in how to write badly! Yet, blogging is so much fun: cliches, tacky metaphors, weak verbs, and all!
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