This webblog resonated deeply …
I live in terror of losing bookshops.. real bookshops.. the kind that have treasures tucked away in odd places and chairs in which to curl up and browse. Bookshops that sell old books with that wonderful musty, ancient book smell, and a treasure trove of ancient tomes held safely behind glass.. ah, the thrill of having the cupboard opened and holding one in your hand, just to browse, to peer through its often fragile pages, and imagine the time and the place that produced such thought.
When he was ten, I took my grandson to just such a bookshop, to smell the old books, and touch and feel them, so that he could learn for himself that they, too, hold magic. He engaged in vivacious conversation with the keeper of the aptly-named Hard to Find bookshop, just as I knew he would, being a passionate book lover himself.
I went back two weeks later. There was a closing down sale notice plastered across its window. “people buy online now”, he said.
Ah no. Not all of us.
Deep in my soul is a hunger for the smell and touch and feel of real books, books piled on the tables, stacked on the floor, littering the bed; a deep soul hunger for browsing back and forth through the pages, revisiting that thought, pages or paragraphs at a time, notes on the side, (No, not Notesplus, thanks all the same. It just doesn’t cut it.)
Perhaps we need a ‘save the bookshop’ movement. Starting today.