Monday, February 21, 2011
February 17, 2011
A lovely, important part of the America I grew up in is disappearing and it makes me sad. I mean, of course, the neighborhood bookstore.
Wherever I've lived, in this country or abroad, there's always been one. That ceased to be true about a year ago when the one in my Capitol Hill neighborhood closed. Still, there was a Borders just a short subway ride away. Now that chain is going bankrupt, I read. That will leave one excellent, independent bookstore in Washington, but it's a longer ride away.
I know, there's Amazon on the internet. But you can't browse on the net. Oh sure, you can ask for a list of the latest romances, or crime novels or whatever. But it's not the same as walking into a store full of books you probably never heard of, looking up at one and thinking, "Hey, that looks like something Uncle Fred would like." Or Aunt Harriet, or whomever. And usually, those are gifts they read and like.
I'm not fond of Kindles, dammit. I'm fond of books, books with pages you can turn. And I'm fond of stores that sell them. I don't write this thinking anything will change, of course. Just wanted to share a little sadness.