Three Years Behind a Bookshop Counter Taught Me to Re-read
Customers kept asking for something new. The ones who seemed happiest were often coming back for something old.
Customers kept asking for something new. The ones who seemed happiest were often coming back for something old.
Not the prize winners. A field report from behind the counter on how weather, mood and umbrellas change what we read.
Three hundred recipes from ninety-one women, and what they taught me about clarity, voice and the word "some."
Her eyes were failing, my patience was short, and six novels later we were both different readers.
I went back to the little brick library of my childhood after forty years and found the same radiator, a new kind of patron, and one librarian who remembered me.
More than two centuries on, Austen's best-known novel still sells steadily in my shop. Here is my bookseller's theory of why.
Tourists come here for the ghosts and the moss, but the books that get this place right are about something quieter and harder.
For almost a year I could not finish a book, which is awkward when you sell them for a living. These changes slowly fixed it.
Twelve years, nine notebooks, and the surprising things I learned about myself from the books I gave up on.