McNally Jackson

Housed in SoHo among the trendy shops and upscale retail, the cast-iron architecture and the bricked streets, the people who have much more money than I have and...the people who have even more money than they have – there lies a bookstore.

You can only overprice books so much; thus, McNally Jackson is a great attraction for me in this neighborhood, because it's affordable but mostly because of its books (obviously). 

Perks:

Great displays, often on wonderful display pieces (such as old desks, antiquated typewriters, and vintage bicycles). 

 

 Interesting featured collections, not just the bestsellers, arranged by an aesthetically-minded eye with a little wit.

Plenty of stationery (one of my loves/great vices).  I almost bought the $20 elephant notecards because...who doesn’t love elephants?  Seriously.  And receiving a handwritten letter on crafted elephant stationery?  You know you want it.

Journals

Manhattan

Engaging events.  The store seems very pro-active about local Manhattan writers, sponsoring talks and hosting events with authors and panels. Their books clubs are also specific and tailored (International Literature, Essay Book Club, etc.).

While no warehouse, the selection here is pretty impressive, and it achieves a nice balance between fiction and non-fiction, books and periodicals.  I walked out with an (overpriced) artsy periodical called Kinfolk, which is a magazine dedicated to entertaining, produced in a simplistic layout with beautiful photography dedicated to my favorite thing – community.  It feeds my love of dinner parties with friends despite my lack of space, money, and, well, enough friends interested in that sort of thing. (I also purchased a tote.  You really can’t have enough totes in the city.)

Perhaps the most unique feature is the Espresso Book Machine, which allows you to self-publish books or print from the public domain. This is dedication to the written word, old and new.


The next most notable feature of McNally Jackson is its organization.  The fiction section is organized by nation.  Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about this.  On one hand, I appreciate that such organization is a statement and a stand against a certain canonization, against subsuming books as radically different and dependent on their geographical and sociocultural histories as, say, Pride & Prejudice and Midnight’s Children under one lump, overgeneralized category of “Literature.” On the other hand, separating them might also imply a more nationalistic imperative that ignores the connections and interplay between literary styles and histories that I find most intriguing.  On that same hand, some people might not know better and look for Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go in Japanese fiction. (To this statement, I imagine some of my more elitist friends (read: a part of me) to remark that if said people don't know that Ishiguro is British (Remains of the Day is about the fall of the British aristocratic system, for Pete's sake), they don't deserve to read his books...).

Of course, that’s where the staff comes into play.  Plenty of staff members were stationed throughout the store.  Though I didn’t interact with them, judging by their inviting (and plenteous) staff picks, I assume that they’re helpful, at least in terms of content knowledge.

A café thankfully invites you to join coffee (and/or tea) with book reading because, clearly, it’s a necessary relationship in our culture.  Or really, the relationship is between the coffee shop and reading because it has become the (admittedly cliché) locale of discussions about ideas (admittedly not a cliché that I mind much).

Detriments:

BUSY, busy, busy.  Granted, I was there on a Sunday afternoon, so the situation may be different during the week.  But the mass of people makes me anxious, especially in a bookstore.  If I feel as though I am in everyone’s way, I am going to feel uncomfortable browsing – which, by definition, is a leisurely activity not to be rushed.

The business adds to the atmosphere of “trendy” that is inherent in SoHo; for an independent bookstore, wherein we often seek universal ideas and classic thought, this is not a positive association.

Although using one customer as a representative of the clientele is a gross exaggeration and obviously a poor measure of a business...you can’t help but associate the patron with the store when you overhear a conversation (well, monologue) of an “intellectual” guy trying to impress a girl with his profundity.  He leaned on the wooden wall announcing some national literary section, his arm at the level of the girl’s head as he tried to adopt a casual manner and spoke:

“I can never be greater than New York.  One can be great but not greater than the town he comes from because is only one...New York is such a fucking panopticon.”

Yeah. That happened.

While I loved the selection and would have browsed more if I had the time, the bustle of the store (and that guy) were off-putting, though not enough for me to give it another try sometime soon (?).

Westsider Books

A simple green awning poking out on the sunny Sunday sidewalk proclaiming BOOKS.  Sold. That’s all it takes to get me to visit, and that’s all it took to get me to drag a fellow bibliophile to Westsider Books to investigate its wares and its worth.  And what we found was enough to make us return the following Sunday.

Small and unassuming, the store is meant for browsing and for getting lost.  The somewhat dusty air seems to be infused with magical particles that immediately make you forget what you were searching for – which is good, because agendas are obviously discouraged. Like any good used book store (and this one claims to be the last on the Upper West Side), shopping here is an exercise in acceptance: what you will find may surprise you, and you may run across the perfect book or edition that you didn’t even know you were looking for.

It’s the kind of place where great treasures can be found, but only with great commitment.  The rows of books are two-deep and often have books placed horizontally on top of the rows, maximizing space in a small area, as any good New York establishment must. The open layout of the tiny store allows books to soar toward the ceiling, charmingly requiring a ladder and reminding me why I loved Disney’s Beauty and the Beast as a kid – because of the library; say what you want about his temper, Beast had mad reading skills.

Of course, the browsing culture of a used bookstore does not mean that specific books are impossible to find. I asked the gray, frizzled old man working the register (the owner, I would venture to guess) for a specific play, and he replied, “Drama is all the way in the back.  The top rows are theatre criticism, the bottom ones are Shakespeare. What you’re looking for is in the middle, probably the second shelf of that section.”  An invaluable resource, this guy.  Someone who knows his store and his collection in a way that reveals his deep involvement with it; he’s here all the time, and I got the sense that he would be the type of guy to whom you’d like to be known as a “regular.”

Most of the books run $6-$8 (excepting the outside bargain section, where most titles are $1, unless otherwise marked, prompting patrons to load up on armfuls of useless texts that will lie unread until the new owners decide to trade them in–probably to the same store, perpetuating the sad, circular life of the used book).  The main, bottom level of the store amazingly crams most sections you would want or think of in its shelves: New York, philosophy, literary biography, literature, Judaica, drama, philosophy, erotica, sci-fi, travel essays, young adult, and plenty more. The upstairs level (the stairs themselves lined with VHS tapes and books, enough to constitute a floor - or at least a section - on their own) held a worthwhile collection of rare books and editions, as well as some eclectic pieces such as a french horn hanging above an illustrated edition of Alice in Wonderland (fitting).

 How does Westsider Books fare according to my Outstanding Independent Bookstore criteria?  First, a few caveats: the store obviously had to deal with space issues, so my desire for reading nooks needs to be reevaluated in terms of importance and plausibility.  Also, it’s a used bookstore, so the merchandise is largely dependent on what people trade in and what is available; creative displays are difficult to conceive with a limited supply of copies and an uncertain inventory. Admittedly, the store seems to lack circulation of titles. My return to Westsider, however, proves that it left a positive impression.  Although the tight quarters can make for uncomfortably close browsing when even a few strange patrons are in the store, I like the “hiddenness” of it–the books behind books and the necessity to ascend the ladder to even browse it all.  The dustiness of it fits the quiet, settled quality of the Upper West Side, yet it also breaks the mold in the sense that it lacks polish. It has eccentric decor and bookish quotes, which add charm, as well as selections of records and old movies. But any bookstore whose checkout is overlooked by a stuffed raven named Sheryl gets my vote on quirky character alone.

"It's the books you don't buy that break your heart."  So says Sheryl [Nevermore].

New editions...

The King wants you to buy a postcard.

Perhaps the greatest measure of success for any bookstore is whether or not its customers leave with books.  On both occasions I have made purchases.  My most recent visit left me in possession of a copy of José Saramago’s Blindness, primarily because the inside cover cradles an inscription.  The book was given as a gift to “someone who has led me in my blindness.”  Such personalization and personality are the hallmarks of a solid used bookstore (even if it's still no McKay).

Strand Bookstore, Literary Landmark No. 8

January 17, 2012

The Strand in Greenwich Village is a twofer: both a literary landmark and an epic bookstore, and “epic” is an understatement.

I didn’t want to love the Strand, which is why I didn’t immediately rush to it when people (everybody) suggested it. “Have you been to The Strand yet? You have to go!”  I avoided it with the same guilty pride we use when we don’t want to admit that we actually enjoyed a common blockbuster film that “the masses” prize – you know, a James Cameron or Michael Bay flick. Or, for a better example, even though going to the top of the Empire State Building is cliché, no one can deny that it’s a phenomenal vantage point that acquaints you with New York and preserves some of the movie magic that we associate with the city.  So although The Strand is undoubtedly local and couldn’t be anywhere but New York, the last remaining used bookseller on the once-abundant Book Row, I nearly considered it too well-known and almost too “touristy” for my search.

Well, that was just stupid.

When I arrived at The Strand (very conveniently located close to the subway and all its connections at Union Square, thus easily accessible…), I probably didn’t enter the store for a good twenty minutes.  The temperature was in the 20s and I was wearing a skirt and thin tights, so my legs felt every whip of that wind.  But how could they (I) pay any attention when there were carts and carts of used books for sale outside?  Even before customers enter the store, they have entered a browsing paradise.

“Browsing Paradise”- [brouz-ing par-uh-dahys] – noun.  Origin: 2012 AD, United States

1. Of or depicting the heavenly realms of bibliophilia.
2. A place of extreme beauty, delight, or happiness wrought by the presence of rare books and titles, gorgeous spines and covers, and the tangible accessibility to so many pages of wonder.
3. The occasion upon which bookstore patrons may happen upon random finds near one another.  Multiple genres cohabitate on carts and in bins: Look at those editions of Thoreau and Michael J. Fox next to each other on the $2 cart; this must be a browser’s paradise.
4. The slightly overwhelming circumstances in which one is confronted with 18 miles of books and, after spending an hour simply walking some of the aisles, realizes that one has not even made a dent in all of the possibilities.  Thus, one resolves to return.

"Hi, I'm a 19th century edition, just hanging out on the $2 cart."

Look what I found!  Yes,ladies and gents, my name is on the shelves at the Strand, compliments of UT creative writing.

Founded in 1927, the Strand features plenty of new but also used books.  Seriously, it makes McKay in Knoxville look like a joke. If I were so bold as to make an analogy…

McKay : Strand :: a child’s fingerpainting on the fridge : the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

Literally, books are shoved into every nook and cranny of its four floors, and it has astounding sections of not only standards like literature, history, and philosophy but fashion, art, and photography.  It boasts (on plenty of attractive merchandise – and totes!) that it has 18 miles of books, and I believe it.  Apparently, Steven Spielberg ordered a 30,000 title library from the Strand; it probably didn’t make much of a dent.

It has so many of the ideal bookstore features that meet my criteria: charming and intriguing displays (even a featured author gets to curate his/her own display table to fill with their goodies of choice), good discounts, a great selection in clearly marked sections, used books, community involvement and events, and a unique character.  The displays are often humorous, and despite the sheer size of its shelves and inventory, it avoids feeling like a warehouse or too commercial.

New books that look old so you can build that impressive library display.

Way to keep up with the times.

Interesting neighbors.

My next journal?

 The Strand is incomparable.  Literally. I don’t think that I can compare it to my other finds because it’s created its own breed of bookstore; the smaller stores I’ve found can’t offer the same discounts or displays because they have neither the size nor the consumer base…nor the budget,  I’m sure. At Strand,  the sheer size and prospect of finding hidden treasures makes it impossible not to browse (I don’t think I’ll ever be able to enter without purchasing something), but it’s also impossible to browse because you quickly get overwhelmed by the sheer size and prospect of leafing through so many volumes.  Sensory overload and overstimulation makes visiting Strand a guaranteed time commitment. 

Unlike some of my other local bookstore finds, the atmosphere is alive with energy, which is both a blessing and curse.  A famous writer or celebrity could brush your shoulder or stand directly across from you at the display table, but you wouldn’t notice because you are so inundated with the books in front of you and the activity of staff and customers around you.  To accommodate so many volumes, the aisles are narrow, and it’s not difficult to get trapped while someone pulls a book off the shelf – but not one on the top; those are some tall and nearly inaccessible stacks in such a hubbub.  Strand is by no means so heavily trafficked that you can’t enjoy looking at some titles and leafing through a few, but it certainly lacks the leisurely coziness of other stores. 

A Conversation between Two Bookstores:

Small, cozy, independent store: “Hey man, we have some good reads.  Roger suggests this theological treatise, and Beth suggests this book on vegetarianism.  But, you know, read a few pages, see if you like it.  That cracked leather chair is pretty comfy.  Take your time, whatevs.  I’m just going to play you some Duke Ellington while you check it out, maybe switch to some indie band that nobody’s heard of yet.  Cool.”

The Strand:  “We have books.  We have totes.  We have gifts. We have rare books, collectible books, artsy books, picture books, word books.  Books, BOOKS, BOOKS!

(So many books, so little time for that panic attack you’re about to have….)

Of course I will return, and of course I will end up buying more books that I don’t need, but I will also find more small stores that I can “own.”  The Strand may be “a great bookstore to visit” and “a favorite store of mine,” but it lacks the intimacy that may compel someone to gush, “it’s my favorite place.” It’s a New York City favorite, not a neighborhood favorite.

Word

Word up.  This charming little bookshop in the Greenpoint neighborhood of Brooklyn may rival my current forerunner BookCourt.  I loved it, but for such different reasons that we’ll call it a tie.

The store is small - pretty tiny, in fact.  Its selection is therefore limited (but intriguing).

But of the indie bookstores that I’ve visited so far, this one was the most fun. Although its selection was smaller, I probably spent more time here.  When I first walked in, the first thing I noticed was the aroma of…chili.  Kind of bizarre, but on a cold winter’s day, strangely comforting and just quirky enough to work and make me like the store the more for its scent.  I’m sure it was a staff member (ok, the staff member)’s dinner, but it made the atmosphere homey, like I wanted to curl up with a blanket, a book, and a bowl of chili.

It had a great stationery section, full of hand-printed and hilarious cards; I’m a sucker for unique stationery.

My favorite

 By far, the best part of the bookstore is that it embraces its own booknerdiness.  Check out its Staff Picks page – they’re funny, too.  Word has literary events in-store and in local bars, but it also reaches out to its bibliophile community more than I’ve ever seen: it runs a basketball league exclusively for book nerds (you have to take a book test to be eligible for participation; clearly, they’re working out some dork-picked-last-on-the-playground issues).  There’s also a message board with two sections.  One is an apartment/roommate search, and in addition to the traditional price range and amenities sections, one section asks “Which book will you unpack first?”  The other section, the best section, is a matchmaking section, though I haven’t added myself as a candidate. (Yet.)

Click for a closer view

Greenlight Bookstore

Greenlight’s relatively new but seemed to have a lot of buzz.  In fact, in a NYMag  blurb, one of my absolute favorite current authors, Jhumpa Lahiri, said, “I’ve already come to think of Greenlight as an extension of my home. Everyone knew Fort Greene needed a bookstore, but I don’t think anyone dreamed it would be as perfect a place as this.”*

Greenlight is also in the neighborhood right next to BedStuy, the adorable Fort Greene, right off the subway a mere two stops from me. The location alone makes it a promising favorite of mine. 

Fun with Hipstamatic.

 It’s well-lit in an airy instead of fluorescent-industrial way.  The display tables were interesting but not necessarily compelling, and the selection was very strong. It features impressive collections by single authors, displayed in a way that makes me ask, “Why have I not read [author] yet?? I must rectify this shocking literary lack.”  Greenlight is clearly an active bookstore, featuring plenty of local author readings, bookclubs, and other community-centric events, and I enjoy seeing a business (especially an independent bookstore) so grounded in its neighborhood.

Why have I not read Murakami yet?

Impressive/Interesting collection

 Greenlight is a good, solid bookstore, but it’s still missing a bit of the coziness that I value.  But I’m willing to give it a few more tries.

*Seriously, check her out; I still like her Pulitzer prize-winning, debut short story collection Interpreter of Maladies (and the story "Sexy") best.  Interestingly, since the quote implies that she lives nearby, the store had surprisingly few copies of her books. I may hang out at Greenlight just to “bump” into her. Stalker alert.