Will travel for books

Where have all the bookshops gone?Thoughts on living in a one bookshop area.

I live in a north-western town in England, a country which is home to so many wonderful stories, yet they cannot be found. The town is quite typical, in that there’s a waterstones [UK bookstore chain] and a branch of the works [discount bookshop chain] - sells a lot of crime and post WWII style romance/drama type fiction, of which the charity shops are full of, so where do I go when I want something new?  

Once upon a time, there was an independent bookshop in the vicinity, called Sweetens. As a child I used to imagine it was split into sections, a space for every child and grown-up to buy a book they’d like to read, and rows of jars of sweets so you’d have the perfect lollipop to go with Blyton, a gobstopper for Dahl, a licorice for a western. I never went in as a child, my mother would always say ‘oh, sorry there isn’t time today, we’ll go in next time.’ As a teenager and allowed to travel alone, I finally made it into that shop, which has now since closed down. No split sections, no jars of sweets, and no real selection of books beyond local history, crime/thriller novels and yet more pre or post WWII romantic dramas. I fell out of love for independants.

I want to walk into a bookshop knowing that I want, no, I desire a new book, but I do not know what it will be until it is in my hands, where I can run over the cover in my hands, smell the pages and guess where it was printed and bound before opening it [I can smell the difference between UK and USA new editions!] The thrill of discovering the unknown book has gone, replaced by dictated table displays and books selected based on hype alone. Not that books don’t deserve that hype, but what of the new authors and new stories and old stories that deserve that promotion but are still unknown?  

As an adult, I decided to try again, whilst on a visit with friends, tentatively testing the waters with a beautiful independant bookshop called The Hive, which is in Norwich. The Hive, whilst not having jars of sweets, is a sprawling shop, winding around and around like the branches of treehouses in the books of my childhood, each alcove turned into a small room, each with it’s own genre, and a bookcase just for moomins. I fell in love that day, and won’t let go of that love this time.

I will travel for books, and whenever I find myself in a new area, I will hunt for book shops. Sometimes all I find is more waterstones or religious book shops, which do not appeal to me, I’m wanting fiction, to be taken on a ride to a place or feeling new.   Although sometimes I’ll strike it rich, and find a new place hidden within the sprawling metropolis. The thrill has now returned and the hunt is now afoot.