It was rainy that afternoon, the kind of downpour that encourages one to stay inside, curled up with a good book. When, however, all that awaits you is a serviceable but sterile hotel room, exploring in the rain doesn't seem so bad. Luckily, I had an idea in mind.
In preparing for my visit to Tennessee, I had done some research on Franklin (the town south of Nashville where my friends live), and the one website I kept returning to was one for an independent bookshop, run from a gorgeous older house on the main street of the historic downtown area. Like libraries, bookstores cast a spell over me, luring me in and making it very hard to leave without something new in my hand. This store in particular, though, was imbued with a special sort of charm, no doubt one reflective of the owner.
My arrival was announced by the jingling of the bell above the door. The owner immediately greeted me, an older gentleman with broad smile on his face and a welcome drizzled with the honeyed-accent of the South. He explained the layout of the place and then left me to explore on my own.
It was strange at first, wandering through the rooms of this old house. It was definitely a far more intimate experience than one ever feels at even the nicest of large bookstores. Each room held books for a particular genre, and in each room, there were a few places to sit and browse through the massive collection available. I imagine if I ever leave my book lust unchecked, my house would look very much like this. Bookshelves covered just about every inch of wall space (outside of the bathroom, which had its own unique decor). The books that filled the shelves were not the standard mass paperbacks found in your local Target. They were first editions, signed copies, books with their own histories beyond the ones captured between their covers.
If I may indulge a bit of a Romantic notion, this place reminded me why a complete shift toward digital books would be a huge loss for society. Not so much that the stories of each book will be lost, but the stories that are often shared with the book. How can you tell how well-loved a particular book is if you do not have the worn, tattered cover and dog-eared pages? How can you replicate that strange connection between you and a previous owner when exploring his marginalia? How can you ignore just how powerful it is to be in a room filled with books, books that hold within their covers promises of knowledge, adventure, love, life? Sigh...
(Stepping off my soapbox now.) I slowly made my way through each room, browsing the different titles, not really looking to buy anything but to get a feel for what was there. When I finally made my way back to the front of the store, I had to compliment the owner on the store. I asked him about what compelled him to begin this business, particularly with the challenges facing independent bookstores. Quite simply, it boiled down to his and his wife's love for books and their desire to do something together. For the next ten or so minutes, we shared our mutual affection for what books are and how integral they have been in our lives. Both of us had an older relative who encouraged our reading from a young age and both of us saw that a book is more than just a physical object. He shared with me a few of his favorite books--an entire section dedicated to books about books and bookselling...there were a lot, and many of them looked like an interesting read. I had to settle on just one.
I had to ask how the current trends in the economy in general (a shift to the internet commerce) and how digital technology are affecting the store. He admitted an uncertainty about how long he and his wife can keep the business running, but while there was a tinge of disappointment, there was not rancor in his words. He expressed a level admiration for how digital books will transform the industry and seemed intent on embracing it as well. And he found some silver linings--fewer trees being cut down, information made more widely available in no time at all. The part of me that desires instant gratification finds this appealing, but it still saddens me that some of what makes books what they are is fading away.
In a world that is increasingly becoming digitized, I find comfort in the physical. The ability to hold a book in my hands, to flip through a few pages, or to start reading wherever I choose are pleasures, as simple as they may be, that I enjoy when at the library or bookstore. Thankfully, we are still several years away from a completely digital world, I am sure. And until then, I will enjoy the joy of discovering places like Landmark Booksellers, where those who still believe in the magic of books can share their love and make memories that imbue said books with even more value.
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