Re-Reading...Used Books

My first Re-Reading Is A Gift essay not about a book. It's about used book stores. (And, for the first time, there's an audio option!)

I’m currently re-reading a book I bought at a used book store in Los Angeles in the late 1990s. It’s a first edition (1945), hardcover version of Leave Cancelled, by the British writer Nicholas Monsarrat. I’d never heard of the book (nor the author) when I purchased it. I bought it simply because it was published by Knopf—which had lots of credibility in mid-20th century America—and for the conspicuous care that went into its production. It is a delicate little book, with an embossed cover and discrete floral embellishments on the page. It was, in short, an artifact that promised to also have a good story.

If I recall correctly, the store was called Blue Moon Books, and it was located on Third Street, not far from where I lived at the time. Part of the appeal was the dramatic counterpoint Blue Moon offered to the nearby Beverly Center shopping mall—an appalling behemoth dropped into the middle of an otherwise pleasantly scaled community. But Blue Moon was different, also, from most other used book stores I’ve known. Unlike Powell’s Books in Chicago, the Community Bookstore in Brooklyn, and, of course, the mighty Strand, on Broadway below 14th Street in New York City, it was exceptionally clean, bright, and spacious. (Upon further reflection, Powell’s might have been that way too.)

Today, when a new book can run $30 or more, the appeal of low-priced pre-read books is greater than ever. You can pick up several at modest cost and not feel too bad if they don’t measure up. To be fair, $30 really isn’t too much for a new book, since they can give you hours of reading pleasure. The trick, though, is to purchase only new books you’re certain to enjoy. If you’ve figured out how to do that, please share.

The other satisfaction unique to used book stores is the pleasure one feels from being in physical relationship with the titles you’re considering. There is an appealing thickness to the experience of holding a book in your hands, flipping through the pages, and reading not only the opening paragraphs, but maybe also a randomly chosen passage from the middle. Sometimes they also deliver unexpected surprises. I once found a letter between the pages of a book that had been given to a lover leaving on a long train ride. “Browsing” books online is a poor substitute — the same way talking to someone on the phone is less satisfying than being with them in person.

All this praise leads me to an embarrassing confession: I haven’t been to a used book store in years. Many things have contributed to this. Foremost among them is the fact that I now live in the suburbs. In my experience, you just don’t drive to a used book store. You walk by and stop in because you have a little extra time. That spontaneity—or serendipity—is part of their draw.

What online browsing is good for, however, is searching for used book stores in your vicinity. It turns out there are a number of them here in Baltimore. One called “Normals” seems especially appealing. And then there’s something called “The Book Thing.” According to its web site, the place opens but one day a month, “shoppers” are given 55 minutes to choose an unlimited number of titles, and the books are free! I’m told the line can get quite long and it’s good to arrive early to get the best selection. Apparently, there is no end to the surprises awaiting those who love used books and are willing to show up for them in person.