I finished A GENTLEMAN OF FORTUNE by Anna Dean last night. It was good; it had multiple layers of "crime" going on to make it interesting to learn what was going on among a group of people on the night an older lady died.
I'm currently reading a memoir by Lewis Buzbee called THE YELLOW-LIGHTED BOOKSHOP. If you are a book addict, this is for you. Here's a description:
For Buzbee, a former bookseller and publishing rep, time spent in a bookstore is nothing short of sublime. "Standing in the middle of this confluence, I can't help but feel the possibility of the universe unfolding a little, once upon a time," he writes in the opening chapter of this slim, luminous volume. Buzbee manages just the right mix of history lesson and personal recollection. He reflects upon the roots of the book trade (the first great library at Alexandria, where the vast holdings were each hand copied by scribes onto papyrus scrolls); the progression of retail (from simple market stalls to book hawkers to the megastores of today); and his own hours lovingly logged at the literary chain store, Upstart Crow, where, as an eager teenager in San Jose, California, he learned the ins and outs of the business. Bookstores, Buzbee reminds us, are not just places of intellectual indulgence; they're historically significant, too. The celebrated Paris establishment, Shakespeare & Co., was the first to publish James Joyce's Ulysses, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti's City Lights gave voice to Allen Ginsberg's Howl. Both anecdotal and eloquent, The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop is a tribute to those who crave the cozy confines of a bookshop, a place to be "alone among others" and savor a bountiful literary buffet.
It was published in 2006 and the hardcover has 216 pages.
I haven't felt well today so I've done less than usual. How do you do less than practically nothing? It can be done apparently.
It is grumbling outside and getting darker. Looks like we're in for some storms if we're lucky.
Much love,
PK the Bookeemonster
No comments:
Post a Comment