Denver, Colorado
13 October 1999
Dear Feenie,
Thank you so much for the catalog A Common Reader. I had not heard of this company before. I was pleased, of course, to see your book Within This Wilderness, about which you told me so long ago (back in your very last semester teaching Publishing), but also I am pleased to have a new source of recommendations.
The reviewers entice you with precise, evocative phrases, expressing not only enjoyment of the book itself but exhibiting such unharnessed passion for books--for good books--overall that you are compelled to find and read each and every one, to build a new altar in your house for them, to throw over everything else in your life so you can pursue reading with the single-minded focus it deserves.
I remember discussing copy-writing in class and your delight in the J. Peterman catalog's wonderful descriptions of humble garments (except most of the clothing isn't so humble). This catalog is chock-full of similar delights, with the difference that the Common Reader's ardor is genuine.
Another wonderful thing the catalog has given me is a fount of ideas of books for my grandmother. Housebound, she is unable to find her own books from Phoebe (our beloved library in Old Lyme), and for various reasons doesn't take advantage of the Bookmobile service. So I have got in the habit of sending her books as I can find them. Our reading tastes do not overlap very much, so I can't merely go by what I'm reading. I really hit the jackpot when I found Jan Karon's Mitford series, but I have found little since that appeals to her appreciation of good reading yet does not offend her sensitivities.
Today in the merest skim of the October edition, I found Diana Holman-Hunt's My Grandmothers and I and Bella Bathurst's The Lighthouse Stevensons. I am sure, if the books are as good as the reviews, that my grandmother will continue to enjoy Common Reader selections.
I hope it does not distress you too much that I placed the order on the Common Reader's web site. The early thrall Amazon held me in has faded, now that it has shown its true colors as a mundane retailer rather than a book purveyor. I have returned, tail between my legs, to small independent bookstores or booksellers--though I continue to prefer them online.
I had known of Powell's reputation before I saw a segment about the store on "CBS Sunday Morning" and before I learned about its web site, but I did visit Powell's in person this summer. My husband and I drove to the Pacific Northwest to explore Puget Sound, the San Juan Islands (which is where I want to live), and Seattle, and I insisted on an eensy detour to Powell's in Portland. He was easily persuaded.
In Seattle, we found my new favorite bookshop (conveniently located only 1200 miles from my home). First, I saw the name: The Wits' End. Entering, I saw children's books prominently displayed, and the first titles to seize my eye were The Phantom Tollbooth, Tintin and Asterix graphic novels, and G Is for Googol (a mathematical alphabet book that I bought for a two-year-old niece). Another reason the books seemed so well highlighted is that they were flooded with sunlight (yes, in Seattle) reflected off Lake Union. The Wits' End had no cat, which a bookstore should have if it possibly can, but it did have a little coffee bar (it being in Seattle), so that you flee there exclaiming, "Oh, I must have a cup of tea, I'm at my wits' end."
Another proved itself not just a tourist town's escapist book outlet but a real shop. I scrawled title after title (not wanting to tote more books on a camping trip) like Dennis Covington's Salvation on Sand and Simon Winchester's The Professor and the Madman. If you ever find yourself in the San Juan Islands in Puget Sound (and I hope you do, preferably to visit me after I run away and build a treehouse there), hie yourself to Darvill's Book Store on Orcas Island and there peruse to your heart's content.
I had meant, a paragraph or two back, to explain why I like buying books online, but I see I ended up arguing for a corporeal shop.
Well. I like both. Having plumbed the very ends of Denver's used bookstores and every other used bookstore I came across, I despaired of ever running to earth several of childhood favorites that are now tragically out of print. There are at least two sites online for used booksellers to publish their catalogs that I have used, and through them I have bought Picts and Martyrs, Or, Not Welcome at All from a shop in England (thus completing my Arthur Ransome collection); Zilpha Keatley Snyder's The Changeling (which I really should have read when I was 8, but it was no less magical for having found it at 23) from a shop in Holcomb, New York; and Joan Aiken's The Shadow Guests from Sydney Australia--farther than I am likely to hunt myself.
I also remember from your class that we disagreed about James and the Giant Peach (you didn't like the aunts being rolled over by a peach since, you said, you were a little old lady yourself). Perhaps we can disagree as well about online booksellers--as long as I again express my profound gratitude for everything you taught me in that class, for your merry smile, and for instilling in me the confidence to write.
Thanks again for A Common Reader.
Fondly,
lisa
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