by Ronald Rice
Then, in the late fall, I retreated to Brooklyn, to be closer to Pratt Institute where I was trying to sharpen my skills as a designer (and learned many other things). My journeys to Book Row and the Strand were restricted to Saturdays.
And then one Saturday in 1958, the Strand was gone. Someone had bought the properties on that east side of Fourth Avenue. The Strand’s $110-a-month lease was canceled, along with the leases of its immediate neighbors: the Arcadia, the Friendly, Louis Schueman, Wex’s. What the hell do we need with all these cheap books? The true god of New York, which is real estate, had prevailed.
For a while, I was forlorn. One thing that had vanished with the Strand and its neighbors was serendipity—that extraordinary sense of surprise and delight when you enter a bookstore in search of one book and discover another. You are looking for a copy of Irving Shulman’s The Amboy Dukes and you leave with Emily Dickinson. Or both. You are desperate to find Malcolm Cowley’s Exile’s Return, to replace one you lost in the subway, and find a hardcover copy of Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying. Every time I enter a bookshop, I still feel the same way, filled with a sense of possibility. It’s like going to a dance when you’re 21.
But then came news that the Strand was not dead. It was moving to Broadway and 12th Street. In those days, when every New York block felt like a different hamlet (or shtetl), this felt oddly ominous. Many of us had already lived through the traumatic move in 1957 of the Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants to neighborhoods on the far side of the continent. Our unease was soon relieved: The Strand quickly flourished, rising four floors above street level, becoming a kind of vertical Book Row.
In June of 1960 I was given a tryout as a reporter at the New York Post. And the Strand again was there when I began to focus on all the great journalists who had preceded me. I was working nights at the Post, which gave me time to get to the Strand (particularly on payday) and move into a darker area of the store, to the left, where I could find A.J. Liebling and Joseph Mitchell, Heywood Broun and Westbrook Pegler, Martha Gellhorn and Damon Runyon, H.L. Mencken, Jimmy Cannon, I.F. Stone, W.C. Heinz, John Lardner, Paul Gallico, Rebecca West… the list seemed without end, and I learned from all of them.
At the Post I met Murray Kempton, whose column I loved. And in the Strand I found his marvelous 1955 book, Part of Our Time, and had him sign it for me. Then I started seeing him again, wandering the side aisles of the Strand. Lost in the possibilities that were boarding on the shelves. Another one of my unpaid teachers was Joe Wershba, also at the Post, later to become one of the founding producers of 60 Minutes. Joe was like me: He never entered a bookstore he didn’t like, but he liked the Strand most of all. When he suggested I read a book, old or new, I always did. I’ve lived long enough now to see my own books on those hallowed shelves. But when I left the Strand in those early days, I joined many others, not all of them writers, who rode home on the shoulders of giants.
PETE HAMILL is a veteran newspaperman, columnist, editor, and novelist.He has published 22 books, 11 of them novels, including best-sellers Snow in August, Forever, Tabloid City, and the memoir A Drinking Life. He lives in Tribeca with his wife, Fukiko.
Daniel Handler and Lisa Brown
The Booksmith, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
DANIEL HANDLER is the author of the novels The Basic Eight, Watch Your Mouth, Adverbs, and Why We Broke Up, recently awarded a Michael L. Printz Honor. As Lemony Snicket, he is the author of far too many books for children.
LISA BROWN is the best-selling author and/or illustrator of a growing number of books, including Vampire Boy’s Good Night, The Latke Who Couldn’t Stop Screaming, Baby, Mix Me a Drink, and Picture the Dead, an illustrated Civil War ghost story for teens. She sporadically draws the Three Panel Book Review cartoon for the San Francisco Chronicle. Lisa lives in San Francisco.
Kristin Harmel
Writer’s Block Bookstore, WINTER PARK, FLORIDA
When someone mentions Orlando, perhaps you think first of Walt Disney World or maybe, if you’re a big reader, of Universal Studios Florida and its much-touted Wizarding World of Harry Potter. And that’s okay; our theme parks are a huge draw. Many visitors to Central Florida never make it past the tourist district, which sits south of downtown Orlando. In fact, I’ve run into people in my travels who think that the sprawling Disney complex actually is downtown Orlando.
That’s okay, too; there are worse things in the world than having people believe I live in a fairy-tale land ruled by an iconic mouse. But there’s so much more to Central Florida, where a population approaching 2.5 million puts us among the 20 largest metro areas in the United States. We’re not just a tourist destination; we’re a large and thriving community with roots that grow deeper by the year.
I’ve lived in Central Florida since 2002, the year before I wrote my first novel, but it wasn’t until a tiny independent bookstore opened in November 2014 in the Orlando suburb of Winter Park that I truly felt that Central Florida was a place where I belonged.
You see, although I’m many things—a mother, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a friend, and an aficionado of good food, good wine, good music, and good stories—I am, at my core, someone who delights in painting with words. I write because I have to, because when I don’t, I feel as if I’m losing my sense of self. And until recently, I felt a bit like a fish out of water in a place where literature didn’t necessarily seem to be celebrated. Having lived in Paris during a portion of my twenties, I’d grown accustomed to a city that respected and toasted its writers. Most places in the world aren’t like that.
But then Writer’s Block—founded by bibliophile Lauren Zimmerman—opened its doors, and my world shifted on its axis ever so subtly. This, I thought the first time I walked through the shop’s doors. This is where I belong.
The best bookstores have a funny way of making us feel that way, don’t they? Whether you write or not, there’s a certain tangible sense of home when you enter a lovingly tended independent bookstore. The smell of the pages. The colorful zigzag of spines along the shelves. The allure of a carefully curated collection of books. It’s all a bit magical.
The stories that take center stage in the windows and on the front tables are there because someone loves them, so discovering an author in an indie store is a bit like connecting with a new friend. And that’s just the kind of thing that feels possible at Writer’s Block, where comfy red armchairs dot the room, and candles, curios, and greeting cards share shelf space with a wide variety of books. The store hosts plenty of signings and parties, too, so it’s not just a place to buy books, but also a place to find one’s community among the shelves.
It’s a place to find oneself, too. In a region bustling with exuberant creative types and the wonderful kind of artistic energy that comes with them, Writer’s Block provides an unexpected oasis to soak in the quiet while surrounded by millions of words. It’s a place to come when you need the world to slow down, just for a minute.
On a recent evening, I was badly in need of something to recharge my creative battery. I’m a new mom, and to call myself sleep-deprived would be a massive understatement. Some days, it’s difficult to summon the mental energy to even turn on my computer, never mind to write. If I still lived in Paris, I would have strolled along the Seine from my apartment near the Eiffel Tower to the legendary Shakespeare and Company, perhaps the most famous indie bookstore in the world, to find my way back to creative inspiration. I might even have stopped for a restorative glass of wine along the way. Alas, I was far across the Atlantic.
But of course there was Writer’s Block, a mere 25-minute drive from my house, so off I went, past the designer boutiques and award-winning restaurants of Winter Park’s tony Park Avenue district, where the bookstore sits. Like Paris’s Shakespeare and Company, which inhabits a multimillion-dollar address, Writer’s Block defies logic, occupying a piece of real estate in a neighborhood overflowing with millionaires, fashionistas, and socialites. Yet just like Shakespeare and Company, it’s a place whe
re you’d feel entirely comfortable slouching through the door in flip-flops and jeans. It’s a place where social differences melt away.
With the sun dipping low in the sky, I walked into Writer’s Block and immediately felt renewed. It might have been the glass of wine Lauren handed me with a knowing look. It might have been the surprisingly robust and varied crowd of book lovers searching for their weekend reads. It might have been the distinctively delicious new-book scent, inky with a faint almond edge, or it might have been the feeling of being surrounded by walls and walls of beautiful words. I think perhaps it was all of those things, the unique sense of enchantment that only an independent bookstore can evoke.
I breathed in deeply and smiled. Already, I was myself again. Already, I was ready to write.
Yes indeed, I thought. This. This is where I belong.
KRISTIN HARMEL is the international best-selling author of The Sweetness of Forgetting, The Life Intended, and When We Meet Again, along with several other novels. Her work has been featured in People, Woman’s Day, Men’s Health, Runner’s World, and Ladies’ Home Journal, among many other media outlets. She lives in Orlando, Florida.
Carolyn Hart
Full Circle Bookstore, OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA
As an author I’ve signed books at Full Circle, my hometown independent bookstore, enjoyed friendship and kindness, and found wonderful books that have touched me deeply.
A bit about Oklahoma’s largest independent bookstore: Full Circle is a starting place and a destination point for book lovers, offering 60,000 titles in a store that rambles through several rooms furnished with tall oak bookshelves, end caps, book-strewn tables, and a children’s enclave sure to make a Grinch smile.
Flames dance in two fireplaces on chilly days. Patrons relax in a coffee bar, a café, and an area for signings, musical events, and book clubs. Unique to Full Circle is Pearl, a gleaming white, pearl-encrusted, almost-full-size statue of a bison. Pearl was one of a hundred statues created several years ago to celebrate Oklahoma’s Plains days, when buffalos thundered in massive herds, raising clouds of dust visible for miles. Of all the bison statues, she is the only lady. The staff feel that she has an attitude, she is one of a kind, and she represents the store’s commitment to Oklahoma, its history and authors.
A bibliophile’s delight, Full Circle is the creative accomplishment of Jim Tolbert, a successful businessman and civic leader. Jim has succeeded at everything he has done—business, philanthropy, support of the arts—and as a visionary for Oklahoma City, he has contributed to its transformation from a sprawling cow town to a metropolis. Jim has a professorial air that reflects his focus on the life of the mind. He is insatiably curious. He is enormously well-read. He has a passion for knowledge. It is Oklahoma City’s great good fortune that his idea of happiness is to spend time in the very best bookstore he could create, a bookstore with a heart, a bookstore where everyone is a reader, a bookstore that constantly surprises, a nurturing oasis for readers.
What has Full Circle meant to me?
As an author happily signing a new book, I have always been treated with kindness and respect, whether a few people showed up or we drew a cheerful crowd. If we had only a few in attendance, I visited with them on a personal level, perhaps to talk about the inspiration for a particular book (I love Blithe Spirit and the Topper books and wanted to write about an energetic, fun-loving ghost, so the late Bailey Ruth Raeburn made her debut in Ghost at Work), or to explain why a series was ended (I enjoyed writing about retired newspaperwoman Henrietta O’Dwyer Collins but the publisher wanted younger protagonists), or to suggest wonderful mystery writers, from both the past and present, that those readers might have missed (to have a true sense of thoughts and feelings in the 1930s, read Eric Ambler’s suspense novels, and for a hilarious change of pace today, dip into the Feng Shui Detective novels by Nury Vittachi).
With a larger audience, the presentations were more formal. I remember in particular a luncheon a good many years ago when I spoke to wonderfully receptive readers about the importance of mysteries in popular fiction. Mysteries are not written simply to entertain or to provide a puzzle. Those are two important facets of a mystery, but the prime function of the mystery is to reaffirm a reader’s faith in goodness. Mysteries confront the age-old sins of jealousy, greed, anger, selfishness, cruelty, and oppression. The protagonist discovers what went wrong in particular lives and brings justice to the guilty and relief for the innocent. We live in a world beset by evil. Mysteries offer both writers and readers a means of celebrating goodness, justice, and decency. Readers read mysteries because they want to live in a just world. Writers write mysteries because they want to live in a just world. It is this focus on goodness that distinguishes mysteries from all other fiction. As I’ve told many readers at Full Circle, if I have to be marooned on a desert island, I want to have mystery readers and writers as my fellow castaways. They will follow the rules and one of them will be smart enough to get us off the island.
So many happy signings, so many wonderful readers…
One of the most magical moments of my entire writing life occurred at Full Circle on a beautiful January Sunday in 2014. The previous fall, Mystery Writers of America had called to tell me that I would receive the Grand Master Award at the annual Edgar dinner in May. MWA is the organization of American mystery writers. At the Edgar dinner, statuettes of the founding father of mysteries, Edgar Allan Poe, are presented for outstanding books from the previous year and to the Grand Master in recognition of a lifetime of work. In 2014 Robert Crais and I were named Grand Masters.
I had never expected to be honored in such a way. To be named Grand Master was absolutely incredible to me. And dear Full Circle asked if they could host a reception in my honor. I was touched and thrilled. That afternoon will always be one of the happiest moments of my writing life. I am a native of Oklahoma City and I have friends who go back to kindergarten days at Cleveland Elementary School. They came. And friends from Taft Junior High School. And friends from Old Classen High School. And friends from the University of Oklahoma. Friends from over the years came. My family came.
Perhaps to Full Circle that afternoon was simply another of the elegant events they put on for so many authors because Full Circle always supports Oklahoma authors. To me, it was a circle of brightness in a very happy year.
But there is yet one more grace note in my life because of Full Circle.
When I go to Full Circle, I must often appear to be an aimless wanderer, but that is by design because I expect serendipity. I will find a book of which I was unaware, become acquainted with an author I will treasure, add light and happiness to my life if I just look. Books are tucked in nooks and crannies. I always check the collection of books about cats and dogs… Cat and dog owners will understand. I value our brown tabbies, count them as my friends and companions. I know there is affection and trust and mutual caring, and I delight in stories about writers and their cats. In this small display I discovered British author Doreen Tovey, who describes with amazement and sometimes stupefaction the antics of her Siamese cats.
Another day I found Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss and laughed on every page. My Life with the Saints by James Martin, SJ, inspired me. Some years ago I discovered Those Wonderful Women in Their Flying Machines: The Unknown Heroines of World War II by Sally Van Wagenen Keil, an absorbing and dramatic history of the young women who became WASPs and whose story every American should know.
I’ve always found women aviators fascinating. I admire their bravery and their accomplishments. It was at Full Circle that I found Susan Wels’s superb Amelia Earhart: The Thrill of It.
Every time I come to Full Circle, I wander from room to room, from bookcase to table to small special displays. I am never disappointed. And one day I found a book that meant the world to me, We Band of Angels: The Untold Story of the American Women Trapped on Bataan by Elizabeth M. Norman.
And therein lies a tale. In the late 1970s, I was stymied as
a mystery and suspense author. I’d written seven books in seven years and sold none of them at that point (though all have since been published). I had yet to write any of my traditional mystery series. Several of my books were suspense novels with a World War II background. I was a child during the war and the war dominated our lives: the huge headlines, the crackling static of radio broadcasts, friends and family in the service, ration books. Later as a teenager and young adult, I read widely about the war, especially nonfiction accounts.
I learned much about the Japanese invasion of the Philippines, the eventual fall of Manila and Bataan and the withdrawal of American personnel, including nurses, to the island of Corregidor. I read everything available about the nurses, their bravery, the harrowing days and nights during the bombing of Corregidor. I did a great deal of research, hoping to write a nonfiction book about the nurses, but I discovered that their papers were sealed and not available to the public at that time.
I took all of that research and used it to write Brave Hearts, a story of ordinary people caught up in the terror of war. It was published in 1987. As I wrote in the preface to its reprinting in 2013 by Seventh Street Books:
Brave Hearts is a true picture of the fate of American forces and civilians in the Philippines after the Japanese invasion. The fighting was brutal, the treatment of civilians capricious and often deadly. Though the characters in the book are fictional, Brave Hearts offers a realistic and often heartbreaking picture of what happened in the Philippines. My hope is that readers who know little of that past will be touched by the heroism of “the battling bastards of Bataan,” the gallant nurses on Corregidor, and the American civilians who plunged into jungles and scaled mountains to seek freedom.