My Bookstore

by Ronald Rice

  Pretty soon I started to hear snippets of conversation as people gathered in corners and opened their books. “Look, here’s a photo of my mom! We never had a picture of her.” “Here I am as a baby! I thought my first photo was when I joined the army.” At the National Archives I had found immigration photographs of my family that no one knew existed. They hadn’t read the book yet, but through those photos I had brought back people and history that my family thought had disappeared for good. Now they came through the line again, this time with stacks of three, four, ten books. Vroman’s sold every single copy of On Gold Mountain that day.

  So here we are seventeen years later. Dutton’s Bookstore, where I had my other launch party, closed a couple of years ago, as have so many other bookstores here in Southern California. Happily, Vroman’s has continued to thrive. One of the things that I’ve always admired about the store—and even more so in this hard economic climate—is the Vroman’s Gives Back program, which allows customers to donate a portion of their purchases to a local organization of their choice, including public radio stations, arts centers, family services, and programs supporting literacy, the homeless, and animal welfare. To date, Vroman’s has donated an amazing $530,000 on behalf of its customers. The store serves as the heart of the community, hosting food and gift drives, free HIV testing, and pet adoption days, and making donations to charity raffles and school book fairs. Not only has Vroman’s continued as the oldest and largest independent bookstore in Southern California, but three years ago the store stepped in and bought Book Soup in West Hollywood when the owner died and that store was in danger of closing. The folks at Vroman’s are book-selling heroes!

  On a more personal level, I’ve done a launch event at Vroman’s for every book I’ve written. Over the years, I’ve stood at the podium and seen my relatives, who were once vital and strong, begin to rely on canes, walkers, and wheelchairs. I’ve watched great-uncles lose their hair and great-aunts go gray. I’ve seen shoulders weaken and feet begin to shuffle. These people, who I loved, who made me the person I am, have disappeared one by one. As they’ve passed away, fans have come to fill their seats. But I still see my relatives in those chairs or huddling together in a corner. I still hear them whispering to each other, “Look, here’s a photo of my mom!” And I still feel them in the stacks, in the shelves, along the walls of this beautiful, loved, and well-cared-for and curated bookstore in Pasadena. Vroman’s Bookstore may not be my neighborhood bookstore, but it is my family bookstore, for which I will always be grateful. I will always be loyal to Vroman’s, and I believe Vroman’s will always be loyal to me.

  LISA SEE is the New York Times #1 best-selling author of Dreams of Joy and the New York Times best-selling author of the novels Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, Peony in Love, Shanghai Girls, and the critically acclaimed memoir On Gold Mountain. The Organization of Chinese American Women named her the 2001 National Woman of the Year. She lives in Los Angeles.

  Brian Selznick

  Warwick’s, LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA

  I didn’t really want to move to California. But my boyfriend was offered a great teaching position at U.C. San Diego, so off we went. He found an apartment for us in La Jolla, a block from the beach and two blocks from a bookstore, so I figured things wouldn’t be that bad. The bookstore, Warwick’s, has been around for over a century, and I felt right at home the moment I walked through the doors.

  La Jolla is a beach town. Surfers abound, and everyone gathers on the beaches. Dr. Seuss lived here. All the trees look as if they were drawn by him. But there is an incredible intellectual and artistic life amid the sunshine and the sand. There are great theaters here, and music and museums. And bookstores. Warwick’s, like most great bookstores, is the beating heart of its community. It holds readings and signings and events throughout the year. The staff has not only read everything, it seems, but they have an opinion about everything as well.

  Independent bookstores like Warwick’s feel like home to me. In the early 1990s I worked at Eeyore’s, a children’s bookstore in New York City. I learned all about books and bookmaking while I worked there. That’s where I came to understand and appreciate the picture book as a beautiful art form, and where I studied the history of children’s books by reading as many books as I could under the careful guidance of my boss, Steve Geck. I also used to love it when authors came to the store. We’d always ask them to sign stock, and some of the authors became friends. Paula Danziger, who wrote the Amber Brown books and The Cat Ate My Gymsuit, among many others, took me under her wing before my first book was published. Now, many years later, walking into Warwick’s, I am the author and it is fun to feel connected to both sides.

  I first started visiting Warwick’s in 2004, about the same time I started working on The Invention of Hugo Cabret. I’d bring little sketches to show the staff to get their feedback. At the time I didn’t know if anyone would want to read a book about French silent movies for kids, so it was great to get their positive feedback. When I was working on my most recent book, Wonderstruck, I reached an impasse with my publisher over the cover design. Jan Iverson, the store’s buyer for children’s books, and the rest of the staff gave me excellent feedback that helped me create the final cover. I couldn’t have done it without them, and when Wonderstruck was complete, I invited the entire staff over to my house for a celebration. We drank wine, ate cheese, listened to music, and looked at all of the 250 drawings that I had hung up on my studio wall.

  I’m so grateful for all of Warwick’s support over the nearly nine years we’ve lived in the neighborhood. They have hosted readings for me, including a spectacular book event for Wonderstruck at the San Diego Natural History Museum in Balboa Park. My favorite times at Warwick’s, though, are when I simply stop by the bookstore to shop and say hi. I knock on the swinging doors of the back office, and soon I’m caught up in a conversation to find out what books various staff members are reading and which ones they want to recommend. We gossip and catch up with our lives and talk about whatever it is we are all reading. A few months ago I began reading Edith Wharton’s works for the first time, and as I was buying Old New York after having finished The Age of Innocence and The House of Mirth, members of the staff and I got into a very heated debate about which of Wharton’s books was the best and why oh why Lily Bart made all those terrible choices.

  Thank God for bookstores and booksellers.

  It’s been over twenty years since I actually worked in a bookstore, but I still feel very much like a bookseller at heart. Of course, when I actually was a bookseller, I was tired all the time. I hated reshelving books, and there were customers who drove me crazy. There were authors we didn’t like who would sneak into the store and put their book covers face out on the shelves. There were thieves to deal with, and late shipments, and grandmothers who were never satisfied with any of my suggestions for gifts for their grandchildren. It was hard work. But I was able to read everything I wanted and was surrounded by people I could talk about all those books with. There were the regular customers who loved the books we gave them and wanted more. There were the kids who would curl up and sit on the floor, eager to start reading before they got home. There were the cartons of books, freshly arrived from the publisher, filled with good-smelling volumes of some new thing that no one else had seen or read yet.

  There was a lot of pleasure and satisfaction among the difficulties. And now, all these years later, it’s only gotten more difficult for bookstores. Bookstores survive, though, and the ones that really reach out to their community, that make themselves indispensable, not only survive, but thrive. A bookstore is only as good as its staff, of course, and Warwick’s is among the best.

  BRIAN SELZNICK is the author/illustrator of the New York Times #1 best-selling novels The Invention of Hugo Cabret and Wonderstruck. Hugo, the 3-D major motion picture directed by Martin Scorsese and based on The Invention of Hugo Cabret, won five Academy Awards. His books have received many awards and distinctions, including a Caldec
ott Medal for The Invention of Hugo Cabret and a Caldecott Honor for The Dinosaurs of Waterhouse Hawkins. He divides his time between Brooklyn, New York, and La Jolla, California.

  Mahbod Seraji

  Kepler’s Books, MENLO PARK, CALIFORNIA

  Bookstores have always been a source of wonder and intrigue to me. I grew up in Iran, and as a child every day on my way to school I stood outside a tiny bookstore near my home and stared at the titles placed in the windows, thick books with fancy names and big-name authors—White Fang by Jack London, Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Germinal by Émile Zola, The Blind Owl by Sadegh Hedayat.

  How long did it take for each of those masters to write their stunning stories? I wondered. Did they know how many lives their books had touched?

  Even at that age I couldn’t imagine a feeling greater than that of seeing your name on the cover of a book for the first time. With a secret desire to be a writer someday, I surreptitiously envied my favorite authors with respect and longing.

  I left Iran when I was 19, and as life went on, one thing never changed: my fascination with books and bookstores.

  Fast-forward thirty-plus years; I moved from Chicago to the Bay Area, working a few doors down from Kepler’s Books in Menlo Park, California. Unbeknownst to me, Kepler’s had been a landmark and a community hub for readers and nonreaders alike for many years. Standing outside its window and staring at the books on its shelves instantly reminded me of the cozy bookstore in my childhood neighborhood. And from that moment on, Kepler’s became my lunchtime Mecca; my daily visits there a daily pilgrimage home to the innocent fantasy worlds of my childhood.

  It was in June of 2009, a month after the release of my first novel, Rooftops of Tehran, that I received an invitation from this prestigious cultural center to do a reading there. The thought of walking through the same doors as I had done so many times before, but this time as an author, was beyond invigorating to me. It was also nerve-racking. Despite my career in management consulting and public speaking, I knew that this experience would be nothing like standing in front of a room full of Silicon Valley executives. This was Kepler’s and its audience was far more sophisticated than the average business executive who mostly cared about quarter-end results, Wall Street expectations, or earning-per-share ratios! This was where people came together to feel the sense of community, to be a part of a larger whole, to belong… and I was the guest speaker.

  The experience was extraordinary. The staff was gracious and kind and mindful of every detail in preparation for my visit. The large audience, well informed, welcoming, and ready to ask insightful questions, embraced me with enthusiasm and awareness. I could not believe that the same boy who longingly gazed at the titles in the windows of that small bookseller in Tehran so many years earlier was now in Menlo Park, California, at Kepler’s Books.

  In our travels and along our paths we all come across places, havens, that stay with us and feel like home, a place of belonging. As an author, as a reader, or simply a fiercly loyal supporter, Kepler’s has always been that place for me. A wonderful reminder of my childhood dreams and all that I had to do to achieve them.

  MAHBOD SERAJI was born in Iran and moved to the United States in 1976 at the age of 19. He attended the University of Iowa where he received an M.A. in Film and Broadcasting and a Ph.D. in Instructional Design and Technology. He currently works as a management consultant, and lives in the San Francisco Bay area.

  Nancy Shaw

  Nicola’s Books, ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN

  I shop at Nicola’s Books, in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I love having a store that respects its customers and that brings mega-sellers and literati, as well as hopeful authors with new projects, in front of audiences and lets them have a conversation. Nox played here, and Laurie King, and Dava Sobel, and Speed Bump cartoons.

  Nicola Rooney and her staff read and recommend. If I want a book, they find it fast. I can browse art-museum cards here without trekking to the museums. My friends’ books are here, and so are mine, and I like feeling that we are more than sales units.

  I can sit on the sofa by the fireplace, where travel guides transport me to Edinburgh or Guatemala; and David Wiesner and Eric Rohmann take me other places entirely—or I can look up at the fairy door crafted in the paneling above the mantel, its frame incorporating fairy-tale book spines. The tiny door is a portal into a world of stories, as is every alcove here.

  My own characters are on the shelves in the children’s section. My sheep went shopping once, in a country store. I think they’d like to come to Nicola’s to enjoy the customer service. Here’s what might happen if they came upon a smartphone, tried it out, and then visited the Westgate Shopping Center to ship back the disappointing results.

  SHEEP PHONE IT IN

  What’s this lying in the grass?

  A rectangle with screen of glass.

  Sheep explore it. What’s that tone?

  Do they hear a ringing phone?

  Something’s showing on the screen:

  Icons, hot links—what’s it mean?

  Sheep try apps.

  Sheep take snaps.

  Sheep text.

  What’s next?

  Sheep tap screen and go online.

  Cyber-shopping—how divine!

  Items land in shopping cart.

  Wow! This phone is really smart!

  The UPS man brings a box—

  Glenn Beck, Quantum Physics, Vox,

  Da Vinci Code, and Picking Stocks.

  Oops! These books are not their type.

  What to do? Sheep gripe.

  Sheep repack

  To send them back.

  Returning from their shipping chore,

  Sheep espy a special store.

  At Nicola’s, their spirits soar:

  Picture books and so much more!

  Folks who help, with such rapport!

  Sheep choose titles, all tip-top,

  And satisfied, they leave the shop.

  Sheep traipse back and drop the phone.

  It’s in the pasture, all alone.

  Bleating praises, loudly vocal,

  Sheep are pleased with shopping local.

  NANCY SHAW is the author of Elena’s Story, Raccoon Tune, Sheep in a Jeep, Sheep in a Shop, and five other sheep books. She holds degrees from the University of Michigan and Harvard University. Her website is nancyshawbooks.com.

  Bob Shea

  R.J. Julia Booksellers, MADISON, CONNECTICUT

  Moving from Manhattan to Madison, I expected some typical town-pride hype from the locals: “We’ve got a great school system.” Or “Have you been to the town beach? Hammonasset State Park?” Or even “We’re really close to New Haven pizza!” A point I was truly excited about.

  None of these things ever came in higher than second or third on the list. The one thing everyone bragged about first, from our realtor to our new neighbors to the guy at the gas station, was the town bookstore.

  “Have these people ever had pizza? It’s pretty delicious,” I thought. Then I made my first visit to the store.

  R.J. Julia Booksellers is the bookstore I daydream about opening: charming, with lots of dark wood and cool window displays. Unlike my sweet imaginary bookstore, however, R.J. Julia has cultivated an inseparable bond with the people of Madison, Connecticut. A warm, welcoming atmosphere and an endless list of literary events make R.J. Julia the cultural center of a thankful town.

  BOB SHEA has written and illustrated over a dozen picture books, including the popular Dinosaur vs. Bedtime and the cult favorite Big Plans, illustrated by Lane Smith.

  His characters and animations have appeared on Nick Jr, Playhouse Disney, and PBS Kids.

  Bob spends his days writing, drawing, and having “conversations” with NPR.

  Jeff Smith

  The Book Loft of German Village, COLUMBUS, OHIO

  Which do you love more: books or bookstores? That’s something to contemplate these days, as the resources for both appear to be re
ceding from us. They go together for me; starting back when I was a kid, a bookstore was the first place I experienced freedom—the ability to wander about the rows and sections, discovering my own tastes and interests. Of course, at that age, science fiction and fantasy were my favorites, but still, what were all these other books about? History, science, classics. I remember well the day I discovered Penguin Books!

  But I want to tell you about my bookstore, The Book Loft in Columbus, Ohio. Not just any independent bookstore, but a masterpiece of warmth and retailing that winds and sprawls throughout a number of connected old Victorian-era brick buildings that once housed a general store, a saloon, and a nickelodeon on a quaint little street in historic German Village.

  On foot, as you turn off Third Street and enter the open iron gates, a worn brick path leads you away from the bustle into another world, through a small garden to the entrance, where books are piled on tables outside by a fountain. Inside, doorways and staircases immediately lead off in multiple directions, all the nooks and crannies stuffed with books—everything from expensive Taschen tomes to paperbacks, note cards, calendars, best sellers, out-of-print books, audio, and more, all at good discount prices that a starving young artist can appreciate. It’s a place where your imagination can have free rein. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever not found what I was looking for in the thirty years I’ve shopped there. I write graphic novels about medieval landscapes and ancient religions, as well as modern physics, war, nature, art, and tons of things that I need reference and inspiration for, so my searches swing pretty far afield sometimes. Not only that, but as a Herman Melville fan, I have five editions of Moby-Dick, and four of them still have The Book Loft’s little removable orange sticker on them.