by Ronald Rice
Our daughter is now 12 years old. She has spent her entire childhood among the turkeys and the trees and the shelves of Anderson’s. I can chart the seasons of her life by the section of shelves we enter. Cary monger books followed by Mr. Putter and pop-up and Goodnight Moon books. And first chapter books: that series about the nutty little girl in fourth grade who always gets in some jam. And the Wimpy Kid. And onward! Yes! Talking cats! Goosebumps! Fantasy stories! Twilight! The epic of Katniss. I can step to every section of the bookstore and see my child there, serious as a chemist, working those shelves to find the perfect combination of subject, cover art, heft, color. Making magic stairways that lead her upward.
You will forgive me a small tug of melancholy now, as we see her move to the adult shelves and give them tentative scans.
Do you know what we did this week? We went to Anderson’s so our daughter could meet R.L. Stine. She was bouncing off the roof—it was like taking her to meet a rock star. She took her ruined, favorite cary monger books with her. And they immediately fell into a discussion about the Tower of London and how creepy it was and how he’d put an element of it into one of her destroyed books and she shouted that she knew it, she just knew it! Then she told R.L. Stine exactly what part of the Tower he’d been thinking of.
I didn’t have that when I was a child.
Thank you, Becky.
LUIS ALBERTO URREA is the author of, among other books, The Devil’s Highway, The Hummingbird’s Daughter, and Into the Beautiful North. Winner of a Lannan Literary Award and Christopher Award, he is also the recipient of an American Book Award, the Kiriyama Prize, the National Hispanic Cultural Center’s Literary Award, a Western States Book Award, a Colorado Book Award, an Edgar Award, and a citation of excellence from the American Library Association. He is a member of the Latino Literary Hall of Fame.
Abraham Verghese
Prairie Lights, IOWA CITY, IOWA
I was at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop from 1990 to 1991. I spent so much time (and money) at Prairie Lights that even now, much of what is on the shelves in my study comes from that period.
And so many volumes I was guided to by the incredible and long-tenured staff who would plop a book into my hands and say, “You must read this.” Or they would guide me to a specific author reading.
Jim Harris, who owned it then, and also Jan Weissmiller and Paul Ingram and so many others, were our professors in a way, shaping our sensibilities, but most important, treating us as serious writers, people with great potential even though, at that stage, we did not have that kind of faith in ourselves. What we had was hope and dreams and a love of literature and deep doubts as to whether anything would come of it all.
Prairie Lights was a relative bookstore newbie when I was there, being only about twelve years old. In a town full of bookstores, selling new and used books, it had a special connection with the Writers’ Workshop, and a rutted path seemed to lead from one to the other. This was pre-Internet (at least for me). For years, until NPR had to pull the show in 2008 for economic reasons, the store was the location for Live from Prairie Lights, weekly readings hosted by Julie Englander of WSUI, broadcast from the bookstore’s second floor.
I felt great pride in 2010 when I saw the front-page New York Times photograph of Jan Weissmiller—the new owner of Prairie Lights—escorting President Obama around the store. It was an impromptu stop on his health-care tour that year after he mentioned the store in his Iowa City speech, describing how businesses like these struggled to keep employees insured.
I have had the great pleasure of visiting Prairie Lights annually or just about. It is larger, grander now. What is new is its lively online presence (www.writinguniversity.org, where it also streams the readings each week) and a wonderful coffee house on the second floor—a space, Jan said she had learned recently, where the local literary society met throughout the 1930s, pulling in such glorious names as Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, Sherwood Anderson, and E.E. Cummings, among others.
What has not changed is its mysterious core—a hush, a sense of reverence for the written word. The reading series, still named Live from Prairie Lights and taking place four or five nights a week, is always packed—anywhere from forty or fifty people and often more than a hundred. There is no audience quite like an Iowa City audience. Name an author, and he or she will likely have read there: Susan Sontag, Gloria Steinem, Annie Proulx, J.M. Coetzee, Kathryn Stockett, and poets Mark Strand, Jorie Graham, Galway Kinnell, and many, many more. To my great glee, USA Today named Prairie Lights a “destination bookstore” in 2008, along with such luminary stores as Powell’s in Portland, Washington D.C.’s Politics and Prose, The Strand in New York, and City Lights in San Francisco.
For Iowa City’s smallish community of some 70,000, Prairie Lights has an extraordinary and large presence and is thoroughly integrated into its community. This collaborative approach started with Jim Harris’s farsightedness when he bought the store in 1978, and it’s been a tradition Jan has continued since she and Jane Mead, a Workshop graduate with three published books of poetry, bought the store from Jim in 2008. Not only is Prairie Lights tied in to the Writers’ Workshop, but, I am pleased to see, the store is also actively involved with the medical school there: Prairie Lights supports The Examined Life Conference of the University of Iowa Carver College of Medicine.
I always dreamed of one day reading at Prairie Lights, and when that moment eventually came with the success of my first book, My Own Country, I choked up—it was hugely significant to me to be reading there, in that space. It was an affirmation that was personal and private, yet one that I think every writer with an adopted store would understand. I read again with my recent novel, Cutting for Stone.
Independent bookstores have been crucial to the success of my books, and the word of mouth that a Paul or a Jan can generate—if they like what you have produced—is nothing short of phenomenal. Compared with online reviews, the credibility of someone who has worked in a store like this for ten or even twenty years is very strong. These folks are reading galleys every day and have their pulse on what is truly good. When I visit, I talk with Jan, and to Carol, who always had suggestions for my kids (she is the children’s-books buyer), and of course to Paul, who is something of an institution in his own right and should be given a professorship at the Workshop. Paul came to and stayed at Prairie Lights in 1989 after earning a degree in linguistics, working in two university bookstores, and then deciding that the book life was the life for him.
I am honored and humbled to know people like these. Though I may live far away, whenever I need to imagine a place of peace, a place far from the mundane concerns of everyday life, a place where such concerns are transcended and reshaped into art, I picture myself pushing open the front door, seeing Jan’s smile, hearing Paul hail me from the back… is this heaven? No, it’s Prairie Lights.
ABRAHAM VERGHESE is the author of My Own Country, The Tennis Partner, and Cutting for Stone. A graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, he has published essays and short stories that have appeared in The New Yorker, The New York Times, The Atlantic Monthly, Esquire, Granta, The Wall Street Journal, and elsewhere. He lives in Palo Alto, California.
Audrey Vernick
BookTowne, MANASQUAN, NEW JERSEY
I know I give the settings of my stories short shrift. The where never mattered as much to me as the what or the who. So it came as a surprise, when the time to launch my first novel into the world rolled around, that setting mattered more than anything else.
I readily admit that I have outsized envy for those who live in quaint towns with a charming main street—the pizza place where you’re greeted by name, a bookstore whose owner holds behind the counter new releases she knows you’ll love, the coffeehouse where they start pouring your cup as you open the door. In my mind’s eye, I see the place where I always imagined I would someday raise my family near the beach, so there would likely have been a surf shop, too, and a vast expanse of Crayola blue in the background. Th
ough the picture I see was drawn by a child’s hand, the image was one grown-up me longed for.
But the actual real-estate transactions of my life paid no attention to the way my brain and heart had it planned out. We ended up in a suburban town with no main street to speak of. Life has a way of messing with our expectations. As a writer with a history of ill-timed publications, I should have been used to that.
This novel launch was the only time I’d gotten the timing right—a book for preteen girls being published when my daughter was 12—and I wanted to celebrate. And really, it had to happen in a bookstore. So I did what those who are not blessed with a hometown bookstore have to do: I adopted one.
Luckily, BookTowne was not only willing to be adopted by me, but the good people there actually seemed eager! And it was the perfect setting for the launch of my novel Water Balloon.
What made this event especially poignant was the fact that both of us—writer and bookstore—were newbies, tentatively stepping into the world of bookstore promotions. BookTowne was new and small and just starting to grow its legion of fiercely loyal customers. I was a debut novelist. Our joint venture reminded me of the way my 5-year-old son had reached for his 5-year-old neighbor’s hand when boarding the school bus for the first time. Brave—mostly brave—about stepping into this new big-kid world.
Though I had known where Manasquan was and had been there a time or two, I did not recognize it as exactly the child-drawn town I had meant to live in. In fact, it was my now-teenaged son who realized it. When visiting friends there, he felt that deep, contented sigh of a feeling I’d wanted his quirky, familiar hometown to provide.
BookTowne is a brilliant microcosm; it’s all that is lovely about Manasquan, New Jersey, shrunken down into a small retail space. The store does not carry vast numbers of each title, which makes browsing there a lot like looking through the well-stocked bookcase of your smartest, funniest friend. It’s that same sensation: Oh! I wanted to read that book! OH! I read that—I loved that book! Amazingly, the people hired to work there by owner Rita Maggio have the semi-magical ability to appear and offer help only when you actually want it.
This is not accidental good fortune. If Rita were to draw how she viewed Manasquan, her bookstore would be right at its heart. She knows that bookstores can radiate warmth in almost the same way the scent of baking bread can beckon a passerby into a bakery. She believes that every town has the right to a good bookstore.
But BookTowne is so much more than a good bookstore. In the weeks leading up to the launch, we worked together the way family does, building on each other’s ideas and creating something we were all excited about.
That evening, we celebrated with a sparkling cider toast and homemade cookies that were intended to look like balloons but may have been mistaken for well-fed fish. My editor sent along a happy bouquet of balloons. There was a girly prize package that was ultimately won by my son’s very ungirly 15-year-old friend. A male friend.
My recollections of that evening are bathed in a wistful yellowy light. I’ve yet to check the photos to confirm, but it hardly matters. It’s my story, my setting.
When the time for mingling had ended and my reading was about to begin, Rita introduced me. It was clear she had read my book. This was nothing short of shocking to me. I had read reviews, but the book was still so new I had yet to hear anyone other than my writing friends, agent, and employees of my publishing company talk about it. She made it sound like a book I’d want to read, like one you’d find on the shelves of a store like BookTowne, something you’d find in a cool, well-read girl’s backpack. It was a very touching, humbling moment.
While reading from the first chapter, I looked up and took in this beautiful yellow-lit space, filled to capacity with my family, friends, my son’s friends, my daughter’s friends—my perfect readers—and their teachers. There were these other people there too, adults and preteen girls. The friends of BookTowne. People who didn’t know me, didn’t know my book, but came to celebrate with us anyway. Because BookTowne is that charming bookstore on Main Street in their funky little town. The warm, welcoming heart of their community. The kind of store where book-loving people support a first-time novelist who adopted this store and loves it as though it were her own.
One of the great delights of AUDREY VERNICK’s professional life is that she can have earnest conversations with editors about whether a protagonist should be a pot-bellied pig or a square-lipped rhinoceros. She has written a number of picture books, including Is Your Buffalo Ready for Kindergarten? and the nonfiction Brothers at Bat, and the middle-grade novel Water Balloon. Audrey has also published short fiction for adults. She received an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College and is a two-time recipient of the New Jersey State Council on the Arts fiction fellowship. She lives near the ocean with her husband, son, and daughter. You can visit her online at www.audreyvernick.com.
Matt Weiland
Greenlight Bookstore, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK
“The Light”
With apologies to Edgar Lee Masters, Roger Angell, and the Beastie Boys
Where is the loner, the talker, the rent-controlled?
Where is the loud one, the Brooklynite, the heart of gold?
The boozer, the busker, the beat cop for the night?
All, all, are browsing in Greenlight.
One came on the G train, another on the C.
One took a car service way out in Coney.
One grabbed a cab while another took a bus.
One roared up in a motorcycle covered in rust.
Some found directions on the store’s website—
All, all, are browsing in Greenlight.
Where is the shy girl, the fly girl, the boy turning five?
The toddler, the infant, the yet-to-arrive?
The teen with a Wiffle Ball, the kid with a kite—
All, all, are browsing in Greenlight.
One is making tea with Maisy,
while her friend reads to the bear.
One is by the bathroom saying, “Ma! My underwear!”
One is spinning Dr. Seuss books around on a rack.
One is in the hunt for Mo Willems paperbacks.
One gnaws on an everything from Bagel Delight—
All, all, are browsing in Greenlight.
Where is Nathan Englander and Jhumpa Lahiri?
Where’s the summer intern whispering to Siri?
Where is Jennifer Egan and Sasha Frere-Jones?
Where o where is the soccer coach, late with the cones?
Where is Dan Zanes and Dan Yaccarino?
Where’s the guy from Greene Grape with the jeroboam of Pinot?
Where is Amy Waldman and wide-lapelled Touré?
Where is that skinny designer reading Tina Fey?
Where is Johnny Temple and Meghan O’Rourke?
Where’s the sci-fi geek, the unreconstructed dork?
Where is Jennifer Egan and James Hannaham?
Where is Sean Wilsey and Colson Whitehead?
Where is the Manhattanite longing for street cred?
The daydreaming dancer, glinting in limelight—
All, all, are browsing in Greenlight.
One is scanning bookshelves full of new hardcover fiction.
One is pacing round the store to fend off an affliction.
One is talking up the guy she saw the other week in shul.
One is flirting with a girl from 40 Acres and a Mule.
One has snagged a pepperoni slice from block-away Not Ray’s.
His girlfriend, blushing red, is buying Fifty Shades of Grey.
It’s getting very crowded here, the store is quite a sight—
All, all, are browsing in Greenlight.
Where is the grizzled pigeon and the spunky little squirrel?
Where is the guy who made that amazing Biggie mural?
Where’s the sidewalk genius who thinks he’s Emperor Augustus?
Where are the Black Veterans for Social Justice?
&n
bsp; Where are the sous chefs from Pequeña and Habana?
Where are all the tourists from Boston and Atlanta?
The role-playing gamers, elf and monk and knight—
All, all, are browsing in Greenlight.
One is skimming pages of The Taming of the Shrew
One walks past the cookbooks and thinks of Smoke Joint barbecue.
One buys early Updikes—including Rabbit, Run—
So he can write an essay for a future n+1.
It’s really filling up in here, it’s starting to feel tight—
All, all, are browsing in Greenlight.
Where are Brette and Eleanor, Alexis and young Geo?
Where’s the little boy whose first name ends with Z-O?
And where are Jessica and Rebecca—the dreamers and no-moaners,
The ones who made it happen, the partners, the owners?
Here they all are, a panoply of browsers
Ebullient on the shopfloor, like Alice Trillin saying “Wowsers!”
There are books from every publisher and every little press:
Books on baking and bonsai, charity and chess.
Books below the windows, books behind the door
Books up by the ceiling, and way down by the floor.
Books for every care and whim, books to match and mix
Books are what we’re browsing in the shop at Fulton, 686.
It’s neck by jowl in here, and yet it always just feels right—
All, all, are browsing in Greenlight.
MATT WEILAND is a senior editor at W.W. Norton & Company. He has also worked at Ecco, Granta, The Paris Review, The Baffler, and in public radio. He is the coeditor, with Sean Wilsey, of State by State: A Panoramic Portrait of America and The Thinking Fan’s Guide to the World Cup. His essays and reviews have appeared in The New York Times Book Review, The Washington Post, Slate, New York magazine, and elsewhere. Originally from Minneapolis, Weiland lives in Brooklyn with his wife and son.