Showing posts with label Bookstores. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bookstores. Show all posts

16 December 2011

Harvey Wasserman : The Timeless Joy of George Whitman's Shakespeare & Company

George Whitman at Shakespeare & Company. Image from Oh, by the way...

The timeless joy of
George
Whitman’s Shakespeare & Company
Eyeing me suspiciously, George asked if I was a writer. I said I’d been a college editor, and had aspirations. He said OK... I could have a week on the mattress.
By Harvey Wasserman / The Rag Blog / December 16, 2011

Never doubt that simple acts of generosity and solidarity can change lives -- and the world.

George Whitman and his Shakespeare & Company bookstore have been uniquely powerful living proof of that. And his daughter has guaranteed it will continue.

Nestled into the Left Bank of the Seine, a stoned throw from the magnificent Notre Dame Cathedral, George’s bookstore has been a beacon of Bohemian/hippie/humanist/leftist writing and romance for decades.

Its spiritual roots stretch back to the great literary lights of the ex-pat 1920s- -- Hemingway and Fitzgerald, Joyce and Stein. In George's 1950s era, that also meant Kerouac, Ginsberg, Corso, and more. So much genius passed through the place its walls seem to glow.

George Whitman was known for letting budding young writers crash for weeks at a time. In the summer of 1967, I was one of them. Based on hippie urban legend, I sought the place out and asked if I could sleep on a couch upstairs.

Eyeing me suspiciously, George asked if I was a writer. I said I’d been a college editor, and had aspirations.

He said OK... I could have a week on the mattress.

It was pure joy. Raised in the Midwest, just out of the University of Michigan, at the age of 21, I got to hang out in Paris, surrounded by the spirits of the century’s greatest writers, thinkers, rebels. Nightly sessions of intellectual fervor followed days of wandering free through the vibrating streets of that gorgeous, dazzling city.

George consciously followed in the footsteps of another Whitman (no relation) who transformed the literary world of his day -- and far beyond. Generous, eclectic, and eccentric, George shared Walt’s occasionally fierce New England temperament, making him both fascinating and formidable.

My week in his bookstore changed my life. It proved that the fantasy of a Bohemian counterculture could actually be sustained, and that it was at least as good as billed by those perennial romantics who are always being dismissed as “unrealistic dreamers.” At Shakespeare & Company, the dream was real… and as good as it gets. All these years later, Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris delightfully captures (though without the politics) the joy of its spirit.

And it continues. Not long ago I brought to Paris my teenaged daughter Julie. With Max Schneider, son of the great green energy expert Mycle, we paid our respects to Notre Dame, then found the bookstore.

I’d stopped by in the early 1990s and found the place in serious disrepair. I wasn’t optimistic about this return visit.

Shakespeare & Company. Image from Book's End.

But to my great joy, the place literally shone. George’s daughter Sylvia runs it with firmness and grace. It is bustling with business, beautifully appointed, and offers a timeless blend of off-beat rebellion and good bookselling -- what George has called "the business of life." It is a solid independent enterprise of the kind that is tragically disappearing throughout the US -- but in this case with a legendary past being carefully preserved and enhanced.

With Julie and Max by my side, I told Sylvia that I’d stayed upstairs more than 40 years ago, and wanted to thank her for her father’s life-changing hospitality.

She suggested I thank George myself.

Venturing up the narrow, tiled staircase I’d loved so long ago, we found a young writer from Florida encamped as I’d been when we marched through the wine-soaked streets, shouting epithets against the Vietnam War, then retreating to the bookstore to drink and smoke and bask together in the intoxicating, self-proclaimed brilliance of our youthful rebellion.

George was napping on the third floor, but I could send up a note.

So I wrote one profusely thanking him for putting me up, and for keeping the faith through all these decades of trial and chaos, tears and joy, disappointment and victory.

Having made sure that Max and Julie were sufficiently inspired, we were just making our way out when a note came back, scribbled on the backside of the one I’d sent up.

George apologized for being indisposed. But he was glad I’d enjoyed my stay. And, since I’d continued to write all these years, I was welcome to stay again -- any time.

Wow! I cannot describe the feeling that note gave me. Especially as I looked at the wide-eyed responses of my daughter and our young friend. In an instant, their lives changed, as mine had so long ago.

George Whitman passed away this week, at age 98. But his is a life that will truly never stop giving.

So thank you, George, for enhancing the Dream and making it real. Thank you, Sylvia, for keeping it alive.

And thank you, Shakespeare & Company, for reminding us all that there really is at our core a spirit of generous, joyous grace that makes life worth living, and that need never die.

[Harvey Wasserman's History of the United States was published five years after his stay at Shakespeare & Company. He’s been writing and living that dream ever since. Read more of Harvey Wasserman's writing on The Rag Blog.]

The Rag Blog

[+/-] Read More...

26 July 2011

BOOKS / Thomas McKelvey Cleaver : Goodbye to the Joys of Browsing

Browsing: A dying art? Image from Herald Sun.

The dying art of browsing?
Saying goodbye to Borders


By Thomas McKelvey Cleaver / The Rag Blog / July 26, 2011

SAN FERNANDO VALLEY, California -- It was too bad to find out that Borders bookstores are closing. Granted, in the past year the Borders here has been a shadow of its former self, and it never was all that good if you compared it to the old Barnes and Noble stores that departed a few years back. But it was a bookstore that was local, and you could browse.

There is now no bookstore that even resembles that store here in the San Fernando Valley. There's a mystery bookstore all the way across the valley in Burbank, but when I called them they didn't have any Alan Furst novels and didn't even know who he was (a really cool Graham Greene sort of novelist who does fantastic World War II spy novels that are so historically accurate and so dramatically good they're a time machine to take you back to then).

But no more general interest stores, where you can go where your interest of the moment takes you.

I think bookstore and library browsing -- going looking for one thing, pulling out another book at random, and being interested enough to get it -- has probably been one of the most important things in my life, especially in terms of life-changing events.

I remember being age 10, at the Eugene Field Library in Denver, and being tired of what passed for "young adult" books, so I stepped around the corner and discovered Ray Bradbury and Isaac Asimov in the science fiction section. I read everything that was there.

Then I would go downtown to the main branch and browse there (what absolute fun: take the bus at 9 a.m. and spend the day in the stacks -- except when I'd go across the street to the Jewish delicatessen where I discovered the joys of corned beef sandwiches and pickles -- then come back home with my arms full of books).

I never knew what I was going to get until I found it there on the shelves. And thus began my self-education -- in spite of the public miseducation system.

Discovering Ray Bradbury? Image from Almightydad.

Thirty five years after that life-changing event, I met Asimov and Bradbury as an equal (well, an equal member of the Science Fiction Writers Association [SFWA]; I'd never categorize myself as their equal as a writer). I even told them how I first met them. Asimov gave me his fourth Foundation novel and inscribed it, "To Tom, our minds met long ago."

Just the other month, in our local Borders, I was looking through the military history section, and ran across a book with an interesting title, a book I hadn't even known would be there and wasn't looking for. I pulled it out, paged through it, read the introduction, thought it was interesting, and bought it.

Two weeks later I was friends with the author, who introduced me to his agent and publisher, and now my writing career has taken another big turn and I am writing a book I have thought of writing for maybe 20 years -- to be published later this year.

Nowadays, assuming a kid can even find a public library that's open, the librarians won't let 10-year-olds into "age inappropriate sections."

I'm sorry, but what passes for "progress" these days mostly isn't.

[Thomas McKelvey Cleaver is an accidental native Texan, a journalist, and a produced screenwriter. He has written successful horror movies and articles about Second World War aviation, was a major fundraiser for Obama in 2008, and has been an activist on anti-war, political reform, and environmental issues for almost 50 years. Read more articles by Thomas Cleaver on The Rag Blog.]

The Rag Blog

[+/-] Read More...

Only a few posts now show on a page, due to Blogger pagination changes beyond our control.

Please click on 'Older Posts' to continue reading The Rag Blog.