The End of the Line

The death-throes of the York branch of the doomed 'Borders' continue. Just as a corpse is stripped by scavengers, the dwindling book-stock is getting shunted ever-closer to the front of the shop, leaving denuded shelves at the now-cavernous/cadaverous rear. Lurid posters and cards proclaim the escalating percentage of discount that can be expected and, sadly and ironically, the shop has never been busier. A game of 'spot-the-book' (see previous post), undertaken from the gallery of the in-store Starbucks is now no longer possible: the bookshelves below are now quite empty. Talking to the staff of that cafe (some of whom have been working there for ages) it would appear that they too are living on borrowed time. When Borders closes its doors for the final time (imminently, it would appear), they will all probably be without jobs, as the neighbouring branches of 'Bucks each have a full complement of staff, particularly as they have been doing some seasonal recruiting. I know a lot of people dislike the globalising and monopolising aspects of Starbucks, but to be quite honest, I much prefer going in one of their branches than a poky little independent cafe that sells indifferently brewed coffee and often less-than-fresh muffins. I know that wherever I find a Starbucks, I can get a decent cup of coffee.
Yes - I get all that about large chains squeezing out the independent trader, but in reality people like to go where the food and coffee is of a consistent quality (and if it isn't, make a fuss and you will get a free replacement and a voucher) and you can sit for hours chatting with friends or working on your laptop without feeling like you've outstayed your welcome. Although nearly all the people of the York Borders In-Store Starbucks are unknown to me by name, their faces and foibles have become familiar over the years. They feel like a community - one that is soon going to disperse. And that feels rather sad.
Where will we all go now for our rest and respite?
And yes, I have taken advantage of the liquidation discount - an Oxford World Classics copy of Boswell's 'Life of Johnson', a droll and mighty tome (as befits its subject) that I probably would not have otherwise purchased, and am currently enjoying as my bedtime reading matter.

I'll Be Damned...

I rather like the wall of black Penguin Classics in my local Borders book shop. They look....well....pretty serious and intriguing. I think Borders has a Bit of a Problem knowing what to do with 'the classics', be it either of the Aristotelian or the Brontean sort. They started off a few years ago with a pretty good collection of Greek and Roman stuff (better than Waterstones, which doesn't even have a Classics section), including a few Loebs (drool, drool), general histories and Classical texts (but only major authors) in translation, all arranged in broadly alphabetical order. It seemed to work quite well. 'Classic' authors like Tolstoy and Hardy could be found slotted into the fiction section where alphabetically appropriate. That seemed to work quite well too. Over the past few years there has obviously been a rethink and subsequent revamp, and all the works by 'classic authors' (be they 4thcentury BC or 19th century AD) were lumped together, the Oxford Classics translations cheek by jowl with the Wordsworth Classics (very cheap and not to be underrated- my Aeneid was more faithful to the Latin than quite a few others I could name!), the stark black Penguin Classics and the lurid lime green bargain classics (which i can't bring myself to look at). This motley assembly obviously offended whoever is in charge of the shelf displays, and more recently the books have been divided by publishing houses. The Oxford Classics now present a wall of white, with red tips (a bit bland); the Wordsworths - a wall of blue, with cute little cameo pictures on the spine; the lime green monsters just look hideous, but the Penguin Classics look sombre and studious and rather lovely. I like riffling through them for unknown (to me) gems, and it was this approach that led me to find and buy Huysmans' 'Against Nature' which I absolutely loved, enjoying every rich and bejewelled sentence. Last Friday, my duties discharged for the week, I took a copy of 'The Damned' up to the in-house Starbucks with the intention of leafing through it over a cup of de-caf Americano. But, as luck would have it WHO was sitting across the room from me but a priest acquaintance, who waved at me cheerily. Thinking that 'The Damned' was probably on the Index of Banned Books, and not wishing to give offence, I turned it over and covered it surreptiously with my copy of the Independent. So I did not get a chance to skim through it as I had wished.

I returned a few days later, however, and bought it, as the half-term holidays were coming up and I have the rare chance to read first thing in the morning for a week. I hope it will be as intriguing as 'Against Nature' - I've read a few online reviews and many of the people who 'get' Huysmans' writing (and there are many who complain that 'Nothing Happens' - well, duh!), rate it just as highly, and some even more so. He was such an encyclopaedically knowledgable writer. His discourses on the various topics within his books are fascinating lectures in their own right: I loved the chapter on the decay of Latin literature and envy his breadth of learning. Only this morning I read a wonderful description of the Grunewald Crucifixion.

Incidentally, whilst walking out of the book shop, who should I see walking in but my priest-acquaintance, who again waved cheerily at me. Fortunately I had my purchase secreted deep in my bag.