“She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.”
I lived out in the Pacific Northwest for a while. Mostly I was in the SeaTac area, but I also spent some time in Olympia. I had heard of Powell’s prior to moving out there. I knew it was one of the very few bookstores that kept The Satanic Verses on it’s shelves despite the violence going on surrounding that book for a while. I also knew it was the largest independent bookstore in the world. My roommate in Olympia wanted to go do the nightlife thing in Portland one weekend, and I saw it as a perfect opportunity to get to Powell’s. We made plans to meet at x bar at y time while I went book shopping. At the time I was in my early twenties and had no extra money. Now I’m in my late twenties and I have a little extra money. I’m on the right path. So I took my hard earned $50 that should have gone to groceries before anything else, but was really designated for the bars and I went shopping.
I collect books. It’s not endearing, it’s a problem. It’s an addiction I use to prevent other potential addictions from taking place. It’s really just a crutch. I have a copy of East of Eden in Polish. I don’t speak Polish. German is next on my list but I have to fix my French first…Spanish is almost up to par, but I’ll probably never get to read my Polish edition of East of Eden. That is one example of my extremes here. I walked out of Powell’s that night with two bags. I wandered around Portland in the drizzle in the night looking for some bard I didn’t care about with an overwhelming urge to stop in a coffee shop and start reading. I’d like to settle in the PCNW someday. Probably Olympia, I liked it there. I’ve only been to Powell’s three times in my life, and if I end up in the PCNW again I’m going to have to try to keep that number on one hand or I need to buy stock in that place.
I can’t list all the books I bought there. Far too many, but I did find some cool editions of some of my favorite classics such as, Death in the Afternoon, and Brothers Karmazov. But I also found a little gem that is not well known, and by no means a classic, but a book I quite enjoyed called The Truth About Unicorns by Bonnie Reynolds.
“What dark and secret spell beguiled Oriskany Forks?Why did Crazy Lizzy paint her body with strange symbols? Who stole Cass’s newborn baby girl? Why did the round house have a windowless second story — and no way to reach it? Was the circular pit in the woods a meeting place for a witches’ coven? Who would believe there could be so much evil in such a pretty little town?”