Old bookstores are always a haven for me in whatever city I visit, a sacred space full of light and wisdom despite their dinginess. I could say they are a spiritual refuge for me, especially if I’ve read or heard something significant about them. For example, when I went to Paris one of the first places I visited was Sylvia Beach’s Shakespeare & Company. It didn’t matter that it was in a different location from the original store, it still had a magical ambience, and I imagined the spirits of Joyce, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and so many other great writers hovering about there. Ditto for the Gotham Book Mart in New York City in its old location on 44th Street. When you go to these ramshackle stores crammed with books of every description, places that have played host to authors of the highest caliber, legends such as T. S. Eliot and Edna S. Vincent Millay, as well as countless others, you can’t help but feel some mystical vibrations as if the place were alive with their spirits. So feeling at home in the company of books and the spirits of their authors, I am comforted and buoyed up regardless of my state of mind upon entering. This sense of belonging simply doesn’t exist for me in today’s modern chain bookstores, which are so sterile in atmosphere that they could easily pass for a convenience store. No matter how hard they try to create the illusion of the “old fashioned” bookstore, it’s just not there, it’s not a living, breathing space but a warehouse with shelves loaded with merchandise.
Causes Anthony Maulucci Supports
Greenpeace, Amnesty Inernational, American Cancer Society, Red Cross, Save the Children