A Very Special Independent Bookstore in St. Helena

(NOTE: Apologies to those of my Facebook friends who also read this blog; you may have already read a version of this story a couple of days ago on FB. This is the first time I have “cross-posted”!) During a very recent short outing to St. Helena, in the Napa Valley, I stumbled across a wonderful small independent bookstore, Main Street Books. It sells new and used books, and despite its small -- actually tiny -- size, has an extensive and very well curated selection. I was browsing, and the person working there (I think she is the owner) was very helpful in answering questions and finding books for me. Her depth of knowledge about books in general, and about the specific books in her store (she seemed to know practically every book, and where it was shelved), was obvious and impressive. We had a great conversation about books, women authors, reading habits, and other book-related topics. And when I was about to pay for the two books I chose, she said that she wanted to give me one of them, because she loved the author (Nina Bawden), had had the book a long time without anyone choosing it, and was glad it had finally found someone interested in reading it. This experience reminded me, yet again, of how important and special independent bookstores are. Apparently, from what I read online about the bookstore after I got home, it is a longtime and well-loved St. Helena institution; I hope it will be there giving readers pleasure for many, many more years!

My Very First Kindle

The Kindle e-reader was first sold in 2007. Stephanie Vandrick bought her first Kindle in 2019. Yes, 12 years after the Kindle’s arrival, and way after most of my family and friends did so, I finally did what I had resisted doing for a long time. At first I resisted adamantly, on the grounds that I want to hold and read books only in their original paper form. Then gradually I resisted less adamantly, for two reasons. First, I began to be slightly persuaded by my daughter and others who spoke of how convenient e-readers were, especially for travel. And second, I knew that it was probably inevitable that at some point I would give in and buy one, and I didn’t want to be too embarrassed by having to eat my words. The event that convinced me to get the Kindle, finally, was that I was invited almost a year ago by my editor, at a press I have published with in the past, to contribute a book to a new and innovative series that will be available only as e-books. This series will be inexpensive and accessible to more academics and students around the world in our field of English language education. While writing the book (still in process), I suddenly realized (I can be slow to put two and two together sometimes!) that in order to read my own book and others in the series, it would be quite helpful to have an e-reader myself! It turns out that I could download e-books on my laptop as well, but I decided that this was the time to finally take the plunge and buy a Kindle. After a quick survey of friends about which type I should buy, I purchased one. I can’t say I am totally taken by it; I am still very much wedded to the traditional hard copy. But after reading a few books on the Kindle, I somewhat begrudgingly understand its value. I can’t imagine, though, that it will ever become even close to my primary mode of reading. But I won’t say this too strongly, because what I have learned is to “never say never.”

"Henry, Himself," by Stewart O'Nan

Stewart O’Nan is one of my most-admired contemporary writers, a true student of human nature. My favorite book by him is “Emily, Alone,” about which I wrote here on 5/17/11. His new novel, “Henry, Himself” (Viking, 2019) is also a masterpiece. This novel is a prequel to “Emily, Alone,” depicting the life of Emily and her husband Henry before he died. Henry is a sort of Everyman who lives in Pittsburgh, is an engineer, and tries to live an honorable life. He is somewhat limited in his thinking at times, but is (usually) self-aware about his limitations, and tries to overcome them. He does his best at work and at home, and as he ages, wonders if he has done the right things in life. His style, and the style of the writing, is plain, simple, and understated. It is through the abundant small details, the descriptions of the routines of Henry’s life, that we build up a picture of him and other men of his type. This novel reminds me of Evan Connell’s “Mr. Bridge” and of John Williams' “Stoner.” The main characters in all three novels are somewhat trapped by society’s expectations of men, and all three characters stolidly and without drawing attention to themselves try to fulfill those expectations. They are all flawed but good men. I highly recommend this novel.

"At the End of the Century: Stories," by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala

I have been drawn to Ruth Prawer Jhabvala’s fiction for many years (actually decades) now. One reason is her identity as a Polish/German woman who married an Indian architect and lived much of her adult life in India (although she also later lived elsewhere, most notably New York City); thus she is one of those insider/outsider people who are so interesting to me, and who are representative of so many people in the world. And there is the India connection; as regular readers of this blog know, I spent much of my childhood there. She also wrote screenplays adapting such wonderful novels as “Howards End” and “A Room with a View” for films that were produced and directed by the famous team of Ismail Merchant and James Ivory. These three were wonderful collaborators and friends, even living in the same Manhattan apartment building for many years. Of course the main reason I appreciate and enjoy Jhabvala’s fiction so much is that it is very, very good. I just read “At the End of the Century” (Counterpoint, 2017), a collection of many of her short stories published over the years, some in periodicals such as the New Yorker, and some in earlier story collections. The author died in 2013, and her family chose the stories (among the many she had published) for this posthumous collection. The settings for the stories are in various areas of Europe, India, and the United States; the main characters are often travelers between countries and cultures. Each story is compelling, and the author’s knowledge of and portrayals of human nature are impressive. The collection is further enhanced by its thoughtful introduction by the (also excellent, also one of my favorites) writer Anita Desai (who, too, has a mixed identity and has lived in various countries including India). Desai notes some very insightful descriptions of Jhabvala by various writers: Caryl Phillips said that “she was postcolonial before the term had been invented,” and John Updike called her “an initiated outsider.” And the author, a Jewish refugee from Europe, said about herself, “Once a refugee, always a refugee” who was “a chameleon hiding myself in false or borrowed colors.” For anyone who is interested in insider/outsider/refugee/mixed identities, and who at the same time loves wonderful and revealing literature, I highly recommend Ruth Prawer Jhabvala’s novels and short stories. This volume is a good place to start.

"Joy, and 52 Other Very Short Stories," by Erin McGraw

The pleasures of short stories include the compacting of plot, character, and themes into a small space (compared to the luxurious open spaces of novels). I love novels most of all, but I also have a very real appreciation of short stories, especially collections of stories by one author, as there are often connections among the stories, even if not explicit. Now imagine compacting short stories even further, into “very short” stories, as Erin McGraw has done in her new collection, “Joy, and 52 Other Very Short Stories” (Counterpoint, 2019). The stories are mostly between three and five smallish pages long. Readers get a clear sense of the characters; there is always a defined and intriguing plot; there are compelling themes; the language is carefully chosen and very effective, sometimes even lyrical; and we readers finish each story with satisfaction. One of my favorite things about these stories is the way a critical plot point or character revelation often appears in one sentence, just when and where one does not expect it. The stories often engage with social class, in that they mostly reveal the lives of people who are getting by, but just barely – working class people, or people who have somehow gotten off-track. There is often a feeling of despair, or of reluctant resignation. One aspiring songwriter concludes, in the brilliant but sad story with the brilliant but sad title “Nobody Happy,” that “My talent is a kid with his nose flattened against the toy-store window, wanting what he can’t have.” But there are moments of happiness, as in the story “Joy,” where the character writes that “These times come for no reason and too rarely, days and evenings that quiver like a bee’s wing…Nearby, a bobwhite whistles, and my skin wants to dissolve and let something pure slip free.” But then the character tells us, in a flat, straightforward voice, all the ways in which her life has been hard and disappointing. The concluding sentences capture the complexities of grief and joy: “Maybe this is grief. Who cares what we call it? Joy comes in waves, and will not hear no.” This story collection is full of insights, sad moments, jolting truths, and, yes, at times, joy.

Local Bookstore News

An article in the 5/25/19 San Francisco Chronicle tells of a new, smaller, “more focused” Barnes and Noble store opening in Concord in the East Bay (of the San Francisco Bay Area). I never thought I would be glad to see another chain bookstore opening; when Barnes and Noble, as well as Borders and other chains, expanded rapidly, they drove out many independent bookstores, to my dismay and that of other readers. Eventually, Amazon, in turn, drove many chain bookstores out as well, even completely vanquishing the Borders behemoth (which I loved way back when it was one very special store in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where I visited it from time to time when visiting my good friend M. in Ann Arbor). But eventually I realized that it was better to have chain bookstores than no land-based bookstores; I also realized that although I live in an area with many independent bookstores, many other readers do not, so it was selfish of me to deprecate chain bookstores. Well, the landscape keeps changing. Barnes and Noble still has 627 stores in the United States, and now it is opening these new smaller stores, like the one in Concord, hoping for them to become community centers as many independent bookstores are. And in the best bookstore news of all, the Chronicle reporter Shwanika Narayan tells us that independent bookstores continue their recent comeback; the number of such bookstores in the United States “increased 50% between 2009 and 2019, from 1,651 to 2,470.” Hurray! (But, showing that we can never relax or celebrate too much, I just heard – after writing this post but before posting it – that the Sausalito store in our much beloved very local and very small “chain,” Book Passage, is about to close. It is disappointing and sad news.)

"Out East: Memoir of a Montauk Summer," by John Glynn

Readers of this blog may remember that I am easily seduced by books about beach towns on the East Coast, especially those on Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket, Cape Cod, and the like. So when I saw the book “Out East: Memoir of a Montauk Summer”(Grand Central, 2019), by John Glynn, I was sold. The only thing that stopped me from checking it out of the library, just for a minute, was – being honest here – that it was by a male author; most such books are by women. But I quickly got over that. In fact, I read the whole book in a four-hour sitting (OK, the last two hours I was lying in bed). The book, as the title says, is a memoir, rather than the usual novels in this genre. (Yet another memoir, like the last three posts here! But very different than two of them in that it is about a fairly privileged, young white man, in contrast to the two memoirs about young African-American men who, despite their talents and ambitions, have had to struggle with racial discrimination.) It has some of the same elements as the aforementioned summer/beach novels: many scenes at the beach, in beach houses, and at bars and restaurants. There are also a few scenes “back home” in New York, but even those scenes are filled with thinking about, planning for, and talking about one’s time in the beach town. Montauk is, as the book helpfully explains for those of us (let’s say, those of us who live on the West Coast) who know the mystique of the place but are a bit unclear on its actual location, on Long Island, a sort of extension of the fabled Hamptons. The author, Glynn, is a man in his mid-twenties, loving living in New York as he starts his career and life there. He is thrilled to be invited to join in on a “share house” in Montauk, where some old friends (mostly from his Boston College days) and many new ones have an elaborate schedule of who can be there which weekends (eight weekends per guest) and holidays, along with a list of fees, rules, responsibilities, and room assignments. I can summarize the share house participants’ activities in Montauk as follows: going to the beach, eating, drinking, partying, and hooking up with various others in the house or that they meet in bars. I must say -- not judging but just observing -- that a huge part of the book has to do with the constant drinking. Glynn is in heaven; he loves the people, the partying, the feeling of belonging. But he is also lonely because he doesn’t have a partner. Although many of the house members are gay, Glynn sees himself as straight. However – and readers can see this coming a mile away, so I am not giving away suspenseful plot points – he falls for a male housemate, and realizes that he is either gay or bisexual. The setting in Montauk becomes the context for Glynn to finally confront his own sexuality. Glynn writes well about the experiences of being a house sharer, and more generally about being a young person starting off his adult life. He also writes well about his gradual understanding of his true self. The author interweaves these aspects very well. He is in essence taking a generally lightweight (but great fun to read) genre and delicately infusing it with important life realizations.