65. Secondhand Bookshops

I was in Rye on Saturday afternoon - we had tea and cake (we never have tea and cake! But it was lovely) in an old Apothecary, then we went to Henry James' house, and by then it was 5pm and the shops in Rye were, firmly, closed. By chance, on one cobbled side street, we found a secondhand and antiquarian bookshop that was still open. Herself disappeared off somewhere while I stood and looked at the fiction. I found a couple of books by an author I have wanted to try (Barbara Pym) and felt that little fillip of pleasure that such finds always give me. The bookseller was very rude to a poor Frenchman who wandered in wanting books in French, and rather charming to me. She was Irish, and a Barbara Pym fan, so I had a couple of advantages I guess. She even took money off the books, which was unexpected.

It occurred to me that secondhand bookshops, and charity shop book sections, are of quite serious importance to my life. I haven't got the money to buy all the books I buy new (I'd have to be rich, rich, RICH) and I don't like buying them from Amazon even if they're a penny. Don't ask, I can't explain it. Books are a tactile pleasure. And I love the smell of bookshops, so it works with that sense, too. I think the joy of secondhand and charity shops comes partly from the handling, partly from the smell, and partly from the chance encounter - such as finding two Barbara Pyms. I store a list of books or authors I want to read in my head, and thus always have a reason for a quick look at the bookshelves. I also find books I might never come across in a 'new' bookshop, or the library, or on Amazon. I suppose even if Kindle kills the high street bookshop it will take a while for secondhand bookshops to go out of business. Won't it? Average life span for a woman these days is 80-something, so I've got 50-odd more years of secondhand book shopping to do. Will there still be secondhand bookshops in 2060? I suppose I'll have to run one. I'll sell stationery too. Perfect.

But the best secondhand bookshop in the world is, in fact, my mother's house. I suppose it's more like a library, really, because she makes me give the books back - although you'd think she'd be glad of the extra room my pilfering gives her.
E F Benson lived in Lamb House after Henry James, and his Mapp and Lucia novels are mainly set in Rye, so I was curious to have a read. There they all were, on Mother's bookshelves, along with one of the Barbara Pym's I spent money on...
It's like a big lovely bookshop just for me! And the booklender is lovely and very funny and chasteningly well-read so of course that's a huge pleasure in itself. Makes you think about genetics, doesn't it? I'm pretty sure my brothers can read, but they didn't get this gene. It's all mine to share with my parental booklender. Which is fine by me. Now, where did I put those books...