Bookshelf Porn: Lewes

Walking into a great bookstore is kind of like walking into a whore house (see note 1) . Paperbacks and hardcovers lounge on their shelves, their spines polished up and their titles gleaming, waiting for the next fool to passionately and reverently rifle through their pages. The Borders and Barnes & Noble types look clean, but they're too new. A used book, however, isn't afraid to show off its experience because it knows its good at what it does. As the prospective customer, it's more than a little daunting to be presented with such beautiful works; there are so many to choose from, but the money in your pocket says you can take only one home with you tonight. Sometimes you don't even wait until your home. And after every escapade, you are still left wanting to spend a little more time with Austen or Yeats. Next time you're in the area, you might just pick up a new favorite, or if you're lucky, two. 

The U.S. is too concerned with the new and modern to care for the independent book shop; and on top of that, it simply isn't old enough to have the sort of shop that makes me weak in the knees: musty, mysterious, and so-very-romantic. 

Lewes ("Lewis"), a small town very near Brighton, seduced me with its book stores. 

I fell in love in Lewes. 

Bow Windows Bookshop

Specializing in "old, find, and rare books," this store prides itself on being simple, yet very elegant. Bow Windows does sell more modern used books as well, but I was captivated by the shelves of "finer things." These books were particularly wonderful: richly illustrated children's stories from days gone by, cloth-bound texts with gold-ink cover art, and of course the always-alluring leather-bound beauties. Many of the books were first edition, or special edition, or rare in some other way I could not understand. Coupled with their splendid appearance, I was not surprised to find books in the price range of several hundred or even thousand pounds. A few highlights behind glass: The Complete Works of William Shakespeare in six handsomely leather-bound volumes from Houghton, Mifflin, and Co. 1883 (£575); Tolkien's The Hobbit, clothed in dark-green leather, first-edition, illustrated by the author, printed 1937 (£2,250); Milne's The House at Pooh Corner, first deluxe edition from 1928, signed by the author (£2,500); one of forty copies printed on [some sort of special paper] of The Diary of T.E. Lawrence (£3,750). 

The books were gorgeous, but it was a "look, don't touch," kind of place; or, rather, a "look, flip through the pages, see the price, put gingerly back on the shelf" kind of place. Bow Windows did inspire, however, a current desire of mine to be an antiquarian book connoisseur. 

The Fifteenth Century Bookshop

If you are wider than two feet or taller than six feet, you may never get into this store. Fifteenth Century is housed in a wonderfully restored beamed building dating back to (you guessed it) the fifteenth century. Unfortunately, due to the historically small door and the invading bookcases, it is quite difficult to enter such a building. As this store specializes in classic as well as modern children's books, I like to think the entrance serves to keep out grumpy, old grown-ups. 

Upon squeezing through the front door, I was confronted by more books than I would ever think could physically fit into the building. I would not be surprised if the place was held together by magic. Books were piled on every available surface, including tables, chairs, windowsills, and even bits of floor-space tucked into corners. The shelves were stuffed to burst. Most impressively, the front windows were absolutely packed with books without any regard for orientation or order. A sign politely asked customers to ask for help before picking a book out of the window-wall-o'-books because it was obviously created by a Tetris master, and only a Jenga master could successfully navigate the arrangement. None of the books in the store seemed to be organized beyond "children's fiction" and "not children's fiction," but I have no issue with that. This shop is strictly for browsing. 

The prices were very manageable--£2 for an old copy of Dahl's Matilda--but the shopkeeper (who was surprisingly stern-looking for such a child-friendly store) did not have enough change to break my tenner. So despite my long hour browsing through this wonderfully messy, claustrophobic bookshop, I yet again left empty-handed. 

A.Y. Cumming Antiquarian Bookshop

Small, warm, and intimate, this place made me feel like I was in a close friend's personal library. 

With floor-to-ceiling shelves filled end-to-end with beautifully antique and used books--and all other surfaces piled high with even more texts--there was surprisingly great variety in such a small shop. I found Einstein's Relativity, Tom Brown's School Days, The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, children's books, gardening guides, philosophy texts, history books, photography and art books, poetry collections. And of course, the classics flourished. 

I was also pleasantly surprised to find acceptable the price range ran. I found a carved-leather copy of Othello for £70. But I also found a battered copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare for four quid;  you better believe I bought that baby faster than you can say "Wherefore art thou, Romeo."

*Note 1: I feel I should state that a) I have never been to a whore house, and so this metaphor is based on speculation and romantic notions taken from literature; and b) I do not have a book fetish.

But here is a great website to look at more bookshelf porn!!!