The Bookish Pacific NorthWest

San Diego might just be the worst major city in these United States for book lovers. I haven't visited San Antonio, Houston or Dallas, so perhaps Texas might trump my glittering city on the Pacific (and I suspect Phoenix is probably even worse, but since I don't actually consider Phoenix to be a major city, I've left them out of the equation), but I'm just going to whine in my chains and be frank. Warwick's up in La Jolla is a decent store, with an especially nice selection of Taschen releases and pricey coffee table books, but it's far from being especially notable (plenty of towns with populations under 50,000 in the Midwest boast similar stores). Hillcrest has two used bookstores across the same street from each other that are noteworthy, although BlueStocking Books is the only one I really frequent. And aside from a few others scattered across our sprawling urban core, I think that's pretty much it. I'm not including Borders or Barnes and Noble, temples to kitsch and overpriced bran muffins. Perhaps it's due to a four month stint I did at an Albany, NY Borders store, but I like to think of that place as where book lovers go to have a good cry.

There's always Amazon, of course, but I'm the type of guy addicted to the art of the browse, where one accidentally stumbles across some item or two (or five) that one didn't even know existed but that suddenly deserves a place on the bookshelf. Browsing is a dangerous art, especially for those like me who refuse any effort at labelling, pigeonholing or specialization. Marxist thought? 1970s T-shirt design? Food dehydrating? Serbian literature? Hell, yes.

So, when my road travels take me north of the Bay Area, I always set aside some car space and bank account funds for stocking up on the great world of literature supported by the good folks of Northern California, Oregon and Washington, the non-sun people who recognize a good cup of joe, a solid pint of beer and a world-class non-chain bookstore when they see one. I missed San Francisco this time around (sorry, City Lights!) to make a stop in Sacramento, but from Corvallis, OR on, it was bookworm time. At the risk of simply compiling a shopping list from my week in the NW, I thought I'd make a quick inventory and celebrate three fantastic businesses helping to keep literacy alive and functioning in the drizzly parts of this great land.

Left Bank Books, Seattle

Mere steps from Pike Place Market, this slightly cramped, two-story anarchist bookstore carries items ranging from classic fiction to small-run political theory screeds printed on thrice-recycled wood pulp. I make a beeline for it whenever I'm in the area. Excellent choices abound along their new releases/arrivals shelf, but the entire store is a blast for browsing. I twice ducked inside during this recent visit, and helped liberate the following items....

Los Angeles; The Architecture of Four Ecologies, by Reyner Banham (epochal 1971 study of the built environment of L.A., including explorations of the four distinct "ecologies" of the region - beach, freeways, flatlands and foothills)

Climate Refugees, by Collectif Argos (examines nine population centers in which global climate change is disturbing and will disturb local livelihoods)

The Literary Conference, by Cesar Aira (tiny pocketbook fiction from Argentinian author, examining a translator fallen on hard times seeking global domination through a clone of Mexican author Carlos Fuentes. I'm not quite sure I get it either)

The Coming Insurrection, by The Invisible Committee (notorious textual statement from French ultra-left group, eventually seized as evidence in terrorism trial. Pen mightier than the sword and all that)

Mama, Is It Summer Yet? by Nikki McClure (over sized children's book featuring cut-paper illustrations helping to explain growing seasons and counsel patience for blooms)


Elliott Bay Book Company, Seattle

Having pulled up stakes from its old location in Pioneer Square, I finally tracked down the new Elliot Bay Book Company high above in Capitol Hill, and although the walk was rather far from my hotel, I admit the new location seems better suited for the business, nestled in among coffee shops, hip record stores, and the constant foot traffic from the nearby community college. While parts of the store remain under construction, it retains the same multi-level, pleasantly-wooded layout that has made it such a favorite. After such a long walk, I decided to go to town.

The Book of Fathers, by Miklos Vamos (most accomplished novel of this contemporary Hungarian writer, chronicling 300 years and 12 generations of his fellow countrymen)

Desert America; Territory of Paradox, by Actar Press (photo-heavy exploration of "the alternate American desert" of a supposedly empty territory turned over to visions of excess (Las Vegas), the sublime (Grand Canyon) and technological apex (weapons research) - a heady fever dream of our most least understood landscape)

Wall and Piece, by Banksy ("portfolio" of sorts of one of our greatest living artists, who just happens to work in the realm of graffiti and public walls, and who lists the amount of time each artwork lasts before being dismantled or painted over by the authorities. Tremendous stuff)

Bookhunter, by Shiga (graphic novel detailing the adventures of a book detective/bounty hunter employed by the Oakland Public Library. All librarians deserve a copy)

Hocus Bogus, by Romain Gary writing as Emile Ajar (new translation of playful meta-fictional work by a late French master working under a pseudonym)

Ten Walks / Two Talks, by Jon Cotner and Andy Fitch (tiny poem book that re-imagines the journals of Japanese poet Basho as two men exploring the landscape of 21st century Manhattan)

The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis (compact yet hefty collection of contemporary short story master Davis, who often requires little more than a few sentences to construct her tales)

Skylark, by Dezso Kosztolanyi (obscure 1920s novel from the former Austro-Hungarian empire, detailing how the parents of "unintelligent, unimaginative, unattractive and unmarried" daughter Skylark discover themselves when she leaves for a one week vacation)

The Book of Ebenezer La Page, by G.B. Edwards (only published novel by British civil servant, released posthumously, examining the memories of a man willingly exiled to the Isle of Guernsey, thereby becoming neither a part of Britain or France but something in between)

The Giant Jam Sandwich, by John Vernon Lord and Janet Burroway (wonderful 1970s children book I recall well from Neenah Public Library days, in which an infestation of mosquitoes leads a small village to create a sticky trap of jam and bread)

Slow Loris, by Alexis Deacon (uproarious children's book of a zoo-dwelling slow loris (primitive member of the primate family) who bores visitors with sloth-like activity but achieves astonishing heights of activity come nightfall)


Powell's City of Books, Portland

Last, certainly not least, P-Town's monument to all things bound and printed, visited twice during our less-than-twenty-four-hour stay in America's most European city. On my second visit, determined to merely browse, I left my wallet safe in the hotel room - a fail safe plan.

Poem Strip, Dino Buzzati (groundbreaking 1960s graphic novel from uncategorizable Italian avant-grade artist and writer, a visionary tour of a make-believe street in Milan)

The One-Straw Revolution, by Masanobu Fukuoka (1970s Japanese rejection of modernized agribusiness from a farmer/intellectual credited as an early spokesperson for the alternative food movement)

Nox, by Anne Carson (book-object poem-thingy, made from an original art work created after the death of Carson's brother - photos, cuttings, scraps, dissections of Catullus' Poem No. 101, all in folding-out accordion paper)

Bonsai, by Alejandro Zambra (Chilean novella, of love occurring between two people, one of whom vanishes, the other of whom pretends to edit a book that doesn't exist. Latin American lit - the wave of the future)

Another Science Fiction; Advertising the Space Race 1957-1962, by Megan Prelinger (glorious visual tour through American ad design pushing the limits of science and presenting the farthest reaches of space and the unknown as just another zone ready for Yankee can-do optimism and real estate ventures)

Roadside America; Architectural Relics from a Vanishing Past, by John Margolies (typically lovely Taschen art book featuring the photographs from the vast Margolies collection, of the over sized kitsch and architectural quirks sprinkled along the nation's many byways. Some I've even seen myself)

The River Cottage Preserves Handbook; The Dehydrator Cookbook; Complete Book of Small-Batch Preserving; The Fruit Expert; Fruit Trees/Fresh Berries (self-explanatory, and much-needed)

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Careful readers may have noticed the presence of several children's books scattered throughout my selections of Latin American fiction and political theory. While this has absolutely nothing to do with my recent coursework in Youth Services and Programming (far from it), it does have everything to do with an upcoming event I'm only recently beginning to announce and that will hopefully arrive sometime in the middle of December 2010. It may be somewhat early to start collecting children's books so many months out, but I'd like to be ready. If you think I'll be relying on television programs to sharpen young minds and teach vocabulary, you've been reading the wrong blog. Onward we go.