Little bookshops make my heart skip a beat, in a really good, romantic and goose-bumpy way. The problem is there aren’t that many mom & pop bookshops around anymore. Between the big box stores, internet mail order and eBooks, commerce and technology have done away with the dusty shelves and lovely scent of musty “vanilla-ish” paper in the air. By the way, this distinct aged paper smell was actually analyzed by scientists and found to be the result of hundreds of “volatile organic compounds” (aka VOCs) sent into the air from the paper. Knowing there is a scientific explanation takes away from some of the romance of it all, I realize, but it’s still pretty cool.
Last spring, I had the tremendous pleasure of popping into a book shop called Jarndyce Booksellers, located at No. 46 Great Russell Street, in London. Already a bit swoon-y from the company I was keeping and the idea of the incredible gift I’d been given (passport and transport across the pond, for goodness sake), I opened the narrow door to this beautiful postcard-worthy, picture-perfect hunter green book shop and willingly filled my lungs with volatile organic compounds. It was a magnificent collection, with books and pamphlets in every nook and cranny and just enough dusty spots to feel antiquated, but not dirty (an art I am still trying to perfect in my own home). According to their website, the building was constructed in the 1730s and given a facelift by the Duke of Bedford in the 1850s. Randolph Caldecott, the 19th century illustrator, lived and worked on this very spot (if you didn’t know, the Caldecott Medal is the annual award given to the most distinguished American picture book for children). The building is also reported to be haunted, but having just arrived from Los Angeles that very afternoon, I believe I was too tired to give a hoot and aboot, even if a vaporous Scotsman in a diaphanous kilt had been leaning over my shoulder.
