There is no peace between the oldest bookshops. Secondary vendettas spring up like weeds in old brickwork, breaking down the mortar of commerce and bringing trade to a halt.
The malaise spreads. Independent sellers of the written word, their windows festive with colours, covers,
The malaise spreads. Independent sellers of the written word, their windows festive with colours, covers,
look up from inventories, setting aside self-help guides and historical murders, children’s epics, celebrity biographies, shattering own-voices accounts and gleeful, winking satires.
The muttered chant of internecine antiquarian war draws them in and binds them. They are without
The muttered chant of internecine antiquarian war draws them in and binds them. They are without
blame; we are surrounded by gilt.
Enter the High Priest of the High Street. ‘Trial by Water! Trial by Stone!’ it commands, and two by two, and three-for-two, and two-for-one, and on and on the rituals bleed out booksellers, and peasants in barns and nobles in castles
Enter the High Priest of the High Street. ‘Trial by Water! Trial by Stone!’ it commands, and two by two, and three-for-two, and two-for-one, and on and on the rituals bleed out booksellers, and peasants in barns and nobles in castles
listen to the whispers of their profits, rushing headlong to the bottom line, trending towards zeroes from opposite directions.
Face of Dagon, face of Leviathan, opposing ends of the same great Beast, slouching towards Bethnal Green to be delivered, wearing a twisted grin.
Face of Dagon, face of Leviathan, opposing ends of the same great Beast, slouching towards Bethnal Green to be delivered, wearing a twisted grin.
We need not speak its name. It already hears too much.
But listen:
In the darkened warehouses of the unsold and unsouled, the remaindered books pile up, a thousand stories high. Give them time. Time, and pressure, until the words drip down and settle in layers.
But listen:
In the darkened warehouses of the unsold and unsouled, the remaindered books pile up, a thousand stories high. Give them time. Time, and pressure, until the words drip down and settle in layers.
One day, the embattled booksellers will tap those fields of forgotten words and rediscover the currency of exchange: food for thought. Old grudges will be laid aside and new, better grudges sought.
Together, we will set the stationery world turning again.
Together, we will set the stationery world turning again.
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