One of my favorite pastimes used to be hunting through used bookstores, looking for old, out of print, hard to find things and then adding them to my collection. Finding ancient pulp science fiction, or scholarly editions of books, or various anthologies and collections that were otherwise impossible to get was so much fun. There were many of these stores to choose from on Long Island when I was in college in the 90s. Even up until the past few years I still spent time at our local used bookstore in Poughkeepsie, a place called the Bookworm, where I found some amazing rare things and always came home with something fun to read. I’ve also had a lot of success with thriftbooks, alibris, and abebooks in finding books I want, but browsing online is not as fun as wandering around an old bookstore, the best of which always had a sleepy cat lying atop the shelves and a friendly face behind the counter eager to make recommendations.

Sadly, the Bookworm closed a few years ago. I guess there isn’t enough money in selling used paperbacks anymore. In retrospect, I suppose it was a miracle that the placed survived as long as it did. Now we have one used bookstore in town, an annex to our library. (Libraries are a whole other matter. I deeply love them, and as a librarian I am so grateful they were created, in a less cruel, less profit mad age, when the public good was still of importance. I don’t know that we’d be able to set up such a socialist, free model today, but that’s another story.) It’s nice to have that library bookstore, and I am glad it helps support our library, but it’s not the same. I have lately noticed folks browsing the shelves with apps, checking prices, leaving the place with armloads of things. It doesn’t seem to me like they want to read these books, but re-sell them. The books at this store usually cost fifty cents or a dollar, and I guess on ebay you can make a small profit from that. I don’t blame people for doing this, it’s an easy way to make some money and the economy is not good.

But I miss bookstores, the way they used to be. We have a Barnes and Noble in town, and it’s ok, I guess, but it seems more interested in selling lattes and stuffed animals and calendars than books, which take up a smaller section of the floor every year. I miss those overstuffed bookshelves, teeming with classics, filled with possibilities. I miss people perusing the shelves and chatting about authors, rather than staring at phones.

Lately when I go to a bookstore, I have an overwhelming feeling of sadness. I am not sure why. Partly it’s because I have some nostalgia for my youth, but I think it’s also because I am worried we’ve entered a post-literate society. Look around at the public discourse. It ain’t pretty. When people are unable to concentrate on complicated ideas, when they can’t form logical thoughts, when they forget or never learned how to read, we’re in deep trouble. Just look at our last leader, a man who probably never read a book in his life.

To bookstores and booksellers. May they last forever.