Mercer Street Books and Records

I found Mercer Street Books and Records, between Bleeker and Houston Streets, alarming when I first stepped inside. A small staircase leads down to a gigantic, overstuffed room, where if one person is looking at a book in an aisle, no one else can get by him. There are black and white postcards on sale for 75 cents at the entrance. Behind them, the walls, shelves, floor, and ceiling are all stark and gray.

But this all matters little; the store has an incredible selection, and makes the most of its space, even if it means giving up on less important things like neatness and feng shui. Fred Cisterna, a Mercer Street Books employee with unruly gray hair and black rimmed glasses, explained to me the different sections of the store.

“I would say it’s a general bookstore,” he said, “but the arts and design section sells well, and we also have a very strong fiction section.” The fiction section spread along most of the right hand wall, and consisted of most every writer I know to be great, plus a whole bunch I’ve never heard of, a combination which I think usually makes a solid selection.

“Our philosophy section also sells incredibly, when we have books, that is,” said Cisterna. “The shelves are like accordions; they get packed and jammed full, only to shrink back down again.”

Mercer Street Books also has a rare books section, in which prices vary from $25 to over a $1000, depending on whether the books are signed or how in demand they are.

“We check internet sites to see what other stores are selling,” said Cisterna, “but we also know our clientele, and we will pay a lot for a book if we know they’ll buy it quickly.”

On the floor in each aisle were crates filled with books, without any particular order or alphabetization, which made walking through the store even more difficult.

“There aren’t very many of us employees,” Fred said. I scanned the room, and realized he was the only one working. This is normal for some of the small bookstores I’ve seen, but definitely not for one this big and voluptuous.

“The owner needs to make a profit after all,” said Cisterna, “so he can only hire so many of us. The crates consist of books that should be on the shelves in any given section, and will be, once we get around to it.”

Cisterna, who was a little intimidating before I approached him, turned out to be kindly and intelligent. He works at the bookstore two days a week, and was vehement about me taking note that he was only an employee, not one of the owners.

“Not many NYU undergrads come in here, you know,” he said. “The professors do, and the graduate students do. Are you a graduate student?”

I told him I was a sophomore undergrad, and then I asked why he thought the store wasn’t popular with undergraduates, especially since it’s across the street from Coles Gym and right next to the Mercer building.

“You tell me,” he said, but I didn’t know what to say.

Book Book

Now that the weather has warmed up slightly, Book Book, on Bleeker Street between Leroy and Morton Streets, throws open its windows, which gives the front of the store an accordion shape as they all stand ajar in a row. Inside, everything is clean and beige, and lit by the sun.

The literature section, in the back right corner, has a lot of depth; there isn't a wide variation of authors, but the store has the complete works of each author they carry. It appeared as though one of the owners had taken all the books by their favorite authors and piled them horizontally on top of each other instead of vertically, so that they stuck out to the eye when scanning the shelves. The selected authors vary between classics like Faulkner, Dostoyevsky, and Nabokov, and more modern writers such as J.D. Salinger, David Foster Wallace and Haruki Murakami.

The store has a prodigious children’s section, which I haven't seen much of elsewhere. The history section is large and impressive as well. And I approve of any bookstore, like this one, that classifies Hunter S. Thompson as a historian. The sale books, on a cart outside, are all new and purchased at a discount from publishers who overstocked, said co-owner Charlie Mullen.

Mullen is a blue-eyed middle-aged man, friendly and mildly sarcastic. He told me all about the complex tribulations of owning a bookstore, most of which went over my head, but I gathered that it is not exactly a lucrative business. “I won’t be buying an island anytime soon," he said. Book Book sells only new books, which was a conscious decision on the part of both owners.

“Used and rare is a totally different type of book selling," said Mullen, "but there are ways to make money in it. I heard of a guy who found a Bible on the street and sold it for 100,000 dollars. Used bookstore owners stay in the game by dreaming about stuff like that, but it's not for me."

Until this past January, Book Book was named Biography Books and was located farther west on Bleeker, by 11th St. The store’s owners, Charlie Mullen and Carolyn Epstein, opened the store at its current location in September of 2009, and the two stores coexisted for a few months. Mullen said the move took place because their landlord did not renew the lease. "Magnolia Bakery opened, and then the Marc Jacobs store, and then it was off to the races,” he said.

He explained to me that once a lease expires, a landlord can hike up the rent price as much as she wants to, in the hopes that some expensive boutique will rent out the space. “Unless I was some sort of closet Rockefeller," Mullen said, "there was no way I was going to be able to stay.”

Mullen seemed cheerfully cynical about the entire situation. "I like the new environment actually," he said, "This neighborhood is much more like the old West Village I remember." He swept his hand around, motioning towards a cheese shop across the street. "And I've gotten to know some of the owners of these little shops, which is a nice change. It's not like Marc Jacobs ever stopped by to chat."

Bluestockings

The Bluestockings storefront, on the corner of Stanton Street and Allen Street on the Lower East Side, is marked by a small blue awning displaying the name in graffiti-type letters, with a green bench next to the door. Beside the bench, a small stand contains a few newspapers, such as The Indypendent, “a free paper for free people.”
From online information, I was under the impression that the full title of the store was something like “Bluestockings Radical Books,” but co-owner Kimmie David set me straight. “The name of the store is Bluestockings, one word, no spaces,” she said. “People like to add other adjectives to it, to define it, but we feel no great urge to do so.”
Bluestockings carries books unlike any other bookstore I’ve seen in the city. Their genre labels vary from US election politics to gay erotica to disability rights to New Left and Sixties literature. A focus on the political is immediately apparent, and Bluestockings gives no illusions of objectivity; I saw lots of Howard Zinn, and a whole section of books about how Bush stole the 2000 election.
The store is small and brightly-lit, but in no way overly packed; there’s a luxurious amount of walking space between each long shelf. Every book here seems to have been individually and lovingly picked, leaving room for posters and promotions.
Kimmie David is one of the six owners, which surprised me; she doesn’t look any older than I am, standing just over five feet in her neon dress and combat boots. She said that she graduated from Hunter College only a few years ago, and was asked to become one of the owners of Bluestockings after she volunteered there during college.
When I said I attended NYU, she pointed out the upper rows of the wall bookshelves, which hold books for college courses, mostly New School and NYU Gallatin. “Professors will come to us if they would like to support us rather than the college bookstore. We also bring books to campuses, for kids who don’t know their way around the city yet,” she said.
Bluestockings has readings almost every night, and there are also groups that meet monthly at the bookstore, including the Dyke Knitting Circle, which Kimmie said is always encouraging new members, regardless of anyone’s sexual orientation or knitting prowess. “I attend sometimes, and cross-stitch, to change things up,” she said. There’s also a cafe with coffee and pastries, all free trade and organic, of course.
Although fiction and poetry are clearly not the store’s biggest focus, I was fascinated by both sections. Every bookstore I’ve written on until now has had basically the same fiction section: lots of Beatnik writers, modern cult classics. No Beats here at Bluestockings, which I imagine is due to their infamous chauvinism. The store’s fiction and poetry is a multifarious collection, each book in some way controversial, most left-leaning but without any propaganda-like air. Some books by established authors were present, but never their famous work: Mark Twain was represented only by an illustrated copy of “The War Prayer,” an obscure anti-war parable published after his death. I found Bluestockings to have its greatest charm in that they sell books by authors and poets who haven’t made it yet, which makes the commitment to equality they advertise themselves as having all the more believable.

Alabaster Books

Silver dust bunnies frame the shelves in Alabaster Books, a tiny bookshop at the corner of 12^th Street and 4^th Avenue. The air is musty, the lighting is bad in an endearing sort of way, and there’s an impressive selection for such a small space.

The books are separated into basic genres, like history, literature, mystery, and travel. There’s also a New York section which has some books about the history of the city. I enjoyed the art section in particular, especially a photo book on the artwork of Gonzo journalism, which I plan to buy if I ever stumble upon 75 dollars.

Outside, shelves of $2 books stand in front of the windows to lure customers inside. These books are the store’s biggest sellers, according to manager Chris Cosgrove, but I was disappointed in their selection. I saw some legitimate history books, but nothing else worthwhile: Dr. Atkin’s New Diet Revolution, Gossip Girl: All I Want is Everything, and so on.

A shelf behind the desk is fancier and more intimidating than its dusty counterparts; the owner keeps rare and first edition books here. I won’t pretend to know much about first edition books and how expensive they should be, but I saw a man reserve a book that “had not yet been priced,” and watched him demand with particular zealotry that he be called as soon as the book was available for sale.

The store deals almost entirely in used books, which people sell to them on a walk-in basis. Cosgrove said the owner is not too particular, checking mostly whether the book is in good condition and would fit into one of their designated genres. The one customer I saw trying to sell a few of her books was rejected.

If Alabaster does buy a customer’s books, they pay in cash or store credit; those who choose store credit get twice as much money as those who choose cash, an ingenious way of boosting sales and encouraging readers. For those who sell their old books to make room for new ones, I’d recommend going to Alabaster.

The store is a three minute walk from The Strand, but has still been fairing well in the past few years. “We only have 1 or 2 miles, to their 18 miles,” said Cosgrove. “But I’d like to think we have a more nuanced selection.”

He mentioned the Beatniks and cult writers as his favorite assets to the store, the same crowd worshipped by most independent bookstores in the city, as I’m discovering. “We try to cater to the reading habits of New Yorkers,” he said.

Cosgrove, a blithesome young man with puffy hair and glasses, took on his post as manager two weeks ago. He previously worked at Skyline Books on 18^th street, which closed last month.

“I gravitate to work in bookstores,” he said. “I have humble needs and sitting at this desk provides plenty of time for reading and writing.” He ran his fingers along the art shelf to his left. “So far, I would say I like it here.”

St. Mark's Bookshop

St Mark’s Bookshop is a strange-looking building. This may be a symptom of its location, on Third Ave between 8th and 9th Streets, as the centerpiece of a triangle of land created by crisscrossing Stuyvesant St. The store inside looks like a lopsided trapezoid, but the designers made the most of the space; there are shelves everywhere, contorted at all angles to fit.
The front of the shop houses new releases, a large selection of critical theory books and some more unique sections, such as Folklore and Anarchism. A large black wall of periodicals stands in the back of the room, next to the sale section, which consists of mostly art books and biographies.
The shelves themselves resemble pieces of modern artwork. The books sit on rows of shiny black metal, held together by what looks like steel plumbing pipes. Each shelf has its own little ceiling, sheets of fogged glass held together by flaking gold bars. Every ceiling has three lights attached, illuminating the books below.
Getting further information about the store was a strain on my budding reporting skills; I’d hoped to interview the man behind the search computer, until I overheard him mutter a few expletives under his breath at a customer who bumped into a stack of periodicals, sending them sliding to the floor for him to pick up.
I spent the next half hour pacing around the literature section, terrified, but when I eventually dredged up the courage to approach Peter Riley at his computer desk, I discovered he was compassionate and helpful.
He told me that the bookshop stays open every evening until midnight, which draws a surprising amount of people because of the restaurants in the area, and also because not much else is open so late during the week.
“Usually we end up shooing people away,” he said. “There’s always a collective moan at midnight when the lights out go out.”
The shop has readings two Thursdays a month at Solas, a bar on 9th St. The authors that participate will often sign a batch of their books and donate to them to the store. Amazingly, the owners do not charge extra for these books. I was charmed by this blatant lack of marketing wisdom; it was totally egalitarian, like something a bookstore would do back in the Sixties maybe, but never today.
“We aren’t trying to scam anyone,” Peter said. “There are cynical people out there, and I’m sure a book or two of ours has ended up on Ebay, but what can you do?”
Peter also told me that when authors based in New York write new books, they will often come by and sign some for the store, even if they are not participating in a reading. The most recent author to do so is musician Patti Smith, who autographed her new memoir, Just Kids.
“Independent bookstores in this area used to be thriving,” Peter said. “Now we are one of the last ones standing. Most of these New York authors come by and sign their books for old times’ sake. They remember us at least.”

East Village Books

Erica Martin

Blog 1: East Village Books

99 St. Mark's Place (between Ave. A & First Ave.)

New York, NY 10009

(212) 477-8647

http://buyusedbooksnewyork.com/default.aspx

The door to East Village Books is red and crooked in its frame, with colored wood cutouts nailed to its front. The doorknob doesn’t turn all the way, so it’s a pain to push open. The store inside is long and skinny, with unfinished wood shelves along all the walls and down the middle of the room.

The books are organized by genre, including a section called “Anti This Establishment,” a jumbled collection of counterculture literature from the Beats to Lenny Bruce to Hunter S. Thompson. Donald, a longtime employee of the bookshop, calls this his favorite section because it holds books by Charles Bukowski, a writer who rarely appears in chain bookstores.

Donald is in his mid-forties, with glasses and a gray crew cut. He spoke in a rasp, and did not smile, but he was very talkative, and kept asking about the journalism program at NYU. He also introduced me to his son, a twelve year old boy sitting behind the desk, who did not look up from his computer.

“Karma,” Donald said, when I asked him why East Village Books has done so well for itself. “And location. We are also very aggressive in buying, and do our best to pay the most for your book.” East Village Books does pay well, but they only buy about one in fifty books that are brought to them.

“We don’t carry anything mainstream,” Donald said. “There’s no reason to. If people want the popular thing, they go to Barnes and Nobles.” He was right; I saw almost no recent bestsellers in the store, except a copy of The Nanny Diaries in the fiction section that seemed particularly out of place.

East Village Books deals often in estate libraries. They purchase books from poor old literature fiends who die and leave their libraries to relatives that don’t appreciate them. Donald showed me a collection they had just bought, a set of novels by all the classic authors; Dostoyevsky, Faulkner, Hemingway and the like. He expressed concern about whether they would sell. The books were bound in red leather with swirling patterns on the spine, the titles painted in gold.

“Those are beautiful,” I said.

“Yeah, I suppose they are,” said Donald. “But our philosophy books sell better.”

East Village Books also sells prints by Helmut Newton, a German photographer who apparently specialized in naked women. His complete works sells for $15,000, and the store sells individual prints for $100 each, which they bought from “some dead guy,” as Donald told me. He said that customers purchase the prints “not frequently, but often enough. A guy bought 7 prints once, and that really makes your day.”

The section of the store I found most intriguing is called “Backyard Books.” It’s a small outdoor area, behind a green door, protected from the elements only by a blue tarp. The books here are only a dollar or two. Some are useless; faded cookbooks with pictures of Martha Stuart looking about fifteen years old, and psychotherapy texts from the 1970’s. But I also saw some good novels, such as Vineland by Thomas Pyncheon, which were cheaper than I have seen them elsewhere.

Donald did smile once, as I said goodbye and shook his hand.

“Don’t let NYU get to you,” he said, as I struggled to twist open the door.

Introduction

I learned to crawl on the floor of a bookstore. My parents are literature fanatics, and from my infanthood onward they brought me from one used bookstore to another, often setting my brother and me down so they could frolic in another aisle. When they picked us up again, our little knees were ringed with gray dust. I don’t remember this myself, of course, but I’d like to think my fascination with books started there, on a bookshop floor. I’m writing this blog for people who see an independent bookstore not as a cheap place to buy textbooks or a cultural hangout for the hipster hierarchy, but as a haven for those who read.