Not buying.
The other day, I was with Kouryou-chan and Omaha at Third Place Books, one of the most amazing bookstores in the Greater Seattle area. Situated at the north end of the city, Third Place is amazing not for its book selection, which is pretty large for an independent but it's no Powells. It might not even have the same selection as a Barnes & Noble. It's amazing for the surrounding food court, complete with a stage, at which local bands regularly appear to put on free concerts and generate huge attention among the crunchy granola set.
But while Third Place's book selection is average, it's SF selection is well informed. Rather than huge strips of boring media tie-ins, the SF section has small sections of cutting edge authors; this is the bookstore where Matter was on the shelves three weeks before the US release, and where copies of Rifters and Blindsight can still be found on the shelves. It's the kind of bookstore where someone puts little hand-written review slips under some books, slips indicating "Someone here actually read this."
And yet, despite my love of reading, I didn't buy anything. I found that amazing. For the first time in ages, I was in a great bookstore and left empty-handed. My to-read stack is full. I already have a half-dozen books yet to read, and I've gotten very tired of carrying dead tree editions. Heck, even though I bought Saturn's Children the day it came out I didn't read it until I procured an unlocked e-book edition that I could put on my Palm.
I don't know if that's a sign of maturity, economic wisdom, or just senility. Or if it's just sad.
But while Third Place's book selection is average, it's SF selection is well informed. Rather than huge strips of boring media tie-ins, the SF section has small sections of cutting edge authors; this is the bookstore where Matter was on the shelves three weeks before the US release, and where copies of Rifters and Blindsight can still be found on the shelves. It's the kind of bookstore where someone puts little hand-written review slips under some books, slips indicating "Someone here actually read this."
And yet, despite my love of reading, I didn't buy anything. I found that amazing. For the first time in ages, I was in a great bookstore and left empty-handed. My to-read stack is full. I already have a half-dozen books yet to read, and I've gotten very tired of carrying dead tree editions. Heck, even though I bought Saturn's Children the day it came out I didn't read it until I procured an unlocked e-book edition that I could put on my Palm.
I don't know if that's a sign of maturity, economic wisdom, or just senility. Or if it's just sad.