Books Are Magic is 7

Yes, another birthday.

In truth, we opened a few days early, on Independent Bookstore Day, but May 1 was on the sign in the window. May 1! What a perfect birthday. It’s too close to mine, really, and too close to my usual pub dates, which means it’s always a hectic time of year, and we can never focus on anything, but sometimes that’s just how it is. Rather, I find that’s always how it is. Maybe there are some of you out there who know how to slow down, who plan things months in advance, who mark important dates in your lives with a carefully thought-out celebration. Not us.

If you look closely, you can see my face in the window. Was I ever so young? Was I so young only seven years ago? It seems that I was. I don’t remember feeling young, but I remember feeling like my energy was limitless, my excitement too, and maybe that’s the same thing. I didn’t know what I didn’t know, and I certainly couldn’t have imagined the years to come.

When I think about it now, here is what comes to mind: how exciting it was to build something that the neighborhood needed, how satisfying it was to use our skills (mostly my husband’s) in a new way, how fun it was to learn new things, and how kind everyone was to us—especially all the booksellers. When I’m lumped together with other booksellers nowadays, it’s usually Ann Patchett (the horror, to be lumped with my hero!) or now Lauren Groff (another horrible trial), other bookseller/author combo plates, but when I say booksellers, I don’t just mean them. We went to every store in Brooklyn and talked to the owners about what we were doing, what our hopes and dreams were, what we didn’t know. The Ripped Bodice sent us an Exacto knife bedazzled with our name on it. Booksellers from all over the city showed up on our first day. We felt welcome. Everyone missed BookCourt—I missed BookCourt, that was the whole point—and we were grinning fools, so happy to try. Our children were so small. Look how small.

There’s still a lot we don’t know, but we’ve been learning and evolving and growing since day one. I think what the store has forced me to reckon with is that change is the only constant. This is not something I enjoy—does anyone? I don’t know. The staff changes, the customers change, the space changes, the political environment changes, the world changes, we change, our children change, our parents change.

Here is a list of writers my father made for me before we opened, people he thought should be on our shelves. In case you can’t read his handwriting, here’s who is on the list: AS Byatt, Margaret Atwood, Robert Aickman, Bolano, Chandler, Crowley, Joe Hill, Alan Hollinghurst, somebody (!), Malcolm Lowery, Hillary Mantel, Ian McEwan, Brian Moore, Iris Murdoch, John le Carre. There are a few I can’t make out, but that’s life. What I like most about this list is that it’s clearly just my dad walking down his bookshelves. How can any of us remember anything without bookshelves? I certainly can’t.

This is a print that Jason Polan drew for us when we opened, from one of my all-time favorite books, Colson Whitehead’s The Colossus of New York. Jason died of cancer in early 2020, at age 37. I was 37 when we opened the bookstore. My personal skyline is full of things that aren’t here anymore—my father, Jason Polan, BookCourt, previous versions of Books Are Magic, even. That’s getting older in a place you love, full of people you love.

I guess what I’m saying is this—let’s all do all the good we can. Let’s read all the books we can. Let’s talk about them with our friends. Let’s wander through aisles—at my bookstore, or at someone else’s—and know that someone put those books there for you to find. That books matter, because they last, and because they are direct connections between your brain and someone else’s. I am really proud to have a bookstore, even though it’s been (by far) the most challenging part of my life. How long do any of us have on this planet? We don’t know. Take what is for you and leave the rest, just like the books on the shelf. It’s not about the ones you don’t love, it’s about the ones you do.