On Reading...

When I lived in Maryland I found a used bookstore—actually a used book room two flights up, and three doors down a narrow corridor. The first time I entered and found a maze of discarded boxes filled with books, tottering bookshelves, a desk piled high with books, magazines and notes and a musty aroma—I started to leave.

"Where are you going? "
"Every reader finds himself or in your case herself. I do hate to change the words of Proust."

Evan introduced himself with those words.

Over the next three years we became friends. I bought forty year old poetry books for their original prices, gave him my old mystery collection in return for a leather bound Ruskin.

"I'll turn a profit on these."

A number of people who relished the search stopped in to see what was new. New items started out in a large milk crate and when he had time they might be shelved.

Jason, someone I often met on Saturday morning, kept a list of Howard Haycraft's great mysteries—folded in eighths and with check marks next to items he owned. He wanted to collect old mysteries and no one knew the pre '50s better than Haycraft. (The list—mysteries from 1748-1952)was updated by Ellery Queen, but Jason only collected the books on Haycraft's original list.)

When I moved to New England Evan gave me a gift— two pages from an old children's reader and reminded me that the writer needs a reader or the words die.

I gave Jason my used copy of Arthur B. Reeve's The Silent Bullet.

If you're interested in the list: Haycraft's List of Mysteries

After taking the photo I wrote about reading on my blog:My blog piece on reading—