Mourning Borders

Image by rentvine.com/Dave Dugdale via Flickr

Truth Tuesday

When the news that Borders is closing all of its stores nationwide hit the wires, I was stunned. I knew that Borders had been having problems and had filed for bankruptcy, but I foolishly assumed it would all work out in the end. After all, Borders is one of my favorite places to go and get lost in my thoughts, how could that sanctuary just disappear?

As egocentric as that sounds, I am truly mourning the loss of Borders. The city in which I live really has no other bookstores of which to speak. When Borders opened here it was poorly received because many (if not most) of the small, independent bookstores around couldn’t survive the competition. In an ironic twist, there are almost no independent bookstores left to help me through the grieving process.

My Facebook page and my Google+ stream have been full of discussion about Borders closing and the reaction has been mixed. Many people, like me, are devastated to lose a brick and mortar bookstore. But just as many are touting this as the inevitable future in which we turn toward eBook readers and virtual browsing.

What I’m mourning isn’t just the loss of a brick and mortar bookstore, it’s the loss of a part of my childhood that, until now, I’ve been lucky enough to share with my children.

Ever since I was a child, the library and the bookstore have been my safe havens. I love the feel of a new book, the anticipation of reading something new and giving myself just a peek at the first page. I love the heft of the book in my hands and the smell of the paper. I love the physical search through book after book and shelf after shelf to find a story that looks interesting.

I remember racing to the bookstore after I’d getting my allowance for the week. For a few years, mostof the books I read were published by Apple Books, so recognizable by the apple on the top of the book’s spine. I walked up and down the aisles looking for that logo, knowing that once I found one I’d be lost in someone else’s world for a while.

I’ve passed that love on to my children. My older children spend hours wandering Borders, looking at publisher logos and thumbing though books. No matter how much I love my Kindle, none of us can have that experience while browsing virtually. We can’t sit amongst the stacks, letting the comfort of the pages drain away the stress of a tough day at work or a fight with a best friend.

As silly as it may be, I’m grieving those losses. I can see myself going through the 5 stages of grief.

I’ve been through denial (What? Borders won’t close!).

I’ve been angry (What are we going to do without Borders? They can’t do this!).

With the help of a possible deal with Books-A-Million, I’ve been through bargaining (You see, they’ll be a bookstore here after all!).

Now I’m moving past depression (No Books-A-Million? Well, that kills my hope.) into acceptance. 

We’ll just have to find new ways to have those physical experiences with books. We’ll go to the library more often or take road trips to the nearest Barnes and Noble. Books bring our family joy and we'll seek out that joy.

What brings your family joy?

 

Comments

[Eileen Fay]

I know just what you mean about libraries and bookstores. They were my havens as a child, too. (Even as a teenager and young adult.) I hate to see any of
them close, especially the smaller ones.

I was lucky to be able to read quite early, and the librarian in my small town let me take out more books than was strictly allowed because she appreciated my fervor. That smell of new book paper is wonderful, I agree.
I especially loved sitting in a tree or on a high, broad wall in a shady spot in the college town I moved to in my later childhood. The book and the semi-isolated setting let me go into the private magical world of whatever story I was reading. E. Nesbit, Edward Eager and C.S. Lewis were my favorites for many years.
Like you, I was able to bring my son into that world, too, at least until the teenage years. So he had a good grounding and loves reading to this day.
Thank you for sharing your feelings, with which I heartily concur.

[Amanda Morin]

Eileen, thanks for sharing your love of reading and understanding my feeling of loss.

Your story about the librarian reminds me of my childhood, too. I was a very early reader and would try to leave the library with stacks of books higher than I could see around. It got so overwhelming that my parents set a limit on the number of books we could take out.

I remember once saying to my sister "How many will they let us take out?" and the librarian who overheard reassuring us there was no limit. My sister promptly said, "My mom says more than 25 books are too many to keep track of."

That's what I want for my kids. A world in which they want too many books to keep track of or afford!

[Dave Dugdale]

I am so glad that you liked my Flickr photo so much that you included it on this page.

I enjoy when people use my photos that I work hard on, but as I noted on Flickr below each photo I let people use my photos on the condition that they provide me credit to my rentvine.com site.

Please add my link when you can.

[Amanda Morin]

Dave, sorry for the oversight and thank you for bringing it to my attention. I've made the correction. Thanks for a great photo!

[Rachel]

Thank you for writing this. I'm glad you are determined to keep up with your family's love of real books. I am too. I was so happy to have a Borders where I lived, especially after B&N closed a few years ago. They really are sanctuaries, like libraries --as you write. Places to melt away, disappear into...it was heartbreaking to wander around those stacks that had been such a glorious place and just see the shelves cleared out with clearance signs. In terms of the environment, ebooks have to be better. I don't read them, but I tell myself that as I go through those 5 stages of grief as well. Maybe it's part of denial. Losing a bookstore just feels so wrong.