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A review by lilrusski
The Diary of a Bookseller by Shaun Bythell
4.0
it has been said in several pieces i’ve encountered of late that there is no reason to rationalise why something appeals to one’s nature. when you contemplate a painting, it inspires something profound within you, but there is no pinpointing what in particular arouses this feeling. it is the overarching concept rather than the singular detail which inspires awe and remains imprinted upon the mind’s short-term memory. the same is true for this book, overflowing with small town charm and amusing anecdotes from a cynical bookseller who proudly hung an amazon kindle he’d destroyed by way of shotgun.
shaun bythell, accompanied by jehovah’s witness nikki who perpetually wanders into the shop late for shift with a snack scavenged from a bargain bin, runs scotland’s largest second-hand bookshop, purchased on a whim from an ageing partner in polite conversation. the diary chronicles a year of his life and documents the online as well as in-person sales of the various books from his inventory, ranging from ‘70s erotica to train catalogues (apparently lucrative sales!).
i picked this up in florence on a quiet and idyllic getaway from the tumult of a capriciously loud life. the margins are overflowing with personal anecdotes i found myself sharing with bythell as we looked back on our impressions of the books we picked up from various second-hand shops (in his case, his own) on a pure readerly instinct. the pages fly by, as does the time with a book that enwraps you in warmth as a stone-pit fire on a bitterly stormy night.
— full review @grandepoque instagram!!
shaun bythell, accompanied by jehovah’s witness nikki who perpetually wanders into the shop late for shift with a snack scavenged from a bargain bin, runs scotland’s largest second-hand bookshop, purchased on a whim from an ageing partner in polite conversation. the diary chronicles a year of his life and documents the online as well as in-person sales of the various books from his inventory, ranging from ‘70s erotica to train catalogues (apparently lucrative sales!).
i picked this up in florence on a quiet and idyllic getaway from the tumult of a capriciously loud life. the margins are overflowing with personal anecdotes i found myself sharing with bythell as we looked back on our impressions of the books we picked up from various second-hand shops (in his case, his own) on a pure readerly instinct. the pages fly by, as does the time with a book that enwraps you in warmth as a stone-pit fire on a bitterly stormy night.
— full review @grandepoque instagram!!