Today, I have encountered a really really really interesting book named The Bookshop book by Jen Campbell, in which the author collected funny quotes from bookshops in every (not really but many) corner of the world. Quotes are between Booksellers and their customers. At first it appears to me to be a funny book-a book for the sake of relaxing but then, after a while, I realize there are lots of things to be thought of in that book.
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I consider it my luck to find out the pdf as well as epub versions of this book and two other books in the series namely Weird things customers say in bookshops and More Weird things customers say in bookshops. Sound interesting isn't it?
Below is just a small extract from The bookshop book that I am really into for the first time reading it: a beautiful poem by Rebecca Perry.
This is a room of transpositions and tricks,
of tiny time machines lined up, a spectrum of spines.
In this room, two people kept apart
for three hundred pages can begin to love each other
at an altitude of fifteen hundred feet in the Sunday air.
And the air is turning, is it not? It is filling
with flesh smells and fruit smells,
it is thick with swarms of flitting black letters.
Life appears where there was no life.
Where the world was flat and angular, suddenly
it is round, like an orange.
In one corner the Macondo sun shines
brilliantly on a woman with shoes the colour
of old silver and a hat made of tiny flowers.
She browses near a man who moves among the shelves
systematically, serenely, running his hands
over covers and titles in the same parsimonious way
he papered his house with banknotes.
Elsewhere, a cast of characters become complete,
three-dimensional and disgraceful in a faded front room,
answering their own distressing questions.
Though outside it is raining and unspectacular,
inside (somewhere in the stopover between
being and oblivion) there is lightness and weight,
soul and body, words misunderstood –
for nothing more than the turn of a page.
Rebecca Perry
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