The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop: A Memoir, a History

This is a delightful memoir of the author's life-long obsession with books as reader, book owner, bookstore clerk and publishers' rep. Like the drunk who cannot pass a bar without going in, Buzbee is irresistibly drawn into every shop, stall or warehouse where books may be found -- a failing with which I empathize, being an unrepentant book addict myself. For instance, some years ago marooned in a Sicilian port town during a ferry strike, I spent my spare time compulsively hanging about the town's dimly lit bookshop. The books, jam-packed and stocked to the rafters, were all in Italian, a language I neither read nor understand, yet I returned there to browse, day after day. Interwoven with Buzbee's personal story is a brief history of books - creation and destruction, suppression and dissemination -- from clay tablet to electronic e-book. It includes a riveting account of Shakespeare & Co shop owner Sylvia Beach and her cloak and dagger operation to secretly publish and distribute the banned James Joyce book, "Ulysses", & of Ernest Hemingway's role in smuggling copies of the book from Toronto to the US. Again it was Sylvia Beach and friends who emptied out her shop's entire contents one night in 1941 to keep it from the Germans who were coming next day to confiscate the books. I particularly enjoyed the author's description of his childhood encounters with books and the first book (Grapes of Wrath) that set him on the road to bibliophilia. "It's a common story", he says, "fill in your own blanks". And so I did. I thought back over half a century to what set me on a similar road and how it influenced the course of my life in ways that went beyond books themselves. That's a lot to get from such a modest little volume.

Booklovers, rejoice! Buzbee's latest work is a touching, breathtaking ode to books and bookstores. He writes with a fine, precise hand, waxing lyrical about the sensual pleasures of reading and browsing, treating books and their vendors with profound respect. The first few pages draw you in instantly, as he opens the book with every booklover's favorite pastime: walking into a bookshop. The rest of the book is devoted to minute details about the book's history, from the earliest papyrus texts to the magical, rare bestsellers that sell millions. The best part, though, is when he steps out of history and sociology and immerses himself -- and, by extension -- his reader into the bookshop, whether its an old antiquarian rabbit hutch in Paris or the modern, glitzy temple to reading, the chain bookstore. Buzbee reverentially recounts his professional career as a bookseller and, subsequently, publisher's sales representative, without succumbing to overt sentimentality. And when he lists his favorite bookstores around the world, the reader may feel compelled to take notes. I love that Buzee doesn't demonize chain stores, and instead points out that they have their rightful place in a booklover's life, that they have helped revitalize the book industry. I heartily agree with his contention that, in many cases, it's not the presence of a chain store that kills an indie shop, but rather the latter's unwillingness to compete in a rapidly changing business environment. I'm a huge fan of indie bookshops, but I like my weekend forays into Borders and/or Barnes & Noble. Buzbee gives both their due and doesn't apologize for it. It's a joy to read, from first page to last, and just the right book over which to linger with a steaming cup of java in a warm cafe on a rainy weekend afternoon. Highly recommended. I can't wait to read his next book.

Reading Lewis Buzbee's The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop was like going home again. Like Buzbee, I grew up in San Jose in the sixties and seventies. His reminiscences of My Weekly Reader and Scholastic Book catalogs brought back forgotten memories. He recalls shopping for books at Valley Fair, Gemco, Rexall, and Little Professor. So do I. He began college at a small Jesuit university nearby. Me too. He applied for a job at The Upstart Crow in the Pruneyard. I did too. He got a job there. I, uh, worked at McDonald's instead. Buzbee intersperses the history of bookselling and libraries with his own bookish memories. For me though, the specific memories of Bay Area bookshops was the highlight. He covers everything from the grungy used bookstores near San Jose State to the neighborhood libraries with their patios. Buzbee stayed in the book business after college. He worked at two of the best book stores in the area, then became a publisher's rep with Northern California as his territory. Although I did not go into the book business, my husband ended up working at bookstores all over Northern California in the eighties and nineties. I wonder how many times we've run into Buzbee over the years. I had so much fun reading The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop. Buzbee describes some of his book quirks, such as going to the airport newsstand and not leaving until he's picked a book. There's always one gem among what looks like a hopeless collection of bestsellers and porn. Or of occasionally browsing the children's books in the Borders or Barnes & Noble, even if you don't have any kids to shop for. I've read some of the best books that way, the latest being Click, Clack, Moo by Doreen Cronin. If you are the sort of person who thinks of Waterstone's when someone says London, of Feltrinelli's when you remember Rome, and Powell's when someone says Portland, you are the sort of person Lewis Buzbee wrote The Yellow-Lighted Bookstore for.

If you love to read this book will make you very happy. This work, part memoir part history, tracks one man's love for books parallel to civilizations development of books. The author recounts the books that moved him, the places that moved him and the people that enriched his life. The reading life is a great life and Buzzbee marvelously weaves together a solid narrative using this theme. This work isn't elitist or a guidebook of what to read next. It is a simple, short and beautiful appraisal of the power of the world of books.