In the 1970s, I used to frequent the neighborhood Brentano’s Bookstore, located in the Village at 20 University Place and Eighth Street. On one occasion, I met a man who astounded me – he read entire books in one afternoon while standing or slowly ambulating in the shop. I doubt he was reading the likes of Ulysses, but this was still particularly remarkable, not just in the reading feat itself, but also given the nature of bookstores at the time. Even though bookshops have historically been liberal in their reading policies, it still was not a time with bookstore’s cafes, various seating areas, or where one could find customers researching while virtually camping out on the floors and tolerated by the management. And, apart from libraries, it was not a world of free content, just a few keystrokes away.

Ebook readers have been around for much longer than many might imagine* – since 1998, with early pioneers in portable eBook readers, such as the eBookman by Franklin and the Rocket eBook. I was given one of these devices over ten years ago. It sat unused. Issues of content, moving files in and out, lack of wireless Internet, low-contrast screens, and other technical shortcomings of the devices all conspired against the wholesale adoption of ebooks and readers. But ebooks appear to be ready for prime time, fueled by the eInk technology with its high contrast paperlike readability, lightweight devices, low power requirements, and Internet integration. Devices like the Barnes and Noble Nook, the Amazon Kindle, and Apple’s iPad are selling well and can be seen throughout the city.

In my own business here in New York City, we publish a small selection of highly specialized books. With some titles, this necessitates inventorying print runs for years. Recently, we made the big decision to go digital with some of our titles. One of our first candidates was Circus Techniques by Hovey Burgess (you can read about him in Fish and Ponds). We dragged out a copy of the printed book from my library as well as the original film flats, all shown in the photo – this is how printers worked and prepared books for offset printing. After evaluation, we decided that it would be easier to OCR scan the entire text, so the flats are back in storage, a relic of a time gone by.

New York is book country, and arguably the epicenter of publishing in the United States. I doubt that printed books, magazines, and newspapers are going to diminish as quickly as did music CDs or that bookstores will disappear like CD merchants did. The development of electronic media is, however, sure to impact New York. Recently, Barnes and Noble announced the closing of their massive store near Lincoln Center. The company itself is for sale.

I’d love to meet that reader from Brentano’s now. Although the end of an era is close at hand, I am sure he would be overjoyed with an eReader and a few thousand titles in his hand 🙂

*The earliest digitization of a document was that of the United States Declaration of Independence by Michael Hart in 1971, then a student at the University of Illinois who had obtained access to a Xerox Sigma V mainframe computer in the university’s Materials Research Lab. Hart then went on to establish Project Gutenberg, a voluntary effort, now with over 33,000 titles available free, primarily public domain books.

The door-to-door salesman has never been a welcome visitor, but somewhere around 1963, a knock on my family’s door changed my life. Whoever and wherever he is, I thank that salesman for selling and my parents for being either too easy, very astute, or both, and for buying.
He was selling the World Book Encyclopedia – a big thing for a family with essentially no books and little money. I have no recollection of the event, really, only the result. As a promotion, we were given a mechanical learning device. This is how I learned to play chess, a game I still enjoy to this day.

I devoured those books as a child. There were, of course, school books and an occasional jaunt to the public library. But nothing could compare to that mountain of information. It felt that I had all the world’s knowledge at my fingertips. 

As an adult around 1980, living in New York City, I made a phone call and invited a Britannica salesman to my home. I had no idea that unless you are ready to buy, that man is not leaving your house. It was quite an evening. I did eventually buy a copy – the cost for the 30 volumes was nearly $1000, a major investment. But I did love those books, and until the Internet became commonly used, the Britannica was my primary source for research. I also purchased the CD-ROM version. I recently gave the printed set away.

Until recently, at most trade shows, somewhere in the last rows where fees were cheapest, there was typically a nondescript booth, a spartan table, and a hungry Britannica salesman with no prospects. Who would voluntarily subject themselves to an encyclopedia salesman or even walk closely enough to be ensnared? Whether the show theme was conducive to selling encyclopedias was no matter. There was always a Britannica booth – an outpost in the far reaches of the trade show tundra.

I now see the same phenomena with The New York Times. Their booths can be found at trade shows and street festivals all over the city. The Internet boom has had an expected impact on all print media. Many are worried about the survival of the New York Times. This would be quite sad to lose them. They also have a special place for me, as I wrote about in New Yorkers Gone Wild. The publisher, Arthur Sulzberger, announced in September: “We will stop printing the New York Times sometime in the future, date TBD.” Revenue will come from their online version. In 2011, the Times will begin charging for some content based on a metered model.

On a recent visit to the Madison Square outdoor market, I came across a New York Times booth. It was a beautiful day and the other vendors were quite busy with shoppers (lower photo). Transfixed with his smartphone, the lone salesman did not notice that before him stood his best hope for the day. A dinosaur. A man with a love of print, just waiting to be sold 🙂

Don’t ever try to sell a place to an unwilling buyer. On a brief trip once with my parents, we were traveling from Colorado to New Mexico. I had made the mistake of extolling, to no end, the wondrous beauty of New Mexico.
Those who have been to Colorado know that, despite any naysayers, this place is spectacular and dramatic. So traveling to the Southwest, i.e. Arizona or New Mexico, and appreciating these states will require an adjustment. Not a lowering of standards, just an adjustment to a very different type of beauty. For a New Yorker, all the empty space alone is novel and beautiful.

My mother, however, did not see it that way at all. Growing up in northern rural Maine, space was no novelty. It was a place better to shun and leave, as she had, by moving to southern New England. And her perennial cynicism, skepticism, and negativism know no bounds and can be infuriating at times. We had only just barely crossed the border seeing the sign “Welcome to New Mexico – Land of Enchantment” when she started in. “I don’t see anything here.”

That’s true. Inches from a border crossing is not a good barometer of an entire state. We were hours from our first destination, and I hoped the serene beauty would overtake her, as it does to most who visit there. I asked her to wait and see how patience would pay off. It did not.

We had not gone much further when we heard a confident reminder. “I told you, there’s nothing here.” Variants on this refrain never stopped, and soon I was contemplating suicide or murder. I never should have sold New Mexico at all. In fact, it would have been better that I had not even taken them there. The beauty of big sky country and open land was my thing, perhaps more greatly appreciated because I came from New York City, where empty space itself was a thing to behold.

Emptiness is not abundant in New York City, and we marvel, revel in, and even tell of the joys of emptiness. How we found an empty bench, empty seats at a concert, empty stretches of highway, an empty street(s), an empty parking spot, an empty area of a park. These finds are bragging rights as well as a soothing balm to the soul of a New Yorker, where quiet moments and places are special indeed. See my stories Small Gestures and Quietude.

In northern Astoria, Queens, there is an enormous Con Ed power plant. Visiting this area on a dreary, drizzly Sunday is a sure way to experience some peace and quiet. I found entire streets with not a soul in sight. Two empty, front row seats were available, as I suspect they might always be, because truly, there’s nothing here 🙂