Hello, Bookstore

In an age when it’s easy to buy second hand books online, often at very low prices, what is it that inspires people to keep on using bookstores? Many have gone under as a result of the changing culture, and even where loyal local customers have enabled them to survive, times have been tough. When Matt Tannenbaum, owner of The Bookstore in Lenox, Massachusetts, found himself having to deal with Covid restrictions on top of everything else, his commitment to his work was sorely tested. For people like Matt, however, selling books is much more than just a job. It’s the very stuff of life.

That passion oozes out of every pore of AB Zax’s documentary. It’s told in an incidental, roundabout sort of way, a knitting together of assorted observations such as one might make whilst browsing, not yet certain what one wishes to buy. If you’re prone to picking up books in this manner, you should be ready to make notes whilst watching as you’ll acquire a long list of new things you want to read – in fact, a short reading list is provided during the end credits sequence. Despite the great diversity of volumes in his shop, Matt seems to know them all intimately. He’s eager to discourse of them with his customers, and even when he’s discussing other matters, his choice of words reflects his immersion in literature. He could be said to have a literary perspective on life.

Has he ever thought of writing a book himself? “There are two types of novels,” he muses. “One that you sit at home and write, and one that you tell other people about, sitting in a bar...I’ve been sitting in a bar for 43 years.” He loves to tell stories. They flow through the film, one unprompted anecdote after another. Stories about his past: about how, just out of the navy, he learned his trade almost accidentally at the Gotham Book Mart, where he went looking for work by Anaïs Nin. Stories about famous visitors to the store: an encounter with Tom Stoppard and the time he failed to recognise Carly Simon. He reflects on his childhood and the sense of being privy to secrets which stories gave him. Childhood is an acute concern to him once again as he prepares for the birth of his first grandchild, and he wants to make sure that everybody hears about that.

There are other forms of storytelling here too. Observation of the careful way books are arranged, new ones drawing the eye to the old. At the back of a shelf, by a window, an old election poster for Bernie Sanders. The way that the sales desk doubles as a bar on a chill evening when the place becomes a sanctuary, lights drifting by outside, warm conversation within. It is difficult to know what the future might hold, but in here, time unfurls differently. Stories shape thought and thought gives birth to stories and the imaginings of centuries rest within arm’s reach.

Without narration, this film rests purely on observation, assorted fragments pieced together in the edit. Like a good book, it’s an invitation to seek out and imagine more. The aptly named Tannenbaum and his store have grown into one another, their stories inseparably intertwined. If you haven’t visited a bookstore for a while, this film will leave you longing for the scents and soft rustles and palpable temptations of such places, temples to the pursuit of knowledge and, for some, simply home.