Confessions of a Curious Bookseller(40)
JM: That leads perfectly into my next question. Some have said that you are a pioneer in the field of used bookstores. Why do you think that is, if you agree?
FB: I humbly agree, June. And that is because not only are our sales numbers steadily increasing each year, but I have also managed to diversify and become the only bookseller in Philadelphia, or perhaps Pennsylvania, with such an inventory of Mark Twain books as to set me far above the others. I am aware that certain sellers down the street may be jealous of my situation, but they needn’t be. They should do as I do, learn from my successes, and emulate when possible—as long as it’s not selling Mark Twain books!
(Laughter)
JM: They didn’t tell me you were so funny.
FB: I like to surprise people with that.
JM: Would you say you are popular among your employees?
FB: My employees are like family to me. They are my closest friends. We share my great Victorian space for eight hours a day, so we have no choice but to become close and reliant on each other. I liken it to how sailors must feel on ships, stuck on the ocean for months at a time, building friendships, alliances, and lifelong memories. Recently we had a wonderfully fun holiday party at the store. Everyone came and brought their friends, and we talked and laughed into the night just as I, as a little girl, had dreamed my family would always do.
JM: Are you close with your family?
FB: I have always felt like a stranger in my family, and as much as I would like to be closer to them, I have to choose my work. It is the one thing that has brought me more happiness and satisfaction than anything in my life before. And if anything were to happen to this place . . . well, failure is simply not an option. I watched my father fail, and it’s an ugly, terrible thing. My father and I were never close, but ever since I opened my store twenty years ago, I believe that I have been in a silent competition with him—even though he has been practically bedridden these last twenty years. I often think on the Ginsberg poem “A Supermarket in California” when I think of my father. I believe Ginsberg was speaking of Whitman when he referred to “father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,” though I have never seen this poem as referring to anyone but my father, and my questions to him, which I believe are similar to Ginsberg’s: What kind of America did you get to see? And more personally for me, what did you leave me to deal with? Why haven’t we spoken? Why can’t we speak? Why must you, Father, be on a ferry to death while I’m left to pick up the various pieces of confusion in my life that you left littered around me like broken glass?
JM: You are quite a poet yourself, yes?
FB: When it comes to my father, I think I can throw out a lot of feelings at the drop of a hat. That is what happens with neglect. The child is left with so many unsaid words, so they become poets, artists, or bookstore proprietors. But getting back to your question, the quiet competition between my father and me has forced me to become close to him in a strange, ethereal way that’s rather hard to explain. I suppose I am showing him, with my success, that I am doing it right. I am showing my entire family this truth, and I think it’s hard for them to watch me rise and be happy. Some families just like being miserable together.
JM: Before you owned the bookstore, what was your occupation? Did you own another business, or did you work for someone else?
FB: I went through a time in my life when I wasn’t completely sure of what I wanted to do, even though I knew I wanted to own my own business. It’s very frightening to be in your thirties and decide to start a business completely on your own, knowing that you will be putting your personal life on hold until things even out. While I was in that state of flux, right after graduating from college with a business degree, my father tried to sell me his business, presumptuously assuming that I would want it. But that store was a giant sinkhole, and neither my sister nor I wanted anything to do with it. It was in terrible physical condition and he owed a lot of money, which he eventually handled with bankruptcy. While that was happening, I took a few years to live at home and reevaluate things before taking the plunge into opening my own business.
JM: Why books?
FB: What a great question! Without books, I may have never had a way to disappear from the reality I faced every day under my father’s rule. Without books, I wouldn’t have been able to flex my imagination and pretend to be, for example, such vivid characters as Caddy Compson or Madame Bovary. Books allowed me to see that there was more to this world than the town I grew up in or the nearby cities we sometimes visited so my father could exercise his gambling habit. I suppose I could have opened up any store at all, but I chose books because, quite frankly, they might be solely responsible for having kept me fighting all my life for what I wanted. Because of this, it seemed only right to be able to share such a gift with others—and at discounted rates!
JM: What was it like twenty years ago, starting a business from the ground up the way that you did?
FB: It was challenging in that West Philadelphia was a very different place twenty years ago. My greatest challenges were vandalism and robbery, but I will have you know that even though it was considered a rough area, I was unafraid. I saw this as an opportunity to bring books to the community. Also, the building, despite needing a lot of repair work, was incredibly affordable; however, that was not my main motivation for the purchase. I knew this neighborhood would turn around, and sometimes, I daresay, I credit my store for the start of its gentrification.