J'S THEATER: neighborhoods

Monday, July 21, 2014

St. Mark's Bookshop Reopens

The last of the old shop

Since 1977 St. Mark's Bookshop has been a cornerstone independent bookseller in the East Village. The global economic crisis in 2008, coupled with a dizzying rent increase (to $23,500 per month) by its landlord, The Cooper Union (embroiled in its own institutional dramas), imperiled its existence at its two-decades-old home at 3rd Avenue between 8th and 9th Streets, leading to several online campaigns to keep the store afloat and, most recently, to ensure it could find a new location in Manhattan. After a hunt the owners found that new location, signing a lease in May for a storefront space at 3rd St. and Avenue A, just a few blocks south of Tompkins Square Park and so, as of this past weekend, St. Mark's Bookshop has reopened.

The new location, under construction

A few weeks ago I met up with a friend, Tisa B., who was visiting from California, and we dropped by the old St. Mark's, which was in the process of being dismantled, shelf by shelf. I stood and watched for a while, wistfully, remembering how often I'd visited the store over the years. It was, I can recall, the first store to stock copies of my first book. It also became, along with the now shuttered Nikos', an indispensable spot to find unusual journals and zines. Though I never read there, I attended a number of readings and talks there over the years, and more often than not would run into friends and acquaintances I hadn't seen in some time. Tisa and I thought the new location had already opened, but instead we found them still under constructed. We were too early, but it was clear the new space would be inviting.

The new location's façade

On E. 3rd Street

The new St. Mark's is considerably smaller (by half), though with a cleaner, airy design. The size is deceptive, though, because there's more room than I expected in the back. White, curving shelves beneath a black ceiling line the shop, a modular unit in the front of the store holds journals, and the book sections are all easier to find by sight. The stock, however, remains on the leaner side (except, strangely enough, for works by Karl Ove Knausgaard), though nowhere near as threadbare as several years ago, when St. Mark's barren appearance suggested the store might not survive. I've never found the staff particularly friendly, and this has carried over into the new store, but the one of the owners was in the day I dropped in, and we had a pleasant chat about St. Mark's carrying the Hilst translations (not there), among other things. Other books I was looking for were not in stock either, but I bought several books I did not already have, and look forward to returning later this year, when they're more fully up and running.

The new space

The front of the store

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Photos: Traveling IV

A final set of photos from this trip. One of my last planned visits was to see the famous Casa Batlló's, Antoni Gaudí's lavish house, designed for Josep Maria Jujol in 1877 and redesigned in 1904-6, that (in)famously appears to have no straight lines in its face. It spectacularly droops like candle wax, or creeps like the stone efflorescences in a Max Ernst painting, dominating the already grandiose architecture of the grand Passeig de Gràcia's most over-the-top block, the Illa de la Discòrdia (or "Block of Discord"), so labeled because the neighboring manses, by Barcelona's most famous Modernist architects Lluís Domènech i Montaner, Antoni Gaudí, Josep Puig i Cadafalch and Enric Sagnier), visually and visibly strive to outstrip each other, though Gaudí easily wins the prize. In local parlance, the house is known as the Casa dels ossos (House of Bones, in Castilian: Casa de los huesos), and if you stare at it long enough, it does start to appear to be growing new excrescences. (Like the Sagrada Familia, but in reduced form.) Just as with the Temple, so here, mobs of tourists, and a pricey entry fee, so I snapped (not so great) photos and got back on the Metro.

It was the highlight of a tour through L'Eixample, the neighborhood surrounding and north of the University of Barcelona; also in this area is Barcelona's main gay district, though I learned that to see it at full flower, it was probably best to visit after 6 pm. Many a shop, though none of the restaurants, shuttered for la siesta, which I'd completely forgotten about. Though thoroughly worn out, I definitely enjoyed seeing Barcelona again, and hope to get back soon. I was even able to have a complete conversation in Spanish, from pickup to drop off, with my cabbie, and on the first leg of my return flight read a couple of the books I bought, one by a young Spanish poet named Juan Vico, which received a prize in 2011, and one by the Argentinian author Carlos Skliar. I'll post translations of excerpts as soon as I can. My cabdriver--I am not becoming Tom Friedman!--stated what I'd observed, that the city had grown in infrastructure and racial and ethnic diversity, and Catalan cultural consciousness since 1990. The days of Franco's ban of this distinctive Romance language, or the absence of black and brown faces, was long gone. What the future promises, especially given the Eurozone crisis and Catalonia's own economic problems, remains to be seen, but the city is and will probably continue to be a jewel.

I concluded part of my return by staying in a relatively inexpensive, Japanese-style pod-hotel, Yotel, in Amsterdam's airport. It took a few minutes to figure out how to turn on the lights and connect to the Internet to Skype home, but I would recommend it for non-claustrophobics and non-acrophobics. It's like sleeping in a chamber of the spaceship in 2001, though without Hal threatening to wreak havoc. Reserve in advance though; I thankfully had so I wasn't denied a room but there was a line of people looking for an affordable option, their computer system was down, and the beleaguered young attendant seemed almost ready to bolt if he was asked another question.... On the second leg of the flight home, I finally read Julian Barnes's Man Booker Prize-winning novella The Sense of an Ending, after having recommended it, based on a number of strong reviews, to a student who enthusiastically polished it off and then came to my office hours to ask: "Professor, what happened at the end?" He wasn't testing me, I realized, but actually confused. I read the book and now what happened, so he'll receive an email, if he did not subsequently reckon it or consult Wikipedia. As tight as a Swiss watch's gears, that plot of Barnes's, yet also perhaps a bit melodramatic too.