Pilgrims | by Andrea Avery
Work | by Aaron Belz
Music Man | by Daniel Durchholz
St. Pete's | by Franklin Jennings
Left Bank | by Brandyn Jones
The Training Ground | Tony Renner
Shoe Jail | by Stefene Russell
Work is a Four Letter Word | by Brett Underwood
Shoe Factory | by Andrea Avery
All Eyes: The Mansion Hotel | by Thomas Crone
Why We Never Leave South City | by Julie Dill
The Man Who Ran Corn for Mister Otha Turner | by Chris King
How I Became a Zackaroo | by Brian H. Marston
On Being Mr. Bibbs | by Michaela McGinn
Six Things About Barges You May Not Know | by Butler Miller
Businesses and Buildings | by Dana Smith
When The Honest World Has Passed Away | by Stefene Russell
My Road | by Tom Weber
Left Bank |
by Brandyn Jones
Through the heavy door on the corner I go. From the world outside
to the world inside. Perhaps I take a quick look around, smile at
people, take a breath, but almost immediately I head down the
stairs. Hair-pin turn to the left.…and there I am in what feels to
me now like a home away from home, a place to calm the nerves, a
port in the storm, the used book oasis in the basement of Left Bank
Books.
Sometimes I go through the door and then skip the effort at
making eye contact, proceeding with specific purpose down the
stairs. Occasionally I worry someone will think I’m up to No Good
entering that way, but so far no one has stopped me to inquire about
my intentions. Perhaps I’m not the only one who anxiously darts down
the stairs.
My favorite spot in the lower level stacks? The art book section.
Catalogs from a multiplicity of art shows can be found – some
headliners, some intriguingly out there. Histories of artists of all
stripes, histories of particular periods, guides to museums and
collections, academic books, books that are themselves works of art.
Some are marvellously old, others are newish -- all have the warm
feel of books that have been handled with appreciation.
From my usual spot I often see, through a half-opened door, a
mountain of books to which I don’t yet have access. Typically I am
not given to inappropriate boundary crossing, but I always find
myself tempted to breach the public space and dive into those
off-limits stacks. I haven’t and I won’t, but it does cross my mind.
What prevents me from giving way to the more reckless side of my
nature is that Left Bank Books staff is usually in that back room
working – moving the books through the process and keeping the place
going. Keeping the place going has not been easy over the years so I
pause a minute to appreciate everyone who has helped in this effort,
and remind myself I should show them the respect of not bursting
into their private workspace. I can wait.
Amongst the books in the basement, LBB also has exhibition space
where there is always an intimate art show going. Intimate because
of the small amount of exhibition square footage, intimate because
(by virtue of said limited show space) the work is usually fairly
small, and intimate because it is in a bright, cozy basement
surrounded by books. Books and a quiet feeling of reverence for
thought.
It’s a refuge from the world outside the door. Key to survival in
a city. That special spot or nook one comes to know – most often
discovered by accident - where anyone can duck in out of the chaos
or the weather and find a moment’s peace.
The basement level of Left Bank Books is such a place.