CRIME MARCHES ON

The following is reprinted from the bookstore's facebook group page, a site bearing the same name as this one, or close to it. Close enough so as to eliminate confusion. Or confusing enough so as to eliminate readers, but who's counting? And now to that reproduced post:

  We reflect upon the old days when customers didn't know our name and called us "Used Books." "I'm goin' to Used Books, honey, and don't come lookin' for me", they would say. The fault lay in our signage, since greatly improved by the addition of a second flag. Another hand painted sign was so well done that it disappeared immediately, stolen by one of our book scouts, we are so certain, but it was never proved. ¶ Also unproven is our strong suspicion that a murderer, fleeing the crime scene just beyond Quake Collectibles, struck a parking meter causing it to loft through the air and into our plate glass window. The meter's post bore a car's paint traces, but the detectives ignored our observation and in fact seemed to lose interest in finding the killer when they concluded it was a gay lovers quarrel that caused the murderer to inflict fifty stab wounds. On the plus side, fag bashing is no longer tolerated in the force, so far as we know. Cops as a group are slow to evolve, for reasons explored in some of the books we have here in the shop, or just stop by for a chat and we'll share our unprejudiced theories on social anthropology and class warfare.

Acupuncture for the Soul

Gaper's Block says:
"If you haven't been to Guts & Glory, cancel your spa day and do this instead; it is acupuncture for the soul. On the third Wednesday of every month, an audience bigger than your extended family's Christmas gathering (and far less awkward) snuggles into the back of Powell's Bookstore to hear fearless tales of guts, and possibly glory.."

I have squeezed into this room thrice now. The first time a friendly Powell's employee offered the fun fact that the chair she found for me was repurposed from a chamber pot. The second time there wasn't room to pry open my beer, much less my sealskin parka. Overheated and dehydrated, I laughed until I sweated, except when the room went religiously silent, so still that my trickling perspiration seemed disrespectful. The closest I've ever come to my dream of reaching nirvana in a sweat lodge was listening to Samantha Irby read a list of sixty-something flaws. At one point she seemed abashed and hinted at skipping a few. The room roared its unanimous dissent. Whit Nelson told how he came to love acting via the years of practice he'd had as a straight man. Kelsie Huff turned us all to stone explaining how much her mother's boyshorts mattered. 

Really, you shouldn't come, because then I'm even less likely to fit inconspicuously between the wall and the short people. But, really, you should come. 

Chicago Humanities Festival Nov 1 -11

Richard Ford,
Dorothy Allison,
Elie Wiesel,
Ian Frazier,
Adam Gopnik,
Camille Paglia,
Luis Alberto Urrea,
Mark Helprin
all at the Chicago Humanities Festival!

Summer in the City

Ravenswood Used Books is two blocks south of Lincoln Square's core, a small pedestrian friendly shopping area with a central courtyard and fountain. In the summer months this court hosts live music throughout the week, some of it commercial groups sponsored by the chamber of commerce, and some just impromptu performances by just about anyone willing to stand before an audience, or even create one from scratch. This photo illustrates a typical performance for Sunday brunchers, especially those sitting in a left bank cafe listening to Parisian songs in tango rhythms, my own personal favorite, but I have to stay here and sell you books, no offense intended, of course. ¶ Thursday evening's a good time to catch a scheduled group unless that program has fallen to budget cuts. It's all free and intimate with kids, bikes, and lawn chairs spread casually through the courtyard. There's a new book store across the street and our own much less expensive and far more interesting store to the south a few yards or more, and along the way you pass a Chase bank, in case you need some cash to shop with in our plastic-free environment. J.M.

Our library experience has been fruitful and gratifying. Catch Twenty Two,  Cat's Cradle, and White Jazz  all came to us through casually  browsing the stacks in search of some new thing of which we'd never heard. Joseph Heller, Kurt Vonnegut, and James Ellroy eventually would have found their ways into our consciousness, but the earlier the better, according to most education theorists.  You gotta get in it to win it, and bibliophilia can take root at any age or reading level and lead to levels of achievement undreamed of by the average illiterate. Some readers go on to collect books rivaling our own towering mass, you should be so lucky. We ourselves began with just one book, but where the hell did it get to? It's in here someplace.   ¶ The free library system has always faced threats of censorship arising from the language and content of books,  but a more devastating and absolute threat comes from the economic crises now challenging most American cities, whether from years of profligacy or just bad luck. The link we post here addresses those issues. It's a mild rant from store friend Miss Pam. Thanks, Miss Pam. ¶ The store's economic picture has brightened considerably of late, but we owe a huge debt ( which, believe us, will go forever uncollected, so forget about it ) to libraries in general and maybe mostly to our local branch, the Sulzer, just down Lincoln Avenue a couple of blocks. It and its predecessor, the Hild ( now the Old Town School of Folk Music ) did all the prep work in our 'hood. Many of our regulars got started there and never lost the taste. Bon appetite, mes amis.

Miss Pam speaks on behalf of the Rogers Park Library http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FALApqfM8zc  but this ain't it. This is the magnificent Harold Washington main library down in the south loop. The facade just knocks me out, although the interior leans depressingly to the Soviet style which in my kind of town is most brutally expressed by The Museum of Contemporary Art.  Go to you library and get the book.  J. M.