I went through a phase of obsessively reading car magazines, which Barnes & Noble also carried, and then periods when I’d pile philosophy tomes I didn’t understand or meditation manuals I wouldn’t follow atop the table in front of me. I’d camp out in the fantasy section, paging through spinoffs in the extended “Star Wars” and Dungeons & Dragons worlds, wishing there were more entries in the “Dragonriders of Pern” series, crestfallen when the announcement rang out that the store would soon close.Īs I got older, the books changed, but the habit didn’t. My father, bless him, began taking me to Barnes & Noble three, often four nights a week. I was, as you might suspect, a bookish and awkward child. That’s still the feeling, for me, of walking into a great bookstore: limitlessness. There was something wondrous about a room with that many books, each of them a doorway to unknown worlds, ideas and lives. Before that, we had a cramped Crown Books and some lovely but limited libraries. I remember when Barnes & Noble first opened in my hometown.
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