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Sunwise Turn: A Human Comedy of Bookselling
Reprint of the 1953 edition. A bookseller's remininscences. iv , 123 pages. stiff paper wrappers.. 8vo..
- GenresBooks About Books
123 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1923
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About the author
Madge Jenison
5 booksMadge Jenison (1874–1960) was an American author, activist, and bookstore owner. She wrote novels, short stories, cultural criticism, and scripts. Her father, Edward Spencer Jenison, was a prominent Chicago architect who helped rebuild the city after The Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Her sister, Nancy Blanche Jenison, was a pioneering woman physician.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
June 23, 2016
Don't you love it when you pick up a sun-struck old book and it turns out to be a total charmer?
Sunwise Turn is just that. A memoir of two women, passionate about books, who start a bookshop in New York during WWI - and what a bookshop! Arthur Dove chooses the shop's palette (bright orange), they sell art, they are featured in a Norma Talmadge film - in short, they are the hippest of hip hangouts for book aficionados. If only I had a time machine . . .
Sunwise Turn is just that. A memoir of two women, passionate about books, who start a bookshop in New York during WWI - and what a bookshop! Arthur Dove chooses the shop's palette (bright orange), they sell art, they are featured in a Norma Talmadge film - in short, they are the hippest of hip hangouts for book aficionados. If only I had a time machine . . .
September 20, 2018
This really is a most remarkable book. It’s a fever dream about books and reading and the life of the mind, and I am besotted with it.
In 1916, fired up after reading and discussing Clive Bell’s theoretical “Art,” Madge Jenison and her friend Mary Mowbray-Clarke were inspired to open a bookstore in downtown New York (despite being business novices). They called the store Sunwise Turn after an old saying that “the sunwise turn is the lucky turn.” Artist Arthur Davies decorated the place with a colorful paint scheme, they filled the store with cushions and art and textiles and Grand Ideas, and off they went—and they actually were reasonably successful (I think the store lasted 10 years; this memoir was written in 1923 when it was still open).
The two women, with an army of friends and patrons and customers, created an intellectual haven. They stocked books they loved or thought essential, rather than what was marketable. Their stated goal was to put books into the hands of people who really needed them, whether they knew it or not. Jenison told a customer that they wanted to do for books what Sears, Roebuck did for clothing and household items (and the customer turned out to be a past president of Sears, Roebuck). They worked nonstop, not just selling books but talking and arguing about them, publishing them, sending them to soldiers, putting together lists of suggested reading for businesses and libraries and individuals, and giving books away when they saw need without means. They also showcased soon-to-be important artists and poets. Their artist friends designed their lovely packaging. They were passionate suffragists. They relied as much on good will and serendipity as business sense, and it worked out for them.
Jenison writes with humor and enthusiasm about the customers (many people just came and sat and read all day); the conversation (philosophy, history, ethics, economics, you name it); and the volunteer staff (like the young man they hired as a stock boy, who stopped working entirely to read “Jean-Christophe”—but she completely understood and forgave).
Jenison’s voice is breathless, hilarious, and chaotic. Her high-minded, romantic faith in intellectual life is something I have only seen in books from that era (early 20th century up to World War II), and it’s enchanting.
I could quote every page, but here are a few examples:
“The Three Knights of the Brilliant Pencil, who appeared in the door of the shop so regularly three or four times a week, had become one of its institutions by the time America entered the war. I do not know whether they were always completely sober. But they were always so funny that we gave up the time of their visits mostly to laughing at them. One was pale and golden haired, seeming to be made of ivory and fine gold, very vibrant, somehow touching, and only funny once in two hours and then with a touch of salt like Lytton Strachey, as if someone had suddenly remembered to pass the olives.”
About the hectic business at Christmas time: “The third year we lost our hold upon our destiny about four in the afternoon on the twenty-third. We piled up stacks upon stacks of orders—on the hall floor, in the windows, along the wall. A Harvard man from a neighboring real estate office had come in with a group of friends. We were all busy. He began to sell them books himself. A salesbook was thrust into his hand. He established a little bazaar of his own on one corner. An old lady liked one of our decorated packages but the title tag was lost and she yearned to know whether Maeterlinck’s Blue Bird in the children’s edition or the Inter-church report of the Steel Strike was in it. But he was firm with her. ‘I sold it to her,’ he whispered as he dipped up change.
“I liked that the shop was so human that a woman who came to buy a book went away with an Airedale puppy, and that babies came sometimes and sometimes they cried as if the world were nothing but a hole into which you shout what you want and keep shouting. Once four of our best customers discussed for half an hour the best way to stuff a turkey….they cast aside the arts, history, philosophy, and economics while they challenged the field. I liked it and it makes people read and buy good books.”
In 1916, fired up after reading and discussing Clive Bell’s theoretical “Art,” Madge Jenison and her friend Mary Mowbray-Clarke were inspired to open a bookstore in downtown New York (despite being business novices). They called the store Sunwise Turn after an old saying that “the sunwise turn is the lucky turn.” Artist Arthur Davies decorated the place with a colorful paint scheme, they filled the store with cushions and art and textiles and Grand Ideas, and off they went—and they actually were reasonably successful (I think the store lasted 10 years; this memoir was written in 1923 when it was still open).
The two women, with an army of friends and patrons and customers, created an intellectual haven. They stocked books they loved or thought essential, rather than what was marketable. Their stated goal was to put books into the hands of people who really needed them, whether they knew it or not. Jenison told a customer that they wanted to do for books what Sears, Roebuck did for clothing and household items (and the customer turned out to be a past president of Sears, Roebuck). They worked nonstop, not just selling books but talking and arguing about them, publishing them, sending them to soldiers, putting together lists of suggested reading for businesses and libraries and individuals, and giving books away when they saw need without means. They also showcased soon-to-be important artists and poets. Their artist friends designed their lovely packaging. They were passionate suffragists. They relied as much on good will and serendipity as business sense, and it worked out for them.
Jenison writes with humor and enthusiasm about the customers (many people just came and sat and read all day); the conversation (philosophy, history, ethics, economics, you name it); and the volunteer staff (like the young man they hired as a stock boy, who stopped working entirely to read “Jean-Christophe”—but she completely understood and forgave).
Jenison’s voice is breathless, hilarious, and chaotic. Her high-minded, romantic faith in intellectual life is something I have only seen in books from that era (early 20th century up to World War II), and it’s enchanting.
I could quote every page, but here are a few examples:
“The Three Knights of the Brilliant Pencil, who appeared in the door of the shop so regularly three or four times a week, had become one of its institutions by the time America entered the war. I do not know whether they were always completely sober. But they were always so funny that we gave up the time of their visits mostly to laughing at them. One was pale and golden haired, seeming to be made of ivory and fine gold, very vibrant, somehow touching, and only funny once in two hours and then with a touch of salt like Lytton Strachey, as if someone had suddenly remembered to pass the olives.”
About the hectic business at Christmas time: “The third year we lost our hold upon our destiny about four in the afternoon on the twenty-third. We piled up stacks upon stacks of orders—on the hall floor, in the windows, along the wall. A Harvard man from a neighboring real estate office had come in with a group of friends. We were all busy. He began to sell them books himself. A salesbook was thrust into his hand. He established a little bazaar of his own on one corner. An old lady liked one of our decorated packages but the title tag was lost and she yearned to know whether Maeterlinck’s Blue Bird in the children’s edition or the Inter-church report of the Steel Strike was in it. But he was firm with her. ‘I sold it to her,’ he whispered as he dipped up change.
“I liked that the shop was so human that a woman who came to buy a book went away with an Airedale puppy, and that babies came sometimes and sometimes they cried as if the world were nothing but a hole into which you shout what you want and keep shouting. Once four of our best customers discussed for half an hour the best way to stuff a turkey….they cast aside the arts, history, philosophy, and economics while they challenged the field. I liked it and it makes people read and buy good books.”
April 29, 2020
If -like me- you enjoy reading about books and bookshops, this is a charming and entertaining book.
May 12, 2024
I found this memoir about two women opening a bookstore in 1916 in Manhattan utterly delightful despite not recognizing all the people names and book titles (I did google a few). Very surprised that even back then, the “chain” stores hurt the independent ones and that non-book merchandise (e.g., stationery) had to be sold to help the bottom line.
December 31, 2009
Erstaunlich, dass dieses im Orginal bereits 1923 erschienene Buch erst 2007 ins Deutsche übersetzt wurde. Madge Jenisin erzählt darin, wie sie mit ihrer Freundin Mary Mowbray-Clarke 1916 in New York eine Buchhanldung gründet, die anders werden sollte als alle anderen. Bücherverlaufen ist für sie kein Geschäft, sondern Herzenssache. Sie entwickeln zusammen mit Künstlern kreative Verpackungen, gestalten ihren Verkaufsraum auf innovative Art und Weise, regen Bibliotheken für unterschiedliche Branchen an und erfahren oft ungewöhnliche Unterstützung, z. B. von der jungen Peggy Guggenheim. Angesiedelt im künstlerich-avantgardistischen, frauenbegweten Milieu, stammen die Kunden aus den unterschiedlichsten Schichten, auch wenn man es nur in geringem Umfang schafft auch Arbeiter anzusprechen. Die Geschichte ist informativ, nett erzählt, nur bleiben mir die beiden Inhaberinnen, insbesondere Mowbray-Clarke sehr fern. Dennoch lohnt sich die Lektüre, gerade auch wegen des wiederholten Bekenntnisses zu Büchern und zum Lesen, z. B. hier:
"Und warum sagen manche, dass sie kein Buch kaufen, weil sie es ohnehin nicht behalten wollen? Bücher sind nicht zum Behalten da. Sie gehören zum Blutkreislauf des Lebens. Man behält ja auch nicht die Hebung von Kreisler Bogen, wenn er die letzte Note spielt, oder den Tee aus dem Plaza oder einen Strauß blauer und roter kalifornischer Mohnblumen mit ihren pelzigen Knospen. Und warum erklären sie, dass sie Kindern keine Bücher schenken wollen, weil Kinder sie nicht schonen? Bücher sind nicht dazu da, dass man sie schont. Ein Buch ist ein Werkzeug fürs Leben. Ein Denker mag Seiten heraustrennen, wenn er sie braucht, und sie mit sich herumtragen. Ein Kind muss mit einem Buch kommunizieren, so viel es kann – es muss auf dem Fußboden mit ihm leben. Bei all der Komplexität der Dinge, die es zu schätzen und zu bewahren gilt, wird ein Kind garantiert nicht die Faszination von Büchern kennen lernen, wenn man es von ihnen fern hält, weil es ein Blatt herausgerissen hat."
"Und warum sagen manche, dass sie kein Buch kaufen, weil sie es ohnehin nicht behalten wollen? Bücher sind nicht zum Behalten da. Sie gehören zum Blutkreislauf des Lebens. Man behält ja auch nicht die Hebung von Kreisler Bogen, wenn er die letzte Note spielt, oder den Tee aus dem Plaza oder einen Strauß blauer und roter kalifornischer Mohnblumen mit ihren pelzigen Knospen. Und warum erklären sie, dass sie Kindern keine Bücher schenken wollen, weil Kinder sie nicht schonen? Bücher sind nicht dazu da, dass man sie schont. Ein Buch ist ein Werkzeug fürs Leben. Ein Denker mag Seiten heraustrennen, wenn er sie braucht, und sie mit sich herumtragen. Ein Kind muss mit einem Buch kommunizieren, so viel es kann – es muss auf dem Fußboden mit ihm leben. Bei all der Komplexität der Dinge, die es zu schätzen und zu bewahren gilt, wird ein Kind garantiert nicht die Faszination von Büchern kennen lernen, wenn man es von ihnen fern hält, weil es ein Blatt herausgerissen hat."
October 10, 2011
This was certainly different. Boring at times but very interesting day by day accounting of running a book store in New York City around 1916 - 1920. Funny how some things are the same now as they were then!
September 22, 2022
Fabulous, very readable history about courageous women of the time.
August 17, 2019
Ein nettes Büchlein über das Leben als Buchhändlerin in den wilden 20ern. Man merkt, dass Jenison aus einer höheren Schicht stammt, denn wenn mir auch viele Erlebnisse aus meinem eigenen Berufsalltag bekannt vorkommen, so hatte die Autorin Möglichkeiten und Beziehungen, die ein normal Sterblicher wohl nicht hat.
Auf jeden Fall sind die Geschichten sehr unterhaltsam, wenn auch leider ziemlich wirr durcheinander gemischt. Es scheint, als hätte die Autorin einfach mal alles so aufgeschrieben, wie es ihr eingefallen ist. Eine Kontinuität entsteht so leider nicht.
Das Buch ist wohl hauptsächlich für Buchhändler selbst interessant, da viel gerechnet wird und immer wieder auf das Geschäftliche zurückgegriffen wird. Ob jemand, der sich damit nicht befassen muss, diese Zahlen und Überlegungen wirklich lesen will - wer weiss?
Trotzdem eine sehr nette Lektüre, die mir aufgezeigt hat, dass das buchhändlerische Leben vor fast 100 Jahren in manchen Sachen ganz anders war, sich in anderen Dingen jedoch immer noch so anfühlt, wie von Madge Jenison beschrieben.
Auf jeden Fall sind die Geschichten sehr unterhaltsam, wenn auch leider ziemlich wirr durcheinander gemischt. Es scheint, als hätte die Autorin einfach mal alles so aufgeschrieben, wie es ihr eingefallen ist. Eine Kontinuität entsteht so leider nicht.
Das Buch ist wohl hauptsächlich für Buchhändler selbst interessant, da viel gerechnet wird und immer wieder auf das Geschäftliche zurückgegriffen wird. Ob jemand, der sich damit nicht befassen muss, diese Zahlen und Überlegungen wirklich lesen will - wer weiss?
Trotzdem eine sehr nette Lektüre, die mir aufgezeigt hat, dass das buchhändlerische Leben vor fast 100 Jahren in manchen Sachen ganz anders war, sich in anderen Dingen jedoch immer noch so anfühlt, wie von Madge Jenison beschrieben.
February 24, 2010
War nicht ganz das, was ich mir erhofft hatte. Jemand hatte mir gesagt das Buch wäre so wie die von Helene Hanff. Hallo????? Die Person scheint HH nicht gelesen zu haben. Ich finde absolut keine Vergleichbarkeiten zwischen den Büchern.
Aber da das Buch an sich nicht schlecht war, habe ich ihm noch 3 Sterne gegeben.
Aber da das Buch an sich nicht schlecht war, habe ich ihm noch 3 Sterne gegeben.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews