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Living proof of this could be found at a bookshop in southern Germany, that went by the name of the City Gate.
Inside, one late summer’s day, the question that is the raison d’être of every bookshop was being asked: “Can you recommend a good book?”
“And why don’t people in Sweden laugh?” “Because it’s so cold there in the winter. If you open your mouth to laugh, the cold air gets in around your teeth, and that hurts super bad. So they only smile.
“Those books which lie closest to our hearts are precisely the books we should give away, so that they may bring others happiness.” “You sound like a priest.” Darcy smiled. “Sometimes I feel like one.”
“Reading a lot doesn’t make you an intellectual, any more than eating a lot makes you a gourmet. I’m an egotist, reading purely for my own pleasure, out of love for good stories, not to learn something about the world.”
To my parents, there were no books for children or adults, just good or bad books, and they gave me the best, like others give diamond jewelry that you keep for a lifetime.”
“People trust you,” Gustav was saying. “That’s the most important thing for a bookseller. When you recommend a book, the customer doesn’t just hope they’ll enjoy it—they’re certain of it. And if they don’t enjoy it, it must be their own fault, not yours.” He winked.
“Books are much, much more dangerous than ice cream! They hurt your head. Or worse, your heart.” Schascha didn’t know how she could make it any plainer to Carl. He was actually pretty smart, for an old man. How could he possibly not see it? Schascha tapped her finger firmly on her friendship album. “It’s all in here! Your customers might order books, but it’s not about the books at all!”
“You need to look closer, Book Walker! The people smile when you arrive, but not when they’re unpacking the books. You’re much more important to them than the books. Maybe they know, deep down, that they’re ordering the wrong books. Or do you think Effi needs sad books? She’s got a sad enough life already!” “It’s her life. They’re her books.” “Then isn’t there a book that makes everyone happy? Like the Bible, but exciting?”
“You see, there is no book that can please everyone. And if there were, it would be a bad book. You can’t be everyone’s friend, because everyone is different. You’d have to be completely lacking in personality, no rough edges or sharp corners. But even then, many people wouldn’t like you, because they need rough edges and sharp corners.
A Book Walker with no books and no walk is a nonentity, he thought. It was only to be expected that no one was aware of him anymore. He’d already ceased to exist.
He’d often dreamed of dying while reading, with a book in his hand so riveting, the transition from life to death passed him by unnoticed.
