My Local Bookstore

A fond farewell

Photo by Sid Saxena on Unsplash

My local bookstore is gone. It closed over a year ago, the decision made as a result of fiscal considerations as so often seems to be the case these days. 

It’s been over a year, but the loss still feels fresh. How do you unravel the attachment to a place that was such a large part of so many years of your life?

As is often the case in suburbia, my local bookstore was a chain store. But it never felt that way to me. To quote You’ve Got Mail, Chapters was a god damn piazza to me as its aisles held me from elementary school right into adulthood. I wish I could remember the first time I visited Chapters. When I was in school, we had weekly trips to the library – I’d leave there my bag smelling of chlorine from the swim class that accompanied library day, and 4-5 books. I’d power through them all, return them the following week, and start with a fresh batch. Now it’s wild to me to think of how I was getting through all these books and homework, but I guess before short form media ruined my brain I was filling many of my waking hours with stories. I’d read on the way to and from school, I’d read when I came home, I’d read while I hid in the bathroom to avoid working on my math homework, and I’d read until I was forced to go to sleep. 

And then I discovered Chapters. If I remember correctly, its existence was shared by a girl in my elementary class. But then, I learned about a store near me, my first experience of a local bookstore. It was something special – a standalone store dedicated to books. No longer was it the place you’d visit in the mall, in those days a far smaller nod to the practice of literacy. Rather this one was big, and spacious, with the occasional spots to sit in, and soft warm lighting that felt like a welcoming space that begged you to lose a few hours to the thrill of discovering something new.

Before long, visiting Chapters became a standard part of my weekend routine. I’d tag along on a grocery store trip – this was a time when Metro’s prices were normal enough to warrant it being the go to grocery store – and then finagle a short drive down the way to the bookstore. Once there, the smell greeted me – that warm mix of chain coffee and books. My dad would wander off to the magazine section to kill time, and for me, the bookstore was my domain. I’d split off, first taking in whichever books they’d set up at the front letting me know the books of the moment. I’d look at the discounted paperbacks and see if anything took my fancy. Perhaps, one of my go to authors at the time released a new book, and I’d make my way possibly to the YA section seeking out their newest creation. But that was the only time I’d come in looking for a specific book. Rather, the majority of the time, I’d let the aisles lead me to a new read – or reads (let's be clear your girl was not leaving with just one book in hand). I’d start alphabetically, and move down the aisles, taking my eyes shelf by shelf  waiting for my next reads to find me. 

My weekend routine, for all that it was familiar, felt like an adventure each time. I’d find something new and different each week. I’d learn about new worlds, new experiences, with each story I added to my personal book inventory. No matter what was going on in my life – family, health concerns, burgeoning love interests, school – my books were safe havens where the only drama was manufactured and nearly everyone was guaranteed a happy ending. Life unfortunately is rarely ever so predictable, you have to live it out to find out the outcome.

When the pandemic first hit, my local Chapters (and one of the few still called Chapters instead of Indigo) was one of the last places I visited before the world shut down. We went to the grocery store, and as I tried to wrap my mind around what the news was predicting, I felt the only way I could face it was with a few new books in hand. I remember the store being quiet, the odd person here and there, but mostly an empty store – perhaps at that time the mayhem was only to be found in the toilet paper aisles of supermarkets.

Before I knew it, I was working from home, leaving only for scattered wanderings around my neighbourhood and not much else, but I had my books to turn to even if I could barely focus on them. 

I think this was the part of my reader journey, that I began to expand what a local bookstore meant to me. If Chapters was big bad Fox Books, the real local independent bookstores were The Shop Around the Corner and they had to be saved from the impending decline that was coming for smaller stores across the city. I started researching other bookstores, namely those that delivered. I figured if I was going to buy books anyways – and I most definitely was buying – I might as well spread the purchases around and do what I could to keep the industry afloat. Eventually, I found Queen Books – they delivered to the suburbs, they were independent, their website was easy to navigate, and books arrived speedily. I’d get emails about my books, and see their staff personally dropping my books off, popping out of a car parked across the street and coming to my door, paper bag in hand with my name scrawled on it. I’d never set foot in the store before, and yet, they felt like another lifeline to familiarity in an uncertain time. Soon, they’d be the site that I’d check first when looking for books slowly edging out Chapters for first place in my book hoarding heart.

Before I knew it, it’d been ages since I’d gone to Chapters, at least in person. But I liked knowing it was there, I assumed it’d always be there, a steady presence waiting for me to come back whenever I needed. I last went there for my birthday a few months before it closed. Over the years, it’d changed with the times – more home goods, tech, and knick knacks scattered around the store among the books – but it always felt like home, it always felt like mine. 

When I learned it was closing it felt like the end of an era. Like it took me as far as I needed to go, and maybe it was time for us to veer off in separate directions. Chapters to an empty shell, and me to finding a new space to make my own. 

I don’t find myself in Indigos much. There are few scattered here and there in my area, or I come across them downtown, but they’re not the same. They’re either small and cramped, or too big, like Goldilocks they all leave me searching for my version of just right. They’re not my store, their fluorescent lights more suitable for killing time when waiting for a friend or popping in for a quick card, then the leisurely experience that was once the highlight of my week.

For now, my local bookstore is a split journey of Chapters, the first love I’ll never forget, and Queen Books, the new entry giving me the warm vibes and the books I’m looking for – hey maybe one day I’ll even visit it in person.

But for now I officially say so long, farewell to my original bookstore, to my Chapters. Thank you for the aisles that were big enough to hold me no matter how I showed up.