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Maplewood, New Jersey

 There are things I dislike about this town. COVID decimated the movie landscape; you have one theater, and it’s empty, and the options are BATMAN or DR. STRANGE. You won’t see Isabelle Huppert on a Maplewood screen.


Also, a trip to a museum involves a substantial drive; the museum opens Friday through Sunday, only; light snowfall can ruin your plans.

In this setting, a bookstore is crucial. And I think the store around the corner has kept me buoyant for the past two years. I think I’m not alone, among housewives, in having this response.

Maplewood Words has a substantial children’s corner; you have a classics section, a wing for board books, and a “seasonal interest” table. Via Words, I’ve introduced my kids to Jerry Pinkney, to Tomie de Paola, and to Kevin Henkes. You’ll often overhear intriguing chats as you browse. “Did you like the last Harlan Coben? Then you’ll like this one.” “We’re closing early to make room for Ann Patchett...” “If you enjoy fiction about food....not cookbooks.....where would you turn?”

I recently read a story by Laura Lippman in which Lippman identifies a main sin among consumers: Lippman blasts the Baltimore residents who visit the local bookstore, list intriguing titles on their phones, then abandon the shop to find those titles at the local library. I confess I’ve done this before. But I might be an odd case -- because my entire life is built on books -- and because, even with my library addiction, I’ve still shelled out cash to Words (for Philip Pullman, Beverly Cleary, Cynthia Sweeney, Frank Bruni, Pam Houston, Sarah Ruhl, Alice McDermott, PD James, Graham Greene, THE MAKING OF CADDYSHACK). All that said, I respect Lippman’s argument.

I sometimes fantasize about submitting a job application to Words, becoming the guy who sits on the stool, babbling too excitedly about a new JK Rowling sociopolitical scandal. Is this setting my sights low? Who cares? It’s fun to daydream.

If there’s one thing I’d change about Words, I’d change the name. I’d use a Buffalo name: Talking Leaves. That’s so much stronger, so much more poetic. “Words” -- as a name tag -- is dull. And Buffalo knows what happens when you enter a bookstore: You become someone less alone. You enter the presence of Talking Leaves.

Still, no one’s perfect, and that’s fine. I’m grateful to have Words.






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