There is a man who sells books at the local Sunday market whom I affectionately refer to as “The Philosopher”. Throughout the summer he peddles his wares, both books and old vinyl records, surrounded by others who do very much the same thing. What makes him stand out is the quality of his merchandise, or I should say, the selection. While others have mountains of old paperback Harlequin romances, he stocks philosophy titles, both East and West, world classics, science fiction, and political pieces. For example, the week before last I purchased “Essential Works of Marxism” and “The Dao of Zhuangzi: The Harmony of Nature” (I have quite an affection for the books in this series, one of the illustrated Eastern classics by Tsai Chih Chung). He threw in a free copy of “The Sufferings of Young Werther” by Goethe (which I value incalculably). A couple weeks before that I picked up a work by Spinoza published by the Modern Library (no longer that modern, though no less readable and accurate). Before that a work by Kapleau entitled “The Three Pillars of Zen”, and the list goes on. My summer reading has been enriched by my good friend The Philosopher.
There is no comparison, in my opinion, between the summer book market and the local Chapters or especially the online book supplier. In terms of relationship, of community, connection, and occasionally even in terms of price the summer market wins hands down. There’s nothing quite like sipping a coffee with the sun in one’s face, a gentle breeze fluttering the leaves all around, while speaking easily of some topic suggested to us by simply looking at a book resting upon a table. Here in the park people feel easy, they smile, the air is fresh, vendors arrange their products neatly on folding tables and benches. A man nods as he plays an accordion for change along the way. My coffee is hot as I enter, but by the time I leave it is always either cold or gone, and under my arm is almost always tucked a worn but well-cherished book.
