Walking into a bookshop is a depressing thing. Its not the pretentious twats, browsing books as part of their desirable lifestyle. Its not the scrubby members of staff serving at the counter: the pseudo-hippies and fucking misfits. Its not the stink of coffee wafting out from somewhere in the building, a concession to the cult of the coffee bean. No, its the books. I could ignore the other shit, decide that maybe it didnt matter too much, that when consumerism meets culture, the result is always going to attract wankers and everything that goes with them. But the books, no, theyre what make your stomach sink and that feeling of dark syrup on the brain descend. Look around you, look at the shelves upon shelves of books for years, the vessels of all knowledge. Were part of the new world now, but books persist. Cheap biographies, pulp fiction; glossy covers hiding inadequate sentiments. Walk in and youre surrounded by this shit to every side a reminder that we dont want stimulation anymore, we want sedation. Fight your way through the celebrity memoirs, pornographic cook books, and cheap thrills that satisfy most and you get to the second wave of vomit-inducing product: offerings for the inspired and arty. Matte poetry books, classics, the finest culture can provide packaged and wedged into trendy coverings, kidding you that youre buying a fashion accessory, not a book. But hey, if you can stomach a trip further into the shop, you hit on the meatier stuff history, science, economics provided they can stick pop. in front of it, theyll stock it. Pop. psychology, pop. art, pop. life. Its the new world we dont want serious anymore, we want nuggets of almost-useful information. Books are the past, theyre on the out. Information is digital now; bookshops, theyre somewhere between gallery and museum.
About This Quote
About Matthew Selwyn, ****: The Anatomy of Melancholy
Matthew Selwyn, ****: The Anatomy of Melancholy.
Themes
- Humor — Witty observations and humorous takes on everyday life