A visit to Autorenbuchhandlung, a small bookshop in Berlin specializing in poetry, demonstrates the differences in bookselling abroad.
It may be an odd thing to do, but whenever I’m in another country, I always go to as many bookstores as I can, even when the language is Greek to me. I love seeing the differences in how books are made and promoted, the variations in cover designs and trim sizes and colors. Although I realize I’m looking through rose-colored glasses, there seems inevitably to be a cheeriness in window displays and a pleasant languor in browsing that, at least on the surface, are lacking at home. In the process of visiting sundry foreign bookstores, some places have become like old friends to drop in on when I’m in town. In Berlin, one particular acquaintance I feel I know intimately.
Autorenbuchhandlung isn’t the catchiest name for a bookshop (bookshop is decidedly the right term, rather than bookstore). But Authors’ Bookshop
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