Two months ago, Lakshmi and I were talking about bookshops. There's a world of difference between a huge chain of stores and a small musty store packed so tight with books that you have to turn sideways to get through some of the aisles. The employees have usually been there for years, and their love for books is evident in everything they do. Bangalore has several little shops like that, and it's always a pleasure to go in, browse for a while and chat with the owner, who's usually delighted at having a customer who shares his passion for good writing. In the course of the conversation, Lachu mentioned a book she had read, 84 Charing Cross Road [Amazon.com] that describes the touching correspondence of a writer in New York with a shop in London that specialises in old books.
A few days ago, I was looking through my cousin's bookshelf and I found this gem. It's an absolute treasure, one of the more memorable books I've read in the last year or two. If you enjoy reading, you're sure to love it. It's sentimental, sincere, and beautifully written. I can't recommend it highly enough. Beg, borrow, or steal it today.
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Must get my hands on it, then.
I was at Landmark two days ago, and came upon this book by Ray Bradbury called The Zen in the Art of Writing. Would've bought it if I wasn'tso borke. Will do so soon.
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