A Hidden World Mikyla Bultsma

It is a commonly held notion that a single book can be a portal to another world, but what do we call the place that acquires, stores, and trades such items? Of all the possible names out there, ‘bookstore’ sounds like a bit of a letdown. But I suppose that’s why they say not to judge a book by its cover.

The popularity of bookstores rises and falls as the years go by. Oftentimes, it is large chain bookstores, such as Barnes & Noble that will see the influx of clientele, leaving the diamond-in-the-rough bookstores to be excavated by adventuring souls.

It is one of these very bookstores that captured my heart the moment I stepped through the door some four years ago. Located off a main street in the busy city of Orange, surrounded by monotonous business buildings, this seemingly small diamond-in-the-rough hides out in plain sight.

From the outside, The Bookman appears small and inconsequential, although it is anything but that for true readers. As if established by its very own magic, the store seems to grow inside once the door closes behind me. I imagine it’s a feeling akin to what Lucy Pevensie felt when first discovering Narnia behind the door of a simple wardrobe.

It is easy to get lost in it all; shelves reaching to the ceiling and filled to the brim with books. One aisle after the next. Peering into each path is like gazing into an entire genre with my own eyes. There are the usual suspects: poetry, history, fiction and mystery, nonfiction, philosophy, romance and biographies. Even extending beyond the expected with books of math and science, food and cooking, religion and musical composition–literature reflects life and does not seek to limit itself to only what is expected.

It is easy to get lost. The place itself welcomes the notion. As the bookshelves tower over me, raising a world of ink on paper, it is a call for those who are willing to lose themselves in pursuit of something more than the world around them. Countless portals, collected and held in a few hundred square feet, waiting for a wandering soul to claim them and explore the world beyond the binding.

I cherish the feeling of walking through the aisle of fiction. As I walk amongst the novels and stories, it feels as if walking through time: seeing the books which are worn with use and age, some ranging as far back as decades passed. Oh, the people they have seen and the lives which they have touched firsthand. Begging a multitude of questions: Who has read these novels? How did they get there? Where will they go next?

At the heart of the store is what builds the heart of each reader: children’s books. I find there to be a certain poetry to the layout. Children’s literature holds the greatest of morals and meanings within the simplest of stories. If anything, all other established forms of literature are built upon the foundation set by children’s literature; further expounding upon tales and stories, building more complex plots and details, cloaking themes and morals underneath layers of allegories, symbolism, metaphors, and paradoxes. Just as the bookstore is designed around its children’s section, so is all literature inspired by those first meant for children.

The bookstore is a difficult place to leave; it is as if I leave a piece of my heart behind each time I depart. But there is comfort in the fact that it will always remain. Just as the realms within pages stay standing even after the book is closed.