Chicago Bookstores: Hyde Park

The "Memoirs A-Z" book case at Powell's -
if you read this blog regularly, you know
I'm partial to memoirs, so it will come
as no surprise that this is one of my
favorite haunts.

Coming to Chicago and itching for a good bookstore browse? My neighborhood, Hyde Park, dominated by the University of Chicago campus, is unique in that it features four amazing bookstores within a few blocks, and that's not even counting the university bookstore managed by Barnes & Noble. Hyde Park is only a short bus ride (about 20 minutes, depending on traffic) from downtown:

Directions: Take bus #6 (Jackson Park Express) – if you're here for AWP this week, you can catch it right outside the Chicago Hilton on Balbo (east of Michigan Ave). The #6 can also be caught at several stops on State Street in the Loop. The #10 Museum Campus bus is also a possibility as it takes you straight to the Museum of Science and Industry, which is worth a visit in and of itself. You'll need to walk one block more going west than if you take the #6. You can also take a taxi; a ride to Hyde Park is about $15. Finding a taxi back is a bit of an issue, but during Museum hours you can find taxis right in front of the museum. A single bus ride currently costs $2.25 in cash.

Powells' Bookstore, 1501 E. 57th Street. Once you get off the bus, walk west on 57th Street, through the underpass (you'll see it from the bus stop). After the underpass you walk about half a block and you will find Powell’s on the left side of the street. This is the mecca of used books in the city, and due to the high academic traffic, their selection changes constantly and is quite sophisticated.

O'Gara & Wilson Ltd., 1448 E. 57th Street. The same is true for O’Gara’s, another great and venerable used book store, Chicago's oldest, in fact. It has a more antiquarian feel to it, and is almost across the street from Powell’s (half a block farther west).

57th Street Books, 1301 E. 57th Street. If you feel like browsing new books as well, continue on 57th Street as 57th Street Books is three blocks down, a comfortable walk. They carry a good selection of literary magazines, and also have a wonderful children's book section.

Seminary Co-op Bookstore, 5757 S. University Ave. If you want to visit President Obama’s favorite bookstore, continue two blocks on 57th Street until you hit University Ave (you will pass a light), then turn left, and go south for one block. The Seminary Co-op is in the basement of a church. It's moving in August, so this is the last chance to experience the original labyrinthine basement location with heating pipes hissing at you. Their selection is literary and scholarly. You will find the latest books on all scientific discussions there as it is one of the best academic bookstores in the world.

Outside the Oriental Institute on a
recent visit

If you've made it to the Seminary Co-op, you're right on campus, with a view of the quads, the main square of campus with its neo-Gothic and ivy-laden buildings. The Oriental Institute, an unbelievable gem of a museum (it's free, too!) with archaeological artifacts from the Ancient Middle East (a 5,000-year-old mummy is a favorite with tourists) is right across the street from the Seminary Co-op. As the University of Chicago is one of the world's leading institutions conducting archaeological research, this museum is constantly showing new artifacts and sharing new insights into ancient civilizations.

Frank Lloyd Wright’s famous Robie House is one block east of the Seminary Co-op, at the corner of 58th Street and Woodlawn. At the very least, walk by. This corner also affords you a great view of Rockefeller Chapel, where the University of Chicago commencements are held.

Check this Hyde Park map; it shows all the bookstores and local landmarks. As you can see, it's all rather close together, in big city terms at least.

Should you get hungry, the Medici, 1327 E. 57th Street, one block east from 57th Street Books, is a great local hang-out (Their chocolate croissants are my family's favorite and to be had at the adjacent bakery; however, they tend to run out by late morning.). While the Medici has a distinct student café feel (the wooden tables are carved with signatures and love notes), families will brunch here on weekends, and friends of all generations meet here.

With the current general demise of bookstores (see my note yesterday on losing the local Borders), Hyde Park is still blessed with four high-quality independents, all within a few blocks. They're not hard to find, but beware, you can get lost in them.

On Having a Local Bookstore

I've been cleaning up my desk (a highly overdue task) and came across this Borders bookmark, and as I was about to toss it in the recycling bin, I stopped myself, because I realized that, "Wait a minute, this is historic now. There aren't any more coming from where this came from." Namely, most likely, the Borders bookstore that was three blocks from where I live.

The Borders bookstore chain ruled the bookstore landscape for a while but went bankrupt last year. I must say, though, that I wasn't that sad when the local one closed its doors. In the beginning, I loved that store. It had a nice café on the second floor and on my Fridays off, I could stop there after dropping the kids off at school, have a cup of coffee, maybe a brownie, and browse books. But then they changed their opening hours to 10:00 a.m. Gone was that treat. Then it slowly became the local hangout for teenagers. One time I went it to look for a travel guide and couldn't even enter the nook with the travel books as I found myself facing five teenagers, their backpacks and down jackets all over the place. Having to excuse myself for wanting to look for a book in a bookstore felt rather awkward, and it was equally unpleasant to have the store manager busy shoo-shooing those who clearly weren't there to buy something out of the store.

An unpleasant shopping experience makes you not go to a store anymore. This might just be the local experience and have little to do with the overall demise of Borders but it also shows how, with the best intentions, a store can fail. Luckily, our local mainstays, Powells, 57th Street Books, and the Seminary Co-op bookstores are still around, and interestingly, they are of the independent kind that supposedly is endangered. They are, however, much farther from where I live, and so I've been thinking about what it means not to have a bookstore around the corner. A friend recently remarked how pathetic it was that we don't have a big bookstore downtown Chicago anymore, but then again, we didn't before the big Borders moved in, so we shall live.

For me it just means life is back to before Borders. There is amazon, and amazon to me is the real advantage in 21st Century book life. I love researching and buying books at amazon, and I use their "save for later" cart function as my virtual "to read" list. Plus I can buy books in France or Germany if I want to.

But I also love stopping at my favorite bookstore, which these days is the Barnes & Noble in Valparaiso, Indiana. It's got that big store feel, a great selection of nonfiction and memoir, and I always get my favorite British magazine there. And there is something to browsing in a bookstore, just like there is something to reading an actual newspaper. Looking through shelves or turning over pages makes you notice things you otherwise wouldn't, and that a Search function wouldn't find, because you don't even know you're looking for it. So most often, the whole family leaves that store with more than we were looking for.

Photo Essay: Drab and Color

To date we've had merely two significant snow falls in Chicago, and both times the snow lasted only a few days, so it's been a drab winter. Without the white blanket of winter, February is looking like March usually does: Drab, drab, drab. No color.

On a recent morning walk, I was thinking about all that drabness and yearning for some color. And lo and behold, as I turned a corner, a spot of shiny orange caught my eye. Could it be? Color in this world of greys and browns? Sure enough, it was this mirrored garden globe shining at me.

I stopped and stared in wonder, and as I surveyed the neighborhood these two blue deck chairs just across the street of the garden globe beckoned. You gotta love people who put happy blue deck chairs on their front porch, don't you? Especially when they play off so well against the brick and the additional happy dots of the decorative lights in the window.

I tried to get another good shot of the garden globe, and perhaps I did, but not until I reviewed the pictures on my camera did I notice that what I really captured was the lichen and the wonderful pattern of this bark.

By now I was on the hunt for color, and this one block of Woodlawn Avenue between 61st and 62nd Streets did not disappoint: I'm happy I noticed the interplay of this almost iridescent verdigris stain with a blotch of lichen on the stone wall framing the front steps of St. John's Baptist Church. Something must have stood here, something made of copper, don't you think?

And then, just a few steps on, I found these tiger lilies looking out the church's office window, aptly framed by drab brick.

Across the street from the tiger lilies is this so 1970s planter in that so 1970s green, welcoming passersby to the neighborhood. What would you call that green?

Around another corner, what was parked right there? This tomato red Mini Cooper, the only colorful car in the street.

On yet another morning walk, I spotted these blue bikes. They would go well with the blue deck chairs, don't you think? The two of them, in that same happy sky blue, provide such a great contrast to that drab ground of soggy earth and dead grass.

As you can see, I'm hunting for color on my morning walks now.

First Person versus Third Person



Checking my notes at the writersandcritters conference

Today I'm sharing the recording of a short conversation on the merits of writing in first, second or third person that we got into after my talk at the writersandcritters conference.

Briefly speaking, writers typically employ first person point of view for memoir and personal essay as it is the most intimate and natural choice. It is, however, by its very nature rather close, and, when writing, it can be hard to differentiate between the "I" in the story and the "I" of the writer. Switching to third person can help you gain that perspective and see yourself as a character. You can always switch back to first person later. Using second person can have a similar effect, although in English "you" serves two purposes, and so it can be hard not to seem to be addressing the reader, unless you're writing in letter form and are meaning to do that.

I found the issue of using the impersonal pronoun particularly interesting and you will see, if you listen to the short podcast, that we had a little back and forth about that. English doesn't really have a designated word for the impersonal like other languages do, and we discussed the perils of using "you" versus "one." I'd be interested to hear what you have to say about that.

Mitbringsel

Today I am going to impose on you the German word "Mitbringsel" because there's really no succinct term in English for these things we bring for someone from a trip. "Mitbringsel" is one of those great literal word creations that are possible in German: "mit" means "with," and "bring" means "to bring," and "sel" is a suffix meant to endear. So these are "withbrings," things you bring with you from where you went, or if you visit someone. Travel is involved, and often the recipient knows what you're bringing because you asked what he or she wants, or if you're the recipient, you asked the traveler for these specific Mitbringsel.

Like I did when my husband recently traveled to Germany. "Give me a list," he said. The photo shows all the Mitbringsel stacked on our couch, once we were done unpacking (from the upper left): a bag of cholocates for the kids, my handcream, toothpaste my husband prefers, Munich-themed napkins my brother-in-law sent, a few dishes from Munich's delicatessen Käfer (bug) to replenish our supply, a special Vichy cream, and of course, a few German books.

I am told we are not unique in this schlepping of Mitbringsel. If you've lived in one country but used to live in another, there are certain things you like from the "old" one, and suitcases can get heavy. A Mexican friend of mine always travels with an extra suitcase full of stuff she has to bring to Mexico for her relatives, and stuff she brings back for her family here. My mother has lived in Germany for more than 40 years but she still washes her hair with Prell shampoo, that either I or others bring from the U.S. Similarly, I love a certain drugstore brand of German handcream that I've managed to keep "importing" all these years.

In a way it's fun to think about what you keep schlepping back and forth, or ask others to schlepp. Of course I could find a handcream here I like but as long as I can keep getting my favorite one, I will keep doing that. It's a small part of who I am.

The End in Memoir

Here's a little chuckle for you on a genre that often leaves little to chuckle about. Last Sunday I went to a memoir event: Moment Magazine was presenting the winners of its memoir contest at Spertus Institute, and Shalom Auslander was providing some spice. And he did.

I haven't read his notorious memoir Foreskin Lament, so I don't have an opinion on that, but he did not read from it, nor did he read from his new novel Hope, A Tragedy. Rather, he spoke about writing memoir. Here's what stuck in my head because it made me laugh:

"If you write memoir," he said, " you have to get used to this kind of thing: After a reading, a guy comes up to me and says, you know, your book - I really liked the beginning, but I didn't like the end."

Reflections on a Year of Blogging

Nevada Road - see corresponding photo essay on wild horses

What a ride it has been! I started this blog in January last year because I wanted to have a web presence as a writer, and a friend had recommended a blog as an easy way to do that. Little did I know that blogging would open up a whole new world. I had no concept then that I would learn so much, make wonderful connections, and discover more about myself in the process.

Here's some of what amazed me most about blogging:

• The generosity of commenters - A big thank you to all my readers who've taken the time to comment on a post, or a few posts, or many posts. You make me happy, and I love having a conversation with you. Each time a comment notification arrives in my inbox, my heart skips a little. A special shout out to Nancy, who supported my blogging efforts from the very beginning, and to Anjuli, who is, I believe, my most faithful commenter. Thank you! 
• The sense of community - My first big experience of that was last May's Blogathon, hosted by the amazingly generous Michelle Rafter. Then I took two blogging classes with Kristen Lamb (check out the #MYWANA hashtag on Twitter to see the great sense of community she builds). Slowly but surely I had friends out in cyberspace, other writers who were trying to learn the blogging ropes just like I was, or who were a few steps ahead of me, and generous in sharing their knowledge.
• The challenge of developing a voice - Naively, I thought the main learning would be dealing with the technology, but that turned out to be the easy part. Figuring out who I am as a blogger, finding a voice, learning from all that is out there and yet not getting distracted by it - that is the real challenge, and continues to be.
• The blog is shaped by its readers - I initally thought of my blog as an extension of my memoir classes, but soon discovered that there was so much more to share, and so much I could figure out about my views and ideas by sharing them on my blog. Posts that I thought were rather mundane could resonate greatly with readers - such as my riff on writing postcards. The color lists became a regular feature because you all loved the idea. My MFA Q&A series was an idea from a fellow Blogathoner who sent me a list of questions, and my series on artist residencies sprung from a question one of my students asked. Which brings me to the most unexpected discovery of all:

Mesa Arch - see corresponding photo essay

• The appreciation for my photography - I've taken pictures all my life, and learned a thing or two from my dad who would always stop the car and made us wait to "take a picture," but I was amazed by how my readers cheered me on to share pictures of the road trip my family and I took to the Southwest last summer. A special shout out to Kelley Clink, whose question whether I'd blog about the trip prompted me to do so, and to Natalie Hartford, whose encouragement has cheered me on to create many more photo essays. Photos from my road trip ended up as a My Vacation story on SecondAct.
• The ideas keep coming - the creative process works the same way with blogging as it does with other creative endeavors: the more you do it, the better you get at it, and the more ideas bounce around. I blog about things now that I never even conceived of a year ago.
• The wealth of information on blogs - I subscribe to more than 100 blogs myself. I continue to be astounded by the neat things I discover, the knowledge others are willing to share, and the sheer fun to be had sometimes.
• The greatest link can come out of left field - such as a the Wall Street Journal article "How to Save an Unproductive Day in 25 Minutes" that linked to my blog post Hemingway on Writing. My page hits have doubled since that link appeared in December, and yet I have no idea how the journalists came upon my blog (I asked but didn't hear back.).

As my blogging journey continues, I want to thank all of you, my readers, my commenters, and my guest bloggers, for your support, your interest, and your generosity. I started at zero more than a year ago; now more than 200 people read my blog every day. Thank you, and please keep the comments, the ideas, and the questions coming. I will aim to put them to good use.

Writing Exercise: Color List - Purple

Since we already did red, which would also have been appropriate for February, the month of Valentine's Day, the color for this month is purple. At least there is some red in there. Purple is my daughter's favorite color (those are some of her clothes in the photo), so she helped me come up with the intial list here, but I am curious to see what you all will contribute.

For the uninitiated, the idea is to come up with ways to evoke purple without mentioning the color itself since one of the challenges of writing effective descriptions is getting the color just right. Each month on this blog we work on one color, so far we’ve done white, gray, brown, orange, red, green, pink, blue, and yellow.

Here's my list for purple (let's see what you come up with!):

amethyst
bruise
eggplant
lavender
lilac
plum
violet

The Art of Dr. Seuss

There is one more thing I wanted to share with you from my visit to the recent Dr. Seuss and the Art of Invention Exhibit at the Museum of Science & Industry: his art, especially the picture Prayer for a Child with its accompanying poem. Unfortunately, I did not get permission to share the image here, so please click on the link to see it.

It struck me that Theodor Geisel (a.k.a. Dr. Seuss) is one of the true artists of our time, or rather of the 20th century. Like Edward Hopper, he was an illustrator first before he developed is own art, and his art is not part of any movement. It is truly original because he did his thing. And perhaps that's why he was so successful - he was truly unique, and he managed to capture a spirit that others responded to.

He did his art work for himself, painting in the evening, and often displayed his paintings at his home. For example, Green Cat with Lights hung in his foyer for many years. However, he did not even present it as his own; rather, it is signed "Stroogo von M." because he wanted his guests' honest reactions, and not just praise for himself. I doubt, though, that they didn't recognize a "Seuss."

Since he was such a great writer, the titles he gave his paintings exhibit that true Seuss way of poking fun at the world, while at the same time capturing, I think, a time and place, and a way of life (California in the 1950s/60s). Can't you just see these:

Martini Bird
Gosh! Do I Look as Old as That?
Oh, I'd Love to Go to the Party but I'm Absolutely Dead