A Haven for English Majors?

The note on a friend’s wall in Facebook – written by a woman I don’t know – said she was working in a bookstore in Vermont, “the ultimate fate of an English major at some point.” As a woman who majored in English and went on to get a master’s in that same seemingly self-indulgent area of study, I felt sad. Not because there’s anything wrong with working in a bookstore but because I suspect she’s eking out a living in business whose days are numbered.

My most cherished snapshot of the summer now drawing to a close is one never captured on anybody’s iPhone camera: Two newlyweds on the beach in Cape May, surrounded by his parents and her mom. Absorbed in their respective books, the subjects are sprawled on their chaise lounges, shielded from the blazing sun by great big beach umbrellas.

I can’t tell you what Daphne or Etan or Etan’s parents were reading. For the first time in perhaps a year, I could dedicate hours to reading something not focused on public relations or social media, but a memoir my daughter and son-in-law had given me for my birthday. The book was Monica Holloway’s Driving with Dead People. Though the subject is sad -- kids growing up amid an abusive father’s reign of terror and a narcissistic mother’s neglect -- the memoir was a page-turner.

That was the same week I finally finished reading Richard Yates’ Revolutionary Road, the 1961 novel I purchased shortly after having seen the movie in early January. The reason I mention this is not because I’m planning to give you a catalogue of everything I’ve read, but because I fear that the distractions of Facebook, Twitter – along with the two television programs I’ve watched religiously, Mad Men and Nurse Jackie – have stolen time I once used for pleasure reading.

Am I eager to see if Jackie –seen blacked out on the floor of the ER’s ladies room in the season finale – can tackle her substance abuse problems and stop cheating on her doting husband? You bet I'm looking forward to Season 2 of Nurse Jackie; do any of you know when it will start? But at the same time, I’m glad to have a breather that’s allowing me to read Richard Ford’s The Sportswriter, a gripping 1986 novel about a man who’s lived through the death of a child, marital breakup and is about to face yet more change – all in the week leading up to Easter.

While I continue to have a Tivo “season pass” for Mad Men, usually watching it on Tuesday evenings at 7:45, I’m enjoying season 3 less than I enjoyed season 2. I like that Betty Draper’s maid, Carla, is calling Betty’s creepy father on his racism, but I also find it distasteful, maybe even silly, that Peggy Olson gets drawn into trying marijuana in the workplace. Bottom line: I think I’m enjoying The Sportswriter more than I’m enjoying Mad Men.

Bookstores are suffering the fate of newspapers – with prospective customers opting to make their purchases online or download “books” onto a Kindle. I’ve said it before and I don’t mind saying it again. I hate making purchases via Amazon.com, not only because I think the site tries to be too technologically cutesy, remembering things I wish it would forget, but also because it deprives me of the opportunity to browse inside a bookstore.

The Barnes & Noble in Boston’s Downtown Crossing has been gone for years now, and if I don’t feel like driving to Chestnut Hill I will have to redeem the birthday gift card from my parents online. I’ll probably use it to purchase Shel Israel’s Twitterville.

Thank goodness there’s still a Borders at the corner of School and Washington, just down the street from my office. On days when I have no lunch plans I like nothing better than to walk through the store, not knowing what fellow book lovers I might meet, usually having no idea what if anything I might chose to buy. If I need gift recommendations, I know I can count on a guy with a lanyard around his neck, glasses and graying crew cut – probably a former English major. He’s great at helping me find the historical biographies I know Dennis loves.

This particular Borders often has a long line at lunchtime. The fact that it’s there long after Lauriat’s and the Globe Corner Bookstore have folded is not lost on me. Dare I hope up that this particular bookstore will survive amid hard times, technological advances, and changing tastes?

Driving with Dead People

The Sportswriter

Revolutionary Road

Twitterville