This month, the local Barnes and Noble - a place that, in the winter, I could reach via my electric trike - closed down. According to the employees, this particular Barnes and Noble was doing well - better, they said proudly, than the Barnes and Noble up in Altamonte Springs (which is still open). And presumably less well than the Barnes and Noble down in the Dr. Philips area. The store had originally benefited from being only the second major bookstore in the west Orange area. Once the Borders in Ocoee closed, it was the only major bookstore in the west Orange area, benefiting from the expansion of Winter Garden and Clermont and the quiet wealth of Windermere. The other bookstores are all twenty, thirty minutes away at best from this area - a Books-A-Million up in Leesburg, which is more or less the equivalent of the moon for me, and another one in Altamonte Springs - less moon like, but four buses is a bit much - and the previously mentioned Barnes and Noble. Some customers said they would trek there anyway. Others said they would use Amazon. No one, despite hopeful hints from Barnes and Noble employees, said they would use the Barnes and Noble website.

(This is more about physical bookstores than websites, but I'll say it here anyway: Barnes and Noble, speaking as someone with a Nook who really wants you to succeed, your website is very difficult to search/browse through, both online and through the Nook, and Amazon's recommended feature leaves yours far behind. Kobo is sending me better, more targeted emails and I don't even visit their site. I'd work on this.)

Apparently, the company behind Forever 21 agreed to pay three times the rent that Barnes and Noble is paying. The outdoor mall management loved this idea. Barnes and Noble balked at a rent increase, and here we are.

I'm not sure what, if any, effect this will have on that particular mall, which is an outdoor mall in one section and a line of huge, big block stores like Lowe's and Target in another section. Bitter Barnes and Noble employees claimed that the idea was to bring in more teenagers with the Forever 21. The place does seem rather short of teenagers, but then again, I'm usually there on weekday mornings in winter, not a peak teenager shopping time, so it's entirely possible that in the afternoons, teenagers pop up everywhere, eager to spend. Or not. What seems to be more of a concern, specifically to the employees of the Bath and Body Works, was that Barnes and Noble tended to draw a relatively upscale crowd that was happy to wander over to Bath and Body Works and spend money there. Also, this now means that the Bath and Body Works people either have to cross a large, and, in the summer, painfully hot parking lot, or a six lane street in order to reach Starbucks, which means, they guess, they're stuck with Panera which isn't as good for coffee.

Which brings up another slight issue: that area did have three - count them, three - Starbucks in a very limited location: the one at Barnes and Noble, the one at Target, and the actual Starbucks just across the road. I wondered how sustainable that was.

Then again, this complex is located directly north of a very well to do area, and south of a patchily well to do area - some streets are very well to do indeed, and then there's my street, which isn't, but can afford the occasional stop at Starbucks, and east of a solid, rapidly growing middle class suburb. Who knows.

Anyway, everyone agreed that the Barnes and Noble was an anchor store that brought in customers, and was a place for people to meet, and study, and talk books, and this sucks, and the hospital going up across the street is not a substitute for any of this.

For me, this is personally painful for another reason: with the exception of my first months here, before I got my electric trike of awesomeness, it's the first time since I was 11 or so that I have not been able to get to a bookstore on my own. Granted, reaching one in a Connecticut winter was nearly impossible on a bicycle, but the bookstore was there, and I knew it was there, providing a certain comfort. Afterwards, I could always reach one. Two decent ones easily available my first year of college; three my last three years. Several in South Florida; several in Tokyo (overpriced English language bookstores, but definitely there. You can buy anything in Tokyo if you have the money.) The all too short lived Here Be Dragons bookstore, and this Barnes and Noble.

And now, without a ride, nothing but online bookstores. Which, for all of my severe addiction to the Orange County Library's ebook selection, just isn't the same. You can't feel a book on a website. I don't get the same sense of reassurance. Of home. Of books.

I'm going to be resenting this new Forever 21 for awhile.
1. Over at Tor.com, we're discussing Johnny Depp's portrayal of Willy Wonka. Come chat.

2. And that is finally the end of the Roald Dahl journey. Now, I think it's time to focus on people who are smaller. A lot smaller. With perhaps an introductory book first...

3. This morning I headed out to what will be one of my last trips to the Here Be Dragons Bookshoppe, which alas is having to close down because of the owner's health issues. It's incredibly frustrating: a bookstore selling used and independent books (and the occasional dragon) that's turning a profit...and this. The owner is offering the business for sale, and says she has a couple of interested prospects, so I'll keep my fingers crossed.
Curious question:

Why, in nearly every discussion of the death/survival of brick and mortar bookstores, does Books A Million never come up?

Seriously. It's like we have either Barnes and Noble and struggling independent bookstores or nothing, always followed by worried observations that Barnes and Noble and independent bookstores are closing their doors. And nothing about the entity in between. And yes, I'm as guilty of this as anyone. And yes, the concerns about Barnes and Noble, based on their fiscal reports, seem valid.

But in 2012, Books a Million, according to their annual report added retail outlets. They took a fiscal loss for the year, but the report also adds that as a result of the expansion, they had their strongest holiday season ever, and their expectations for 2013 remain strong.

Now, let me be clear here: Books A Million is a lot smaller than Barnes and Noble is, and although I haven't seen any royalty reports from anyone, this strongly suggests that book sales through Books A Million are thus a lot smaller than sales from Barnes and Noble (let alone Amazon or even for some authors Target and Walmart). And I don't see, nor does this annual report suggest, that Books A Million has any plans to reach the size of Barnes and Noble or the late lamented Borders, and their annual report notes that they haven't paid stockholder dividends for the last few quarters. And annual reports by nature tend to at least try to give an optimistic spin on events.

But still, here you have it: a brick and mortar bookstore that is adding locations and unlike Barnes and Noble reported a healthy holiday season. Which almost nobody is talking about. I don't know what Books a Million is doing right (I didn't bother to comb through the entire annual report) and I have no idea what their position will be later this year. I do note they are selling Nooks, suggesting that they, too, have a lot of concerns about Amazon's dominance in the ebook market. But they are there, and growing, and I think they should be brought into the discussion.
So, CD and I figured we stop in the closing Borders after the movie today, just to see what might be still available. They still had a store closing sign up, if nothing else. As we drove up, we saw the LAST DAY signs.

Not just the last day, as it turned out.

When we entered, at about 1:30 pm, the manager was shouting, all books now left, just two for a dollar. Two for a dollar. People were walking out with lighting and bookcases. One of the cashiers was crying. Three tables still had some books -- mostly, I'm sorry to say, speculative fiction, and a few romances here and there. "Two for a dollar," the manager shouted again, to the very few customers not looking at bookcases. "Magazines four for a dollar."

CD grabbed a couple and went to the cashier. I hung around the table, looking at what was left.

"We're closing in five more minutes," said the manager, voice breaking. "Five more minutes. All books left, two for a dollar." After a more few minutes. "Two for a dollar. We're about to close." And then in a softer voice, "I don't want to toss them."

I added four more books to the two I'd grabbed. It didn't much matter which ones at that point, I thought. I couldn't have them end up in a landfill, and at least this way I could get them to a library or the used bookstore if I hated them.

"Two more minutes," he called out again.

I made it to the cashier. By that point, both cashiers were crying. She rang me up -- the books rang a little more than two for a dollar; she hit the keypad a few more times; the final charge, with sales tax, was considerably less than the three dollars I should have paid.

"Thank you," I said, which just sounded so inadequate. I couldn't remember if I'd seen the cashier before or not. "I really loved this place." What an asinine thing to say I thought then, but I couldn't take it back, and I had wanted to say something.

She managed a nod.

"We're closing," said the manager.

I took a look over to what had been the coffee area -- now stripped of its counter, with only one small table left, where every once in awhile, I'd been able to hang out with a friend or two, sipping coffee, chatting about books and gaming, or lusting after netbooks. (Ones carried by friends, not Borders.) To the other areas, where I'd explored to see the bookstore could offer. It had, like so many Borders, devoted more and more floor space to things other than books (and this particular Borders sold almost no music or DVDs), but it had still had stuffed bookcases.

We waited for two people to take a bookcase out.

When we stepped out, the three tables -- still with a few more books and magazines -- were still there, along with a few -- very few -- other bookcases, most marked with names, and people removing lighting fixtures. And the manager was taking the steps to the entrance, to close the door.

As we drove away, we saw one employee outside still waving the LAST DAY 90 PERCENT OFF sign. I don't think he wanted to go back in, even though by now, no one else could use that discount.

***********

Goodbye, local Borders. And may your fellow still living Borders bookstores rebound, whatever their management may do.
So, Borders is closing various Florida bookstores.

To no one's surprise, one of those locations is the store currently closest to me, which is sad because it's where we occasionally hang out before or after a movie, but not surprising: it's by a slowly sinking shopping mall that features a merry-go-round, a movie theater, and several shuttered stores. The movie theater, too, would probably be suffering if it weren't for its saving grace: the only other nearby theaters are either very tiny, or, Universal Studios with the parking lot from hell, various theaters on the "what, you want your car to move forward International Drive?" and so on. (There is also a Clermont theater, but not that close to here or Ocoee.) I just hope this isn't another bad sign for the theatre.

I was also saddened to hear of the other non-surprising closure: the Borders near Galleria Mall on Sunrise Boulevard in Fort Lauderdale. I say non-surprising because about the very first thing that anyone out of town said upon seeing this store is, "And how exactly can they afford to be here?" That particular Borders is/was located in a spectacular location – right on a river, within a (long) walk to the beach, accessible by Water Taxi, something I actually took from there once in a touristy sort of mood. Or you could sit on the porch, sipping coffee and nibbling on cookies, watching yachts go by. Or heading to a poetry reading, or small concert, or Harry Potter party, or whatever. Not, um, that I spent entirely too much time at that bookstore or anything like that.*

As I said, awesome location, but I will bet, hands down, that is also the one location where no executive bothered to look at actual in store sales, instead looking with stark horror at actual in store property taxes and/or rent and/or the land values. Prime real estate, certainly, but that doesn't always equate to prime shopping location.

The surprising closure is the local Borders across from the Florida Mall, which is in a prime shopping location, to the point where busloads full of tourists swing by daily dropping people off, but after I took a moment to consider this, I realized that the Borders is actually across a busy street from that mall, so maybe not as convenient to tourists as I thought, plus, there's a Barnes and Noble right around the corner. And the last two times I was there I couldn't help noticing far fewer books and far wider gaps between shelves. Also, a lack of copies of Shine: An Anthology of Optimistic SF. This is why you should be keeping this book on shelves and selling the heck out of it, booksellers. I'm just saying.

Anyway, it was enough to give me a nostalgic twinge or two. (Also, people arriving for the IAFA conference...the Borders near the Florida Mall is probably about 15 minutes away from your hotel, on Sand Lake Road just off of the Orange Blossom Trail. And then you can all head to the M&M store to either perish in horror at the American consumerism on display or posit some thoughts about folktales and the presentation of the Green M&M and quavering Yellow.)

*Because it's been scientifically proven that no one can ever spend too much time at a bookstore. Scientifically. Spacetime warps to prevent this. Trust me.
So in the unquestionably awesome news of the week, Winter Garden finally, but finally, has a used bookstore: Here Be Dragons. It's not that the Orlando area doesn't have used bookstores - it does - but until now, they haven't been in easy reach. And this store is: within both trike and scooter distance, conveniently across the street from a non-profit coffee enterprise place and that French bakery I have dragged so many of you to and need to drag more of you to, because, let's face it: cookie addictions should be shared. As should eclair addictions and tart addictions and pie addictions and so on. Also, this is the proper sort of used bookstore, with nice heavy squishy chairs, extra space in the back, and, well, little dragons everywhere. (For those of you who remember the late and lamented Archives in Fort Lauderdale, it has a similar sort of feel, although with fewer weird antiques so far.) The owner and I spent some time chatting, and I sense more good books to come.

Just walking into a bookstore of any kind generally gives me a warm, cuddly feeling - after all, I'm surrounded by my comfort food: books. (Libraries can give me the same feeling, but alas our local library branch has turned more to computers and DVDs and CDs and computer and language classes and the occasional yoga class and such, which is all quite within its serve the public framework, but doesn't quite give me the same books, books, books feeling.) And used bookstores give me the chance to find something half forgotten, half lost, almost gone. I can get lost in them for hours. So, if I vanish from time to time...well, this might be one explanation.

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