The Bookshop

‘I don’t know that men are better judges than women,’ said Florence, ‘but they spend much less time regretting their decisions

It isn’t red! It’s garnet, or deep rust!’

‘But it’s Wednesday!’ Mrs Green exclaimed, in spite of herself.

The children of Hardborough, waders and divers all, had most of them never been in a train. They looked at the deserted LNER station with superstitious reverence.

Understanding makes the mind lazy.’

good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life

, we were shop assistants but the fact that we sold books, as opposed to socks or potatoes or saucepans, gave the job a certain respectability, kudos almost.

‘A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life,’ and as such it must surely be a necessary commodity.

Books mattered, they were different, they were ‘improving’.

the mundane and everyday