On many Saturday mornings, I load the trunk of my car with whatever used books have piled up in my basement and drive to Whitlock's in Woodbridge or Niantic Book Barn in Niantic or, if I get a really early start, to the Pioneer Valley to visit Valley Books in Amherst or the Montague Book Mill in Montague. This impulse is partly a holdover from the days when I sold books at a flea market in Washington D.C. and, before that, worked at a bookshop on Capitol Hill. Most of it, however, results from my chronic case of bibliomania. I don't want cash for the old books. I want to trade them for more books. I just can't seem to ever have enough books.
What should probably have burned itself out with youth has only gotten worse as I grow older. And yet, no Amazon.com Kindle or cable TV offering can duplicate the serenity I find in my bibliomania or even the tactile feel of books in the hand. And no chain bookshop can duplicate the feel of sprawling book venues like those mentioned above. They're the last of a dying independent breed, among the few places a person can go with a sense of adventure because you literally do not know what you will find from visit to visit.
This past week, I paid a call on the Niantic Book Barn (it's actually several buildings). Something about the capacious grounds and inviting atmosphere—not to mention the 400,000 books—make it a welcome haven in a troubled world. As the shop's Web page says: "The primary mission of The Book Barn is, of course, to serve as a provider of books, uniting people and books together in biblioholic bliss&" To enhance this welcoming philosophy, free coffee, tea, donuts, cookies and Cheese Nips are offered "to help keep up your stamina." A friendly swarm of regulars beat a path to the main barn building and, like in an old-time country store, gab about politics, family and vacations.
And, of course, about books. The barn's holdings are larger than those of most of the town libraries in the state. The books are stocked in several different houses, huts, grottos, closets, nooks and crannies. At the end of one trail sits a "Haunted Books" section, which actually takes up an entire separate building, suitably decorated with Halloween touches and containing mysteries, horror and science fiction titles.
"Most of my customers come from 50 miles or more away," says owner Randi White, who looks like a stevedore as he stands outside and paws through the sacks of books offered for sale every day. On busy weekends, even in winter, the sturdy White can be found outdoors, often in a T-shirt, chattering as he organizes piles and tallies up the take for sellers.
"One of my customers who works in the publishing industry tells me that only four percent of the population are serious readers." says White. "That's why we have these other attractions, to be the Disney World of used books."
To bibliophiles, the appeal of the Niantic Book Barn is well known. Since its opening in April 1988, it has become—like the others above—a destination for book scouts and bibliophiles from all over the country. The stock constantly changes and books are priced reasonably, greatly improving the chances of plucking a collectible gem out of the piles. But even non-collectors flock here, for the sense of community.
The key to these places' futures are the presence of children. And the kids flock to these places. "We're in trouble if kids aren't readers," says White.
Niantic Book Barn, Whitlock's, Valley Books and Montague Book Mill have navigated treacherous economic waters because the merchandise is the ultimate bargain.
"You leave here with three paperbacks for three bucks, and you've got hours of cheap entertainment ahead of you," says White.
