Amherst May Soon Lose its Only Remaining Bookstore
Amherst Books on Main street co-owned by Shannon Ramsey and Nat Herold. Photo: Amherst Books
On March 10 the Daily Hampshire Gazette ran a story announcing that the co-owners of Amherst Books, Shannon Ramsay and Nat Herold. have decided to sell the business after 23 years. In an email to Friends of Amherst Books that same day, they wrote that they hoped to sell it to someone who would continue to run it as a bookstore. It is certain that the townspeople share their hope. But if they cannot find a suitable buyer, Amherst may lose its only remaining full-service bookstore, a sad state of affairs for a university town whose very town seal features a book and a plow.
Back in 2016, there were at least seven bookstores in town, and there was a time around the turn of the 21st Century when there were nine, including a branch of Northampton’s Raven Used Books, which closed in 2005, moved to Harvard Square, Cambridge, and is now in Shelburne Falls. Below is a piece written in 2016 that evokes an era, not so very long ago, when losing oneself in a bookstore was a favorite pastime in Amherst.
Not included in this survey of Amherst’s bookstores is Restless Books, the storefront for the independent, nonprofit, international publisher of the same name, which came to Amherst in 2023. They state in their mission statement, “We seek extraordinary international literature for adults and young readers that feeds our restlessness: our hunger for new perspectives, passion for other cultures and languages, and eagerness to explore beyond the confines of the familiar. Through cultural programming, we aim to celebrate immigrant writing and bring literature to underserved communities. We believe that immigrant stories are a vital component of our cultural consciousness; they help to ensure awareness of our communities, build empathy for our neighbors, and strengthen our democracy.”
We at the Indy send Shannon and Nat our heartfelt thanks and hope that they find their ideal buyer. In the meantime we encourage townspeople to drop into Amherst Books, thank them yourselves, and savor the experience of picking up some physical books in a physical store.
The following reflection appeared originally in the blog Tell Me Another by Josna Rege on April, 2, 2016. Find the latest postings to that blog here.
Bookshops
One of the doors to the beloved Black Sheep Deli in Amherst has a puzzling sign on it: BOOKSHOP. Only those who have lived in town more than twenty years know why. In those days the Black Sheep Deli was half the size it is now, and the long, narrow back room which now houses the stage was the home of Albion Books. I remember entering its mystic portal when I had just started my graduate studies, poring over the ponderous theory titles and then diving into the novels in sweet relief. When Albion closed, it felt like the end of an era. Atticus Books from New Haven set up shop in a large storefront just opposite and bought up Albion’s stock; softening the blow for us by calling itself Atticus Albion—at first, anyway. Soon it was just Atticus Books; now it is the fine, independent Amherst Books.
As recently as seven years ago, there were seven bookshops in our little town (and six libraries to boot), catering to our many students, professors, and avid readers, book lovers all. Now Amherst Books is the only one remaining. The Jeffery Amherst Bookshop, with its well-stocked college annex and its magical children’s section, closed its doors in 2009 after 31 years. Food for Thought Books, a worker-owned collective, lasted long enough to celebrate its 37th anniversary, but in 2014, despite the best efforts of the community, it too gave up the ghost.
One of my favorites was Valley Books, a second-hand bookshop. Paying them a visit on my days off was a treasure hunt every time, as I ducked in and navigated down the book-lined alleys with shelves stacked up to the ceiling on either hand, always some impossible delight waiting to be discovered around the next corner. Eventually, in 2009, Valley Books closed too, after 34 years, because like all the others it couldn’t compete with the online book market. At least for its proprietor there was a reasonably happy ending, since he simply continued his business online. I bought two of the bookcases and, in memory of Valley Books, keep the signs on the shelves for the categories that used to be assembled there.
[Insert Valley Books “Mystery” Bookcase]
In neighboring Hadley, in a big old barn down an ill-marked driveway, one can find Grey Matter and Troubadour Books, two outfits sharing the space and together offering about a million second-hand books—a million—with a rich, dynamic, inventory that is a treasure trove for collectors. These two are bucking the trend of physical bookshops giving way to online behemoths by having started out as online businesses, but deciding to touch down with a physical presence as well.
All these shops: Amherst, Grey Matter, Troubadour, and the legendary Odyssey Bookshop in South Hadley, our neighbor to the south, host readings and book launches, and do what they can to support local writers. Stepping in, one enters a hallowed space. The proprietors wisely leave one alone to disappear down one of the aisles, not to re-emerge, blinking and tousled, for a long, long time. There may be a nod of the head between proprietor and customer, the acknowledgement of a kindred spirit, perhaps a limited, book-related exchange of words; but mostly, there is the recognition that this book-hunting is a solitary pleasure and the seeker must be given space and time to indulge in it in his or her own, idiosyncratic way.
I almost forgot: the Book Shed at the Amherst town dump—uh, transfer station. When students graduate and leave town, professors retire, and Amherst readers do their Spring cleaning, they bring boxes upon boxes to the Book Shed, where they are shelved and sorted by category. There is even a table outside where the townspeople eagerly snatch up the new arrivals. Saturdays are its busiest day, and, when I have time, I join my father-in-law on his weekly outing there. I try to keep to my vow to take home no more than I bring in with me, and sometimes succeed. It’s almost miraculous the number of times I seem to have found exactly what I needed there.
Bookshops, you will have gathered, bring me joy. It goes without saying that books do as well; that would be like saying that life itself brings me joy.