Apparently now Europe’s biggest bookshop, Waterstones Piccadilly is a paradise for the reader. Its five floors are an abundance of every kind of book from any genre you care to think of, categorised both systematically and creatively, and topped and tailed with comfy areas to kick-back with a drink and a bite to eat.
I headed straight for Fiction on the first floor. Bypassing the helpful shopping baskets (I didn’t see them) I was soon loaded with armfuls of paperbacks. I’m an avid audiobooker, but if I’ve enjoyed listening to a book, I need to own the paper too (I blogged about this a while back, here). Consequently, I keep a running list of books I need to buy, simply so I can go back through them and enjoy them… differently, and of course, possess them, in real leaf-through-the-pages format, as nature and the publishing world intended.
So I picked up three from my listened-and-enjoyed list:
- The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel by Deborah Moggach – an eclectic group of oldies retire to India
- A Kind of Intimacy by Jenn Ashworth – dark but comic, about a deliciously weird, damaged girl
- Smut by Alan Bennett – two unseemly short stories in Bennett’s inimitable style (narrated for audio by the author himself)
But it didn’t end there. With the able and enthusiastic assistance of the… um… assistants, I tracked down another five from my must-read list.
- Instructions for a Heatwave by Maggie O’Farrell
- The Red House by Mark Haddon
- May We Be Forgiven by A M Homes
- The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
- Bel Canto by Ann Patchett
Yes, I know I’m arriving at one or two of these a little late in the day, but there’s just so much reading one woman can do. Especially when the thing she most wants to do with her spare time is… write.
I read all over the genre geography. I enjoy the kind of books which fall into what’s variously called lit-lite (yuk!), accessible literary, crossover or even, I saw the other day, ‘Richard & Judy’. I particularly enjoy edgier psychological suspense – that’s what I’m writing, after all. I’m not into romance, historical or sci-fi, but I meander around the fringes of crime/police procedural, thrillers, chick-lit and full-blown literary as the mood takes me.
I get leads from Goodreads and I buy loads from Amazon as it’s convenient – who can argue with that? But an afternoon in a bookshop is an indulgence and I loved every minute of it, especially being so warmly and professionally served by people who really, properly know their books.
Grammar purists like me bemoan the demise of that apparently outdated possessive apostrophe, flushed away from Waterstones’ (ha!) branding as of last year, for reasons of… practicality. But given the pleasure quotient of a meander around their floors, it seems churlish to dwell.
I had lunch with a friend, took my time over a coffee and dreamed. I’ll be back again, to shop. But just maybe, one day, I’ll be back there to do a reading and a bit of meet-the-author. How’s that for a star to shoot for?