My good friend Josh, the bibliophile and cricket aficionado, has spoken to me on occasion about Hogtown bookseller Nicholas Hoare's hour-long talks on, what else? books. So last night I went along to hear him for myself. I'm pleased I did. Mr. Hoare, who comes from a long, long line of English merchant bankers - it's 11 generations back to 16something - was entertaining, witty and well informed about such new titles as Londoners, by Canadian Craig Taylor (a rave), Lives of the Novelists by John Sutherland (a rave), and William Boyd's Waiting for Sunrise (yes, a rave); among the other books also earning Mr. Hoare's enthusiastic favour were Honey & Preserves, one in series from Fortnum & Mason, the food emporium in London (who knew marmalade could be cut in so many thicknesses? Not this pleb.), The Greatcoat by Helen Dunmore, and a beautifully produced work, originally commissioned by Britain's Royal Society, on the art of David Hockney, and a book Mr. Hoare himself agreed was "ridiculously" priced.
Ridiculous prices for books are nothing new, of course. When the talk was over I browsed the shelves in Mr. Hoare's bookshop - calling it a bookstore seems a bit undignified, and anyway there's a sign on the door that says, "No sacs, please. We're British" - and came across a new edition of collected Atget photographs. That little number came in at $79.99 before tax. I took a pass.
Still, high prices or not, it's well worth the trip down to the airy, roomy space on Front Street East to hear Mr. Hoare who, if he can write as well as he speaks, should spend some time in front of a keyboard. His family's story is just begging for it, banker's reticence be damned.
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