An icon of New York City and a refuge for book lovers, Strand Bookstore is a mecca for all things books. The Strand is one of the largest bookstores in America and makes millions of dollars every year, something that other indie bookstores only dream of. But as the expression goes, fame and money change a person, and the Strand is no different; the Strand now covers an entire city block and three floors, larger than some chain bookstores. The Strand’s history and tradition is rooted in the mystique and comfort of the small bookstore. But its present is faced by a “corporatization” in its management and treatment of both new and decades-long employees. Can an independent bookstore still be considered “independent” when it merchandises and makes as much yearly profit as the Strand does? The Strand is a bookstore that can only exist in New York (or any large, major city, but not Nowhere, Kansas). As much as it tries to be a bookstore for everyone, it is ultimately a niche New York bookstore which reflects the city it inhabits in the way it operates.
“New York is made up of millions of different people, and they all come here looking for something,” writes Lindsey Kelk in her novel I Heart New York. Perhaps she’s right. New York City is known as one of the greatest cultural centers of the world, offering spectacles of history and art for both residents and tourists. However, not all of the city’s gems dazzle. The Strand is one that attracts certain types of people – the ones that seek to dig their teeth into a book. Lucky for the Strand, many New Yorkers are avid readers.
In fact, the Strand is located in an impeccable location for New York, as demonstrated in the above map. It sits at the intersections of East Village, West/Greenwich Village, NoHo and the Flatiron District, home to many different types of people. Though this area struggles with gentrification, it still remains a cultural ground zero. It’s close to New York University as well as other centers for academia, coffee shops such as The Bean, restaurants, antique stores, and poetry and music venues. In that regard, the Strand imitates this diverse area, stocking all types of books, (seriously, 18 miles worth) for all types of readers. The Strand is an integral part of the many communities it brings together in a place “Where Books Are Loved” (Strand). Pictured below are charts describing different demographics of the neighborhoods, which can be enlarged by clicking on them.
At the intersection of diversity, the Strand has capitalized on its residents’ desire for uniqueness. People love New York because it possesses a type of peculiarity, and the same principle applies to bookstores. You could go to a Barnes & Noble in New York City, but what would be the point when there’s one back home? Plus, some consumers regard chain bookstores as too standardized and un-homey, while others enjoy the consistency and are indifferent to friendly atmospheres. Edward Relph, a geographer, states that “a communal identity is strongly connected to a particular landscape” (Miller 110). In an area such as New York City, the Strand must bend to fit the desires of as many people as possible while simultaneously trying not to overstep the bounds and draw others away. The store is attempting to create an identity that everyone in its surrounding “landscape” can enjoy. But how did the Strand get to become an almost Wal-Mart-esque bookstore in the middle of the historical melting pot of America? Like this city, have its roots been buried by this corporatization?
Many would be surprised to learn that the Strand started out as one of many small, independent bookstores located on 4th Avenue, known as Book Row. Founded by Benjamin Bass in 1927, the Strand was a part of the “six blocks from Union Square to Astor Place in Manhattan, a corridor of three dozen shops selling used books” (The New York Times). Other significant moments in the Strand’s history can be seen in the timeline above. Exploring the shops could take over a week, as there was much to see and many books to buy. Unfortunately, the temperament of the store owners was not as pleasant as the shops they owned. “I think what happened to Book Row” says current Strand owner Fred Bass, “is that it was run by a lot of interesting, strong, self-centered individuals, including my dad.”
Laura Miller writes in her book Reluctant Capitalists that “a bookseller’s judgment about what books to carry and sell is shaped by the extent at which she sees herself as rightfully taking an active role in guiding the reading of her customers” (Miller 55). It’s increasingly obvious that most of the booksellers on Book Row did not subscribe to this role, as seen in the above video. “The sort of thing that goes on now at Barnes and Noble, where they give you service with a smile and have coffee,” says Marvin Mondlind, the estate book buyer for Strand, “old Book Row people would have just scorned the whole thing. ‘We’re selling books here, and if people don’t want old books we don’t want them here.’”
The days of Book Row have ended, and now there are less than ten used bookstores in New York City. However, Benjamin Bass did not partake in the snobbery of his bookselling peers. Bass was “twenty-five years old when he began his modest used bookstore. An entrepreneur at heart and a reader by nature, this erudite man began with $300 dollars of his own and $300 dollars that he borrowed from a friend” (Strand). Unlike his fellow bookstore owners who would throw customers out of their shops for no reason whatsoever, Ben “created a place where books would be loved, and book lovers could congregate” (Strand). He hired his teenage son, Fred, to start working at the store, where he too would develop a love for the book trade. After serving a tour in the Armed Forces, Fred returned to the Strand and eventually took over the business when his father retired. Like Christopher Morley, Fred Bass seems to consider it his “duty and a privilege” to sell books (Morley 46). This strategy of inclusiveness to the customer can be pointed to the Strand surviving in a shifting landscape that caters to the customer.
Why did the Strand start to become more like the Barnes and Nobles other independent bookstores so actively shied away from? Like a big-box store, tables are stacked with merchandise, the Strand’s famous totes and souvenirs line its walls, and books are scattered throughout the store and on towering bookshelves. The first floor acts as a public sphere and is usually crowded with a line stretching from its registers. Due to the nearly ceiling-high bookshelves, this floor’s layout does not encourage heavy traffic flow beyond the front of the store. Others may travel to the back of the store, in search of a particular book. Whatever scenario, the first floor of the Strand is a space with convenience and a purpose. Pictured below is the layout of the first floor.
The third floor is home to the Rare Book Room. An airy loft-like space with wooden flooring from 1901, this room can be compared to a living room or library in one’s home. The space fosters privacy and relaxation, perfect for book lovers. Signed copies, limited editions, and rare sets and bindings are just a few types of the books offered on the third floor. While there is some merchandise, the inventory is limited compared to the other floors. Large leather chairs are in a corner of the room, inviting customers to sit and peruse their chosen books. In the back corner of the room, an alcove is situated with two encompassing bookshelves and a window with draping curtains, which encourages customers to take their time and feel at home. Since the Rare Book Room is only reachable by elevator, those who visit this floor do so deliberately. As customers step into the elevator, they rise above the chaos of the first floor into a literary setting. Obviously, the rare books are more expensive than others in the store, symbolizing literary supremacy. To borrow an insight from Jack Perry who writes of Scribner’s Bookstore, “The bookstore’s old wood, its high ceiling, the feel of the leather volumes…made us feel at home, convinced us that literature was alive…” (Perry 107). Not only does the layout and decor of the Strand’s third floor make customers feel at home, but its selection of rare books have history and value that the mass-produced bestsellers on the first floor do not. Pictured below is the layout of the third floor.
The Strand’s physical space can be read just like a book. It is important to note how the store’s inventory differs floor by floor. Bruno Latour notes that the origin of the word “thing” has a strong connection with quasi-judicial assembly, writing, “A thing is, in one sense, an object out there, and, in another sense, an issue very much in there…a gathering…the same word thing designates matters of fact and matters of concern” (Latour 2288). The mass-produced merchandise and inventory located in the basement, first and second floors are merely objects with less emotional 
value. However, the third floor holds things: rare books that are matters of concern, as well as events, or gatherings, that must foster knowledge in some way. The store’s spatial narrative shows how each floor is specifically designed for different groups of people; the first floor acts as the Times Square of the Strand, the place where all the tourists flock and the locals avoid. Yet the third floor is the hidden gem of the store, resembling a heaven above the mayhem. Sanctuaries like this exist on a larger scale in New York City, such as The High Line pictured to the right, built on elevated abandoned freight train lines. Similar to the Strand, it seems that higher elevations in the city indicate a relaxed, natural atmosphere.
In A Free Man’s Books, Archibald MacLeish writes that “Books—true books—do not sell themselves… True books are sold by the enthusiasm of those who know them and respect them.” This suggests that the bookseller’s job is to put the right books into a reader’s hands. It is here that the Strand falls short of its origin. When Benjamin Bass operated the store, it was small and independent, and he was able to play the role of bookseller. Now, the store has grown in size, status and number of employees. This kind of growth can only end in a way that parallels chain bookstores. The public has played a large part in the change that has taken place in the store. Readers today tend to lean towards chain bookstores or online markets for their book buying. The public has a lessening interest in the concept and environment of the small, independent bookstore. This is part of the reason why the Strand has taken steps to appear more like a chain bookstore, because that is what the public, especially tourists, want when they visit.
So what is the Strand’s overarching definition of literature?
On one hand, the bookstore is changing the way it is run to mirror chain bookstores. In some ways it feels like the younger sibling of Barnes and Noble, especially when looking at the way the store is branded on social media. This represents a definition of literature that focuses on the importance of changing the bookstore based on public expectation. These days, more people expect a big-box store when walking into a bookstore. This definition is one where literature is just an object rather than a thing.
On the other hand, the Strand is attempting to keep its origins alive. There are parts of the bookstore that hold true to the long-time idea of the independent bookstore, such the Rare Book Room. Being placed on the top floor suggests a deeper understanding of what constitutes a bookstore – a familiar, comfortable environment that provides a haven for readers. This definition is one where literature is a thing rather than an object.
Although the Strand is allowing its definition of literature to be influenced by public expectation, there will always be a part of the store that thrives on the roots of an independent bookstore. This is why it survived the collapse of Book Row. The Strand was able to balance catering to public while still holding on to important parts of its heritage. These coexisting definitions of literature parallel New York City because the whole city is fighting that same battle of corporatization. There is a familiar clash of old versus new in both the city as well as the Strand bookstore.
But what is the true significance of the Strand? “When you sell a man a book you don’t sell him just twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue – you sell him a whole new life. Love and friendship and humor and ships at sea by night – there’s all heaven and earth in a book, a real book I mean.” Christopher Morley wrote this in his novel Parnassus on Wheels where a traveling bookseller meets the main character, a woman living dissatisfied with her brother on a farm. They travel around New York State not just to sell books to farmers and rural people who don’t have them, but to sell the books that those people need. Once they discover how great reading can be, they can move onto other books that will ideally broaden their horizons and be moved by the power of literature. And with this power, we have the people who sell them to the public. Most small bookstores are humble operations with owners who pursue their own books more than their customers, and it’s definitely not something they do because they want to become wealthy.
But with the Strand, it’s something of a behemoth among bookstores, it’s slogan of “18 Miles of Books” is no joke and neither are its millions of dollars of profit. But disregarding its dragon’s hoard of books and the labyrinthine layout of the store itself, what does the Strand offer? Why has it become so iconic with book-folk not just in New York, but all of America? Certainly we as Americans appreciate a store that can boast being the largest of anything else like it, but that alone doesn’t explain the cultural capital and profits of the Strand. The Strand hosts all sorts of book-related events in the Rare Books Room, and one can buy all sorts of branded merchandise like tote bags and shot glasses. Even Barnes and Noble and Books-A-Million don’t sell as much branded merchandise as the Strand does. One question to consider is: how important are books to the Strand? Not simply for their image as a bookstore, but for the people who run it and work there. The people who work there undeniably love books and are educated about them. If the Strand were to replace all of its floor staff with the minimum wage workers that are employed at chain bookstores, the Strand would not be the same.
For a while perhaps, the Strand would lose some of its bibliophiles because without people who care about books working in the store, the Strand would become nothing more than a Wal-Mart of books; you get in, you get what you need, and you get out as fast as possible. And that doesn’t jive with what Benjamin Bass first thought of when he opened the store. The Strand exemplifies the very best and worst of the American Dream. It was built from nothing to grow into a well-respected and beloved family business. But now that it’s achieved rock-star status in the book world, in the Big Apple no less, it seems to have “sold out.” Contrary to what some may think, wanting to be profitable in order to survive is not selling out, but compromising one’s values in the pursuit of money could be. The Strand is forced to conform to corporatization in order to survive, just as New York City has, and is not selling out by choice. But the bookstore constantly struggles to keep its values and a strand of independence in order to hold onto its original identity.
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