In an era where the contemporary book trade operates with the rapid, disposable velocity of fast fashion, the physical bookstore has largely mutated into a curation portal for the predictable.
Bookstores have increasingly become repositories and purveyors of fast fiction and two-for-ten sale tables, where it is increasingly difficult to find established or classical literature. This is not a criticism of their intentions; it is the reality of operating a commercial entity.
So where does an avid reader find Joyce and Dickens and Shakespeare? In the piles of unwanted books at charity shops?
