Books and Resolutions

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I've broken more New Year's resolutions than I can remember. I have failed at daily exercise, keeping a  diary and becoming a tidy person. But in 2014, to my great pleasure, I made a New Year's resolution and kept it.

For years I've felt the lack of my sort of bookshop in Nottingham. Waterstone's was exciting when it opened but then it gobbled up Dillon's and eventually closed it. The shop began to lack personality, probably because the books on display in the windows and on offer were there because big publishers paid to promote them. There were, at least, second-hand bookshops - and the wonderful Page 45 which educated me in the joys of graphic novels (comics, if you prefer). I've done some on-line shopping, though recently I've boycotted Amazon which avoids paying U.K. taxes (although it's happy to take local subsidies from public funds) and which treats its low-paid employees in a way which fails to acknowledge their humanity. But even the most ethical on-line retailers don't offer the pleasures of browsing and the kind of chance encounters which good, independent bookshops provide.

In November 2013, the centre of Nottingham was improved when a new bookshop opened.  Five Leaves is right in the centre of  Nottingham, opposite the Tourist Information office, although you have to walk a couple of yard down  an alley-way to find the entrance. Its range of books is being developed in response to customers' interests. Poetry is well-represented, with pamphlets and magazines as well as books, and there are also sections on fiction in translation, anarchism, green politics, weird stuff and even a shelf labelled "Iain Sinclair and Beyond." The sports section is sadly small but intriguing. Best of all, there are always many books which interest me and of which I was previously unaware. And the staff are paid above the living wage and have a real interest in the books they sell.

I've seen small businesses fail before, even if they are well-organised and popular. Big companies can demands discounts from suppliers as well as subsidies from local councils. They don't always act ethically. Years ago I worked for a big company which decided to set up a new chain of shops. The first thing the new chain did was to undercut the local, independent shops which had been open for years. The new shops didn't need to attract many customers from the old shops because independent shops work on small margins; if you take 10% of their customers away, they may well go out of business. That's what the big company wanted. The new shops were heavily subsidised by the big company and could afford to run at a loss for years. In fact, they never made a profit and were closed down a few years later, after running established independent shops out of business. This kind of rigged competition was good for nobody.

The only way to keep independent businesses going is to use them. So my resolution was to shop at Five Leaves Bookshop at least once a month and to buy a book there for myself - one that I wouldn't have bought in other circumstances. (I also resolved to use Five Leaves as much as possible when buying gifts.) This has been a great success and it has given me pleasure throughout the year. Recently I've been enjoying poetry by Kei Miller (The Cartographer Tries to Map a Way to Zion) and Gregory Woods (The District Commissioner's Dreams) and I don't think I'd have chosen either without the browsing opportunities at Five Leaves. And I have three recent purchases at the top of my "to read" pile: short stories from Ursula K. Le Guin and Hilary Mantel, and the latest Sara Paretsky. The shop is great at ordering books too; when they announced the arrival of Patrick Modiano's The Search Warrant, shortly after Modiano won the Nobel Prize for Literature, I emailed asking if they could order a  copy in French. They did, it arrived promptly, I read it and it's excellent. I've even bought CDs there, most recently one by Grace Petrie.

But Five Leaves doesn''t just sell books. It has a busy events programme and runs bookstalls beyond the confines of the shop. It's the sort of bookshop every town and city should have: involved in and responsive to local groups and communities. It's still going and it's still popular. So I commend my New Year's resolution to you; supporting an independent shop or business or arts organisation is a great source of pleasure.

I know not everyone can afford such pleasure. If that's out of your  reach, why not find a free or low-cost public facility that you want to keep open and that gives you pleasure. It might be a public library, or a local art gallery or museum. Your attendance and use of such facilities may help protect it from cuts or closure. And if even that is not possible for you, why not resolve to find a free web-zine or blog that gives you pleasure? You can read  it regularly and add your comments.  You might want to follow a blog about ballet, like Terpsichore from barrister Jane Lambert,  or you might choose to receive a poem every day until the election from The Stare's Nest, And then there are more occasional blogs, such as this by novelist and philosopher Will Buckingham, or Litter Magazine, the on-line poetry magazine of Leafe Press. Each will lead you to other blogs and offer the potential for on-line conversations.

But if you find yourself in Nottingham, do drop into Five Leaves Bookshop, even if it's just for the pleasure of browsing. If not yet the best bookshop in the world, it's definitely my favourite shop in Nottingham. And I'm renewing the resolution I made last year. Few resolutions can be such a source of happiness.

 

Old Lady does industry

I appreciate that the picture above doesn't look like most people's ideal of a birthday destination, but it's the one I chose. This wonderful piece of machinery is a Bessemer Steel Converter and it's outside the Kelham Island Museum in Sheffield. 

It wasn't my first visit to Sheffield. I even worked there, part-time, for a few months back at the beginning of the 1990s. But it's not a place I know well, so of course I got lost and had to ask for directions numerous times. Few people in the city centre seemed to know where Kelham Island is, which  is a shame as the museum is fine and informative. It also has an excellent pub next door.

I'm not an expert on technology or industrial history. My first impression, on faced with a static steam engine or a complex piece of equipment, is very often an unspoken "Wow! That's beautiful." And I have to admit that in some cases the rust adds to the beauty I see. But there's more to it than that.

I admire the intelligence, the intricacy and the high level of skill shown both by the inventor and all the people who used this equipment. My parents and many of their ancestors worked with their hands and brains, making things and maintaining them. My dad worked in Sheffield for a few months after the Second World War. I'm not sure what he did there but my son thinks it may have been something to do with building or maintaining trams.

So I looked with admiration at the jobs people had done, back when England was a place where things were made. A lot of the machinery on display was connected with steel, from tool-making to the powerful River Don steam engine. But there were also examples of trades I'd never considered, such as snuff-grinding or operating a device to flatten Ordnance Survey maps. Snuff was ground in Sheffield but the flattening machine, made in Sheffield, was used in the Tower of London.

Looking at the machinery makes me want to know more about the people who worked machinery. While Victorian ladies were expected to stay at home, working-class Victorian women expected to work for a living. The memories recorded in the gallery suggested that they had been a lively lot with strong trades unions defending their rights and interests. There were anecdotes about the women dancing between the machines when production was paused as well as stories of their fight for equal pay for equal work.

I didn't really learn about my family's past, and nor did I expect to. Working-class lives were hugely varied and all a visit to a museum provides is glimpses. But they are glimpses to treasure.

So, on my 60th birthday, equipped with my brand-new Old Lady's railcard, I travelled to Sheffield and looked back on an  industrial past. I also drank real ale and, later, some rather fine whisky. And that was a very happy birthday.

I like being 60.