I <3 Barnes & Noble

A lifelong love affair

This is not a cool take, but I love Barnes & Noble. I’ve been on a quest to explore every independent bookstore in New York City–don’t remind me, I know I need to go to more–and obviously, many independent bookstores I’ve visited have been great. Great curation, great space, great vibes. However, in one key way, Barnes & Noble is superior to all these amazing, sweet, local independent bookstores: No one gives a shit what you do in Barnes & Noble.

Barnes & Noble is reading freedom. I’ve probably read, I don’t know, 100+ books sitting in various Barnes & Nobles. As a kid, reading at the old Bethesda Barnes & Noble (RIP), I read The Care and Keeping of You. I’d hide in the travel section and read it over and over. (I needed to know what was going on.) Then came my Sarah Dessen phase. Lock and Key…Along for the Ride…you name it, I read it in Barnes & Noble. In high school, I’d go to the basement level after school and tear through YA books. I’m positive I re-read Twilight multiple times in the Barnes & Noble basement too. Obviously.

The B&N basement in Bethesda–and I cannot stress this enough, you are so missed, now it’s an Anthropologie which is just about the worst place to read in peace–had no cell service, which was a central part of its charm as well. That’s the thing about a good B&N: no one can reach you. The carpet is worn but inviting. The cafe is churning out burned coffee. The bathroom is open to all.

When I first moved to New York in January of 2020, which was amazing timing, I was working two internships: one at a publishing house downtown and one at an ed-tech nonprofit in Brooklyn. (A tale of two cities.) I was living in a tiny apartment on 15th and 1st with two roommates and no living room. In some ways, in retrospect, my living room was Barnes & Noble. I’m exaggerating a little but also not really. I went to Barnes & Noble all the time. Once I’d completed my post-work lap around the dilapidated East River greenway and cooked my tofu scramble, I’d end my night at Barnes & Noble.

2020 Macmillan internship type shit

If the magic of the Bethesda B&N of my childhood was its lack of cell service, the magic of the Union Square B&N is its third floor. You have a few options on the third floor. You can, of course, abscond to the windows near the travel/spirituality/philosophy sections, where you can sit crosslegged on the floor. (One never wears restrictive pants to B&N.) This is where the real magic of B&N makes itself known: the fellow-feeling of leaning against the wall next to four or five other people who are also calmly reading entire books. Importantly, the third floor also has a cafe area with chairs and tables. I swear they used to have signs specifying that you couldn’t read un-bought merchandise in the cafe area. On my most recent visit, though, I saw that B&N had acquiesced to the will of the public: now, they have a return bin for un-purchased book in the cafe area instead.

Barnes & Noble is not well-curated. It’s not cool. The vibe is distinctly neutral–verging on corporate, although the Union Square B&N is too dingy to be truly corporate. And I love it. Ok? I love Barnes & Noble, and I won’t apologize for it any longer.