A Love Letter to Wisconsin’s Independent Bookstores

My love affair with books started as a child.

When I was four or five years old, I was a regular at story time. Every week, I would sit criss-cross applesauce on the rug and listen, rapt, as Miss Jean Ann read picture books, recited poems, and sang whimsical little songs to a roomful of budding bookworms at the Wauwatosa Public Library.

This was circa 1978 or 1979, so the rug was—of course—a richshade of dirt-brown, as were Miss Jean Ann’s corduroy skirt and tall leather boots. For a children’s librarian, she was exceedinglystylish, sporting pretty wool sweaters and wavy red hair. I was obsessed with her. We all were.

Next to Miss Jean Ann was a table upon which she displayed all the books she read aloud to us, along with new releases and other fun-looking stories. The covers were as bright and colorful as candy wrappers, and I wanted them all. That one, I thought, creating my mental wish list. And that one. And that one, too. Was there a limit to how many I could take home with me? I was too young to know the phrase “It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” but I understood the jist of it. The more books, the better. Apologize to my parents later.

I wasn’t an aggressive (or big) kid—quite the opposite, in fact—so how I conducted myself at the end of story time was bold on my part. As soon as Miss Jean Ann finished up, I would pushmy way through the crowd like a running back. Throwing a pointy elbow or two, I made my way over to Miss Jean Ann’s treasure trove of a table, grabbing whatever books I could clutchin my small hands. My success varied each week, but I always went home with something. Sweet victory.

I’ve been an avid library user since those early heady days—thank you, Miss Jean Ann, for creating a monster—but I freely admit that I love bookstores, too. Little Read Book opened in Wauwatosa when I was in elementary school, and going there with my mom was better than getting frozen custard. (Sorry, Gilles and Kopp’s.) Even if she didn’t buy me anything, I adoredbrowsing the stacks and peeking inside books that looked intriguing. I was consistently amazed that entire worlds existed between two covers, with fleshed-out characters, vibrant settings, big problems, and grand adventures. How did writers do that? To me, it felt like pure magic.

I live in Madison now, where I am ridiculously lucky to have both a vital public library system and a rich variety of independent bookstores in place. I especially love Mystery to Me, Lake City Books, The Book Deal, Kismet Books, Republic of Letters, and Arcadia Books, because—among other things—they are staffed by knowledgeable book lovers who coordinate fantastic literary programs and author events, all while contributing to the community in significant social and economic ways, no algorithms involved. Plus, indie bookstores are just cute, each with their own vibe and atmosphere. You don’t get warm fuzzies like that from shopping online.

In this uneasy era of escalating book challenges and bans, I am intentionally doubling down on my commitment to reading,promoting good literary citizenship, and writing middle grade novels of my own. Why? Books make us smarter and more empathetic. They enhance and improve our vocabulary, spelling,and punctuation, and they grant us access to places and perspectives that would otherwise be out of reach. Rather thanrestricting what people can read, I would love to see us promoting all types of authors and stories, even the ones that make us feel a little uncomfortable. They can serve as great conversation starters, allowing us to climb into somebody else’s brain for a little while.

I think about Miss Jean Ann a lot, and I wonder if she understands how profoundly she’s impacted the trajectory of my life. I also think about the cool lady who opened Little Read Book, long before indie bookshops were a thing. Both werefearless in celebrating stories and ensuring access to young readers, and I’m eternally grateful for their passion.

The warm, woody smell of books. The hushed voices of customers and patrons. Words and ideas floating around us and through us and out into the wide world beyond.

I’m not a kid anymore, but it still feels like magic.

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