Last week, prompted by an Observer cover story that bemoaned the state of the bookstore scene in Dallas, we had ourselves a productive conversation about letters. Laray Polk took some time to think about it and then sent me a note to share her thoughts. Laray has written for the magazine. She’s an artist. And she wrote a book with Noam Chomsky. With that introduction, here are her smart words, which she sent under the title “Tough Love From The Himalayas”:
Profit Sharing
Whatever people think of Half Price Books — or what they long for that Half Price isn’t — there’s no denying it has been a steady employer of creative types for a very long time: artists, musicians, writers, actors, art critics, and curators. As a business model, Half Price has perks few other large entities offer employees: profit-based bonuses every quarter. (Compare this with the WalMartization of labor, where employees need government assistance even though they work a full-work week.)Yes, A Reading At Half Price
As far as the lack of in-store readings and contemporary titles, years ago I went to a talk and book release of Blackwater, with author Jeremy Scahill, at Half Price at their flagship store. At the time, news agencies and members of Congress (with the exception of Rep. Henry Waxman) weren’t very interested in what Scahill brought to the table, and this extended to the respectable legacy bookstores in the Dallas area. For this one occasion, Half Price came through and the timing couldn’t have been more relevant.Where’s My Car?
When daydreaming about what other cities have that Dallas doesn’t, we need to think about the spatial dimensions of a place, population density, and modes of transportation. The grand bookstores in other cities are in areas where lots of people live nearby (with no dividing highways), and, as a result, there’s pedestrian traffic. Throw in functioning public transportation, and it all adds up to more fluidity. In Dallas, we get in our cars, spend more time parking than getting to our destination, then stand around with other people in a crowded room. It’s weird.Where Are The Writers?
The final paragraph of [Observer writer Lauren] Smart’s article is unsettling for several reasons. It ends with a quote from Merritt Tierce: “There aren’t very many writers in this town.” Is this statement true? I’ll point out my own failure here. A very dear friend who lived in the area for many years died recently. He was a marvelous writer and had at one time been involved in activism, protesting one of India’s large dam projects on behalf of farmers. There was nothing in local media about his passing, and I didn’t make the effort to publicly mark his many accomplishments. To learn more about a writer who lived among us, see the Times of India or this page.It Is What It Is
In short, an interesting life filled with literature, and the art of writing and living, favors modalities of sincerity and sublimity over social ubiquity — if that’s true, then wherever we are in the company of a book or electronic words is where it’s at. As a Tibetan Lama living in Oak Cliff once told me, “The secret of happiness is learning to love what you have.” Tough love from the Himalayas.
