When you think of world-class cities, what comes to mind? Michelin-starred restaurants, museums with that one painting that everyone has to take a picture of to prove they saw it, skyscrapers with observation decks you have to buy a ticket for- that kind of thing? Portland doesn’t really have any of that, and if you ask most people here they’ll tell you that’s the way they like it. Portland’s world-classiness shows in different ways if it shows at all.
Back when I was a tourist in this city, it was more of an ethos that kept me coming back rather than any tourist attractions (except one. Getting to that). Quite simply, you can see the dedication to craft. The chefs and bakers and bartenders and coffee roasters CARE about what they’re making. The artists and musicians CARE about their art. It isn’t about chasing money or fame (although I’m sure most wouldn’t mind it), there is more of an attitude here that the work is its own reward and the only way to do it is to do it your way. Obviously you’ll find like-minded attitudes in other places, Portland certainly isn’t unique in that. It just feels more intrinsic to the character of this particular hipster mecca versus all the other ones, and the people here have decided to support this rather than just selling out to the lowest bidder.
Or I’m just imagining it, but I don’t think so. I’ll build my case with tangible evidence. I direct your attention to one full city block between Burnside and Couch (which is pronounced cooch get your mind out of the gutter), 10th and 11th. You know what I’m talking about since there’s a picture of it up there: Powell’s City of Books, and damned if it isn’t a city of books. 1.6 acres of floor space for books, books and more books. No movies, no vinyl, none of the ephemera junking up a Barnes & Noble. There are a handful of toys for the kids, some jigsaw puzzles, some sweatshirts and coffee mugs, but it really is about books, new and used. To say that Powell’s is the Disneyland of books isn’t fair. Disneyland is the Powell’s of theme parks.
The existence of Powell’s, to me, confirms my first meanderings about the craft-focused, non-corporate, f*** the man ethos of the city. Portland is a medium-sized big city. Powell’s is a BIG bookstore, possibly the biggest in the US depending on who you ask. Yes, New York has Strand which is a hell of a bookstore in its own right, and a giant Barnes & Noble bookstore/flea market up the street from that. But that’s New York City, at eight times the size of Portland. That the still-family-run Powell’s has existed for 50 years now- surviving the slings and arrows of big box stores and Amazon and a pandemic that did cause lasting damage– is in my mind a testament to their focus and to the people who have kept it in business all these years. Yes, it’s cheap and easy to buy books from this turd, but it’s also cheap and easy to watch a movie on your iPhone but that doesn’t make it better now does it?
If I have a free afternoon, I’ll go to Powell’s to amble about. I did just that the other day, and took pictures this time. Take a walk with me.
One of these days I’ll figure out what’s in each room. All I really know is that you enter and exit through the green or orange room, literature is mostly in the blue room, and there’s coffee in the coffee room. Everything else is a free-for-all, which of course it actually isn’t but it seems that way in my scattered mind.
Books about eating and drinking are in the orange room. All the sections (here and everywhere) have such detailed signage, because who has time to go hunting for books about appliance cooking if that’s all you’re there for? They’re conveniently located near the time saving books. They do also have info booths and computers to look up inventory but I’m not one to ask for directions.
Across the aisle from the food and drink section is the music biography section, and if I’m not careful I’ll spend all day in there. This was a recent purchase:
I enjoyed it. Chris Franz (Talking Heads drummer, for the Philistines) seems like a swell dude, and there are lots of stories about how much of an asshole David Byrne was to the rest of the band.
Nearby are other celebrity bios:
Big round of applause for the Powell’s staffer responsible for shelving this section.
Brian Cox/Logan Roy wrote a book. If Gob Bluth had written a memoir I’d like to think it would have the same title:
I hope the audiobook is just him telling listeners to f*** off. I’d pay at least $5 for that. And someday when the time is right I’ll tell my child to laugh normally, we didn’t get her at a hyena farm.
I found this one filed under sports, bicycling:
We all know how you did it, Lance.
Meanwhile, over in real estate:
Hey Zillow! Ya burnt.
I believe I found this in the Texas section, because apparently there is a Texas section:
They say to write what you know, and Al Roker knows weather.
Moseying along through the red room, I found civilization:
I don’t think they’ll need to save shelf space for the 21st century.
Prior to this trip I don’t think I had ever made it to the pearl room, on the top floor. Now that I know what’s up there I won’t be skipping it again:
Specifically what kind of sexy books, I know you’re asking. Well…
RAWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Too sexy!
The pearl room is also home to the Rare Book Room:
It looks like it’s full of rich mahogany and tiffany lamps and probably smells like leather elbow patches and tenure. I didn’t go in, I don’t belong there. Also, you need to ask for a pass, and I would find that to be about as embarrassing as buying a copy of Hustler at a 7-Eleven.
That did it for my day at Powell’s. Other than the sexy firemen book, I bought one other:
I’ve been meaning to read this for a while now, as the author is a good writer and good human so why not. I’ll start reading it once I’m done with this one…
…so it may be a while. In the meantime I’ll probably be back to Powell’s a few times and add to the reading list, since it’s not in my nature to go in there and not buy a book or two. Maybe David Byrne will write an autobiography and talk shit about Chris Franz, I’d read that.
Needless to say, Powell’s was always my favorite tourist attraction in Portland and if it wasn’t here, I might be living in Seattle now. Great bookstores are comfort food for the brain, and there is no greater one than this one. It’s very existence proves what I thought about Portland before I got here- that this is a place that cares about quality and values an independent spirit, and not just with words but with dollars. So, I love you Powell’s. Please don’t go away because if you do, I might too.
I enjoyed reading this almost as much as I enjoyed Powell’s on my trip to Portland. Also, I went in the rare book room, because I am that kind of 7-11 shopper.