Last weekend I took advantage of a day in Somerset to visit the BookBarn and E came with me, despite being very pregnant now. If you have never been to the BookBarn, I almost recommend it. It is a strange experience.
Firstly, the BookBarn is rather coy about its physical location, choosing to perpetuate the myth that it’s just outside Bristol, rather owning up to being closer to Shepton Mallet. Not only that, there are no signs for the BookBarn on the main road. Either you are in on the secret of the BookBarn or the Bookbarn doesn’t want to see you.
The fuzziness regarding the whereabouts of things continues inside. The non-fiction and the fiction have been separated and the fiction is filed more-or-less by topic. At the front desk you can get a plan that purports to tell you where each subject is stored but if, for example, you go to the area where the caving books are supposed to be, you will find it full of arts and crafts. In the science section, we find military history.
The fiction is, if anything, worse. All the books by authors beginning with A have been put together, but they haven’t been alphabeticised any further than this. So for example if you’re wondering whether the BookBarn might have any books by Neil Gaiman, you’ll have to look at every book written by an author who’s surname begins with G to find out. I find it easier not to go with a list of books I want and just to wander aimlessly and see what I find. Otherwise BookBarn does by head in. And E can’t stay too long or she’ll start filing their books for them.
Despite the best efforts of the BookBarn to hide them from me, I went home with the following:
Tithe by Holly Black
Viriconium by M. John Harrison
Darkmans by Nicola Barker
Motherless Brooklyn by Jonathan Letham
RedRobe by Jon Courtenay Grimwood
Where Wizards Stay Up Late: The Origins of the Internet
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