A Trip to Powell’s: The Mothership Called Me Home

So, on this little sabbatical to while my son does his initial recuperation, I’ve done some good damage to my TBR pile (the literal, I’ve purchased TBR pile, not the “I wanna read” mountain), particularly the hard copies — I’ve knocked off 12 of them in the past few weeks. And then we made a mistake, we went to Powell’s City of Books — a very fitting name, btw. Somehow I’ve managed to live in the Pacific Northwest my entire life and have never been there.

I honestly felt a little overwhelmed, the place was so big. I spent over an hour there, and didn’t get to browse nearly as much as I should have. I’m not complaining, I’m just stating. Honestly, I was tempted to walk out in the first 5 minutes and go find some tiny little hole-in-the-wall shop. I’m glad I didn’t, it’s an awesome collection of books, clearly run by people who know their product and how to sell it. If you’ve never been, and have the opportunity, take advantage of it.

I indulged, but not as much as I could have:

So I’ve knocked off 12 hard copy books and I walked out of Powell’s with a decent stack — 7 books replaced those. I know there are 8 in the picture, I may have math struggles, but come on. The other is for my son (I still may end up reading it, who are we kidding). I got a nice assortment of new, used, and remaindered — by the way, who takes a signed Don Winslow to a used bookstore? I know who left a used bookstore with one. There were 6 books I left on the shelf through will-power — plus who knows how many I could’ve added had I just wandered around aimlessly for another hour.

Now, I’ve got to get to work reducing ye olde TBR pile . . .

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