I had never seen Bookmarc until last weekend on a postbrunch walk, but it is a bookstore only in the sense that Urban Outfitters could also be called a bookstore because it sells books. The books are window dressing, to get you into the store so you can get your hands on the real goods. It would be more accurate to call it a Bookstore In Name Only, in the sense that some museum bookstores have drifted that way, because spinning racks of postcards take up an awful lot of room.
In the case of Bookmarc, the real goods are a depressing array of branded tote bags (most in beachy brights, unbecoming to people I think of as style icons) and keychains, a truck-stop-sized assortment of keychains. I wouldn't be surprised if the store started personalizing them on the premises soon.
There were books; of course there were books; there were blank books trussed up like the Penguin classic editions with puns even I couldn't enjoy like THE GAY GATSBY; there were novelty notepads. There were a few copies of Patti Smith's JUST KIDS (which my expedition partner noted is actually a really good book, and whose author is not to blame for this mess, and might even bemoan it right here along with me) turned inefficiently face-out in a shelf. There were remainder-sized art books. But no one was buying them, they were all at the register, paying for their keychains.
The arrival of Bookmarc was particularly painful for the neighborhood because it bumped out the 24-year tenant Biography Bookshop. (EDIT: A commenter points out that Biography is not dead, just in a new location -- with the new name bookbook.) With the guilt of the gentrified I admit, I never went there -- and now it's too late. First they came for the other storefronts, and I didn't speak up... et cetera.
Photo of Bookmarc: slamxhype
