Serendipity on the Peninsula

In a small town on the Washington coast, I experienced a small bit of magic that I think many people believe to be gone from the modern world.

While I have been reading enthusiastically for as long as I can remember, reading in my adult years has not been consistent in any way, shape, or form. I haven't lost the ability to tear through a book, but I have become pickier about those that maintain my desire; I'm now capable of D.N.F'ing a book in a way that my younger self would absolutely loathe.

Madeline and I had a short trip planned to Port Townsend, a historic and artistic town lying on the coast where the Salish Sea and the Puget Sound mingle. We have often traveled to the coast to get away, hopping between the islands on the wonderful Washington ferries, but this would be our first time in this particular spot. These trips are much quieter than our trips to the mountains–there is typically less running and climbing to be had in quaint towns–and they deserve a good companion book.

Unfortunately, the book I was knee-deep in was turning into a real slog. Despite being a high recommendation from many friends, I was struggling my way through "Neuromancer". It had seemed like perfect fodder for my particular brand of nerddom, but was just not clicking with me. A godfather of one of my favorite genres, a piece of classic science fiction, yet I do not enjoy the style. Gibson's writing is loose, full of cringe-worthy dialect, and seemingly intentionally obtuse. This isn't a book review though, it is merely important to point out that I was struggling.

When I'm struggling through a book as badly as this, I find that it helps to have a ringer in waiting. Something you know you will enjoy, something reliable and exciting to entice you to finish up quicker. If you are familiar with little coastal towns at all, you will know that they are always home to excellent book stores. Small curated storefronts, second-hand collections, enthusiastic shop keeps. I knew I would find something as soon as we arrived to get me to power through the rest of the book.

Within a few hours of arriving, after a short lunch and some sightseeing, we found ourselves perusing the aisles of William James Bookseller on Water Street. I'm quite bad at finding new books, especially when I need to find something I know I will like, so I tend to fall back onto authors I already know I love. For me, that's Ursula Le Guin. Quickly I found a copy of "The Word for World is Forest", one of Le Guin's last few stories in the Hainish Cycle that I had yet to read.

While I'm not typically one to idolize, I truly have enjoyed every story I have read by her (and I have read at least a dozen of her novels/novellas). Her books are an inspiration to my own writing, namely "The Dispossessed" being a strong catalyst for me to start my own novel, but it translates through all of her stories. Her ability to combine beautiful imagination with profound insight and philosophy humbles me and fills me with a desire to look at the world more deeply.

Once I had solidified my decision to leave with "The Word for World is Forest", I met back up with Madeline and we continued looking through the shelves. One of our traditions while in a new place is to take home a local book, something on the place we are visiting, or by a local author as a souvenir. Books are a wonderful homage that can transport you back to a place time and time again, giving you an connection that photos or fridge magnets can't quite replicate.

Madeline picked up "In Coyote Sunlight", a gorgeously printed book of poetry by a local writer Terry Persun.

Happily, finding exactly what we had been looking for, we brought them both to the front to checkout. The shopkeeper looked at both of the books for a moment before he started ringing us up, seeing the serendipity that neither of us could yet appreciate. He told us that the publisher of "In Coyote Sunlight", Winter Texts, was based in the town, with a shop just up the road. Not only that, but they printed books from Ursula Le Guin that were not available anywhere else, limited runs of out of print works. My heart jumped. What a perfect coincidence. We picked perhaps the only two books that would have led us to this discovery.

The following day we walked up the hill to Port Townsend's "uptown" where Winter Text's small shop was located. A single room, drenched in mauve and neatly organized. Behind a desk sat Connor Bouchard-Roberts, the founder of the publishing company. I told him about our recommendation to visit and the serendipity of the encounter. He was humble about the claim that the books were only found here, but showed me all of the current printings they had. I had lucked into arriving when there were only a few copies left of a collection of works he had specifically reached out to the Le Guin estate for permission to collect and print.

I had no intentions of leaving Port Townsend with a whole library of new books when I arrived, but I couldn't help but jump on the opportunity that had realized itself. At my pressing Connor regaled us with his own story of starting publishing, as well as working with the Le Guin estate to put together another book "A Larger Reality" which was a companion work to the exhibit on Ursula's life of the same name that featured in the Oregon Contemporary at the end of last year (which I also picked up). I felt humbled in my own admiration, I thought I had been standing at the edge of the world and someone else pulled up a map of more vastness than I could imagine. The sincerity with which Connor acted towards the medium he loved was inspirational.

The interaction was so touching and special I felt compelled to retell it. I am more of a recluse than I like to admit, more introverted than I wish, but every time the world reaches out and puts the right people around me at the right time, I am left awestruck.

So, for now, my backlog is completely full. I left with eight new books (many of which I did not know even existed before I had arrived) and have never been more excited to finish "Neuromancer".