Shakespeare in the City

I’ve always been more partial to independent bookstores than chain stores, but something about Shakespeare & Co. on E 68th Street and Lexington Avenue feels magical. Maybe it’s the colorful display of books sitting in the window, welcoming travelers with book displays that change with the season. Or it might be the freshly baked pastries sitting at the front of the store, in a clear display case just waiting to be eaten. A soft glow hangs in the air, casting shadows on the chairs and tables set up at the front for readers to rest in. 

The first time I visited Shakespeare & Co., I stumbled in by accident. I had just finished my first day of classes in my freshman year and was feeling overwhelmed. Within the past 24 hours, I had moved into a dorm in Manhattan and begun my college career. It was a lot to take in at once. Class had ended at 12 and unsure of what to do with myself, I walked along Lexington Avenue, looking for something to do. The store stood silently, its books beckoning me in. Walking through the aisles, I felt a sense of calm come over me. College was new and scary but I knew books and felt at home reading them. I bought myself a copy of “The Perks of Being a Wallflower,” a book I loved but had lost years ago. Cracking it open on the train ride home, I could feel the tension leaving my shoulders as I reentered the story I loved. 

A few weeks later I returned to Shakespeare & Co., this time with a fellow classmate I met in my Anthropology lecture. We snatched a highly sought after seat at the front of the store, just as another couple left to attend class down the block at Hunter. We sat at the table, grateful to escape the downpour that had started outside. The hot chocolate I ordered warmed my hands, and my friend and I struck up a conversation as we sipped our drinks. We sat for an hour and a half, getting to know one another, talking about our expectations for college, our hopes, and our anxieties. Even after she left, I sat, looking around the shop, the taste of chocolate still lingering on my lips. Around me, patrons young and old sat, studying, reading, and enjoying each other’s company. I left the bookstore that afternoon, having made my first college friend, reveling in the life I was living. 

Over the next three years, I frequented Shakespeare & Co. often. My first semester I struggled in my precalculus class and when I was in need of a break after classes, I returned to the store. Sometimes I sat, eating a pastry while sipping on coffee (their pretzels are still to this day some of the most amazing pretzels I’ve ever had). Other times, I strolled through the aisles, lost amongst the books, completely at peace. While they didn’t have the biggest collection, they had everything I needed to make it through my first year. Mystery for when the monotony of attending class got to be too dull, fantasy for when I needed an escape from the stress of finals. Shakespeare & Co. offered me a getaway for when the stress of college got to be too much. 

My sophomore and junior years, the store became a second home for me. Struggling with anxiety, I felt stifled by the confines of my dorm room on the weekends. When I needed a place to go and study alone, I made the walk to the 6 train from my dorm and rode to 68th street. But instead of finding a spot at Hunter’s Library, I returned to my nook at Shakespeare & Co. and busied myself with my studying. When I needed a break from my screens, I’d people watch. The weekends were much calmer than weekdays and the crowd was much more varied. It was no longer just filled with students rushing to and from class, but with people who could afford to take the time to sit and read. Elderly couples sat, sipping on their cappuccinos and chit-chatting at their tables. Businessmen crouched in their seats, eating their salads while thumbing through the pages of their crisp newspapers. I’d sit behind my computer, watching the weekend crowd as moody instrumental music played through my headphones. If I felt like I needed a longer break from my work, I’d stop by the front to grab a coffee before making my way around the store, browsing the shelves for something to read. If I found any interesting books to read I’d bring them back to my seat, scanning the pages as I sipped on whatever coffee confection was in season. Most nights I’d leave at closing time, my newly purchased book nestled amongst my papers in my bookbag. 

Now, as I wait out quarantine at home, I reread the books I bought, my only window back into the aisles of the store I love.