Books change the world—but dominant retail chains have threatened to change the bookstore experience forever. An employee of one of those chains grabbed a photographer friend to explore four examples of a treasured species: Ottawa’s independent and iconic bookshops.

Quaint, charming, and bookish

Story by Meaghan Isaacs
Photos by Jenny Tang

Standing over the messy heap of interior design books that the same 30-something couple leaves behind on a daily basis, I start my shift. Today, a bratty teenager has spilled her non-fat white chocolate mocha on one of the art books. I watch as she looks around to see if anyone’s noticed, then quickly exits. Just as I begin to sort through the mound of design books, a large, overly mascara’d woman bounds in from the back entrance towards me, out of breath and wild-eyed. I brace myself for whatever will come out of her mouth.

“I need every book you have by Sylvia Browne!”

And it was then, while leading a panting Sylvia Browne zealot to the New Age section, that I began to wonder: how it is that bookstores have come to this? And, more importantly, is the small, charming, and civilized bookstore experience still alive in Ottawa?

To find out, I explored four smallish bookshops dotted across town: Argosy Books (209 Dalhousie Street) and Nicholas Hoare Books (419 Sussex Drive) in the Market, Collected Works (1242 Wellington Street) in Westboro, and Octopus Books (116 Third Avenue) in the Glebe.

With the hopes that these shops could restore faith in the bibliophiles who pursue a more authentically bookish culture, photographer Jenny Tang and I set out on this new and exciting, er, chapter.

Argosy Books: “Like sorting socks”

Unless you can spot the sign, which simply says “BOOKS,” Argosy Books on Dalhousie is easily missed, located in a spot that’s unknown even to many people who live in the area and walk past every day. Inside, the tiny shop is stuffed full of beautiful and rare used books.

Rickety shelves are jam-packed and the volumes spill over onto almost ever surface. Many lie on top of old statues: a small orang-utan figure hoists several jazz books on its spindly arms. Elsewhere, books are simply piled from the floor to ceiling.

Co-owner Alice Hughes sits behind a little desk wearing her reading glasses and pink Crocs that poke out from below her long, navy skirt. With great enthusiasm, Alice says that organizing books is “like sorting socks.”

The shop is crowded but comfy and familiar, like being at your grandmother’s house. I half-expected Alice to pull out a tray of just-baked cookies and knit me a sweater.

Alice and her husband, co-owner John Hughes, are warm and inviting and, no surprise here, more than happy to talk books all day long. The two had accumulated so many volumes over the years that they didn’t know what to do with them, so they opened Argosy Books as an early retirement project in 1984.

“We moved back and forth across the street a couple times,” Alice explains, before they settled on their current location.

Alice and John maintain a great marriage and business partnership by keeping out of each other’s way at work. They have alternate days at the shop and each has regular clients, Alice points out. Argosy focuses on rare and used titles. Alice shows me one of her favourites: an ancient looking tome entitled Illustrations of British Mycology, penned by Anna Maria Hussey in 1847. The rare book is worth about $6,000, says Alice.

The author was a writer and painter, but also wife to a cleric, which meant that her artistic passions initially took a backseat. However, as Alice proudly tells me, Hussey eventually told her husband “I’m not pouring tea” and went out and collected mushrooms, then compiled the descriptions and illustrations that eventually populated the book.

There’s necessarily a more personal feeling when you buy a book at Argosy as opposed to at a large-chain bookstore. It’s one thing to tell someone how wonderful a book is, but dog-eared pages and well-worn spines tell different stories altogether.

Nicholas Hoare: Joy Fielding not in stock

Located a stone’s throw from the National Gallery on Sussex Drive, Nicholas Hoare Books opened a little more than a decade ago.

Unlike the cramped confines at Argosy, this shop is roomy and each book cover faces out at you from dozen of tidy shelves. Tall ladders line the walls. The space is inviting. There is a fireplace at the back with a comfy couch facing it. Beyond that, a secluded area with children’s books and a rocking chair.

In contrast to the typical small bookshop, Nicholas Hoare Books has an air of order and organization that makes you feel as though you’re in the personal library of a rich old man. The grey cat lounging on a table full of paperbacks and eyeing me like an intruder adds to the sense that I am somehow imposing. A sign at the back door reads, “Don’t let the cat out!”

The feline, named Pooh Bear, has been a resident since the store opened. Owner Nicholas Hoare thought it would be a nice touch. Hoare started out in Montreal 30 years ago as a wholesaler providing to libraries. After a law passed in Quebec that required some kind of street front for his kind of operation, the first Nicholas Hoare Books opened in Montreal, followed by shop in Toronto, and finally Ottawa. Though Hoare himself lives in Montreal and doesn’t visit Ottawa too often, “Almost anything your eye lights on is his idea,” says longstanding employee Matthew Mitchell. Mitchell describes Nicholas Hoare Books as “a browser’s bookstore,” a place where people are free to wander and peruse the shelves. The shop carries mostly British literature, but also has plenty of titles on other subjects, everything from interior design to biographies to children’s books. Jillian Wright, another store employee, says that Nicholas Hoare hand-selects all the books but not based on whim. “He certainly tracks carefully what works and what doesn’t,” said Wright. While I’m chatting with Mitchell and Jillian, a woman enters with her small son. “Excuse me, do you have any Joy Fielding novels?” she asks. Wright replies quickly with a short “no” and the woman is awkwardly on her way again.

I cringed. I wanted to run after the woman and tell her it was okay for her to read cheesy thrillers and that at my workplace we had an entire shelf of Joy Fielding novels! But I stopped myself, and continued with the interview while Jenny my photographer friend stood frozen to the spot, mortified.

A browse of the shelves makes it clear that Nicholas Hoare Books has a specific clientele in mind. The biography table, for instance, is full of titles on political and historical figures and significant people in the arts world: heavyweights such as Picasso, Trudeau, Napoleon, and Cherie Blair (wife of Tony Blair).

While I was relieved to see no copies of Confessions of a Video Vixen or the latest memoir by rapper 50 Cent, overall the shop felt a little bit uninspiring.

Collected Works: Here comes the neighbourhood

Situated amidst the hustle and bustle at the ever-expanding Holland and Wellington intersection in the west end, Collected Works is still close enough to the core to draw visits from downtown dwellers. Close proximity to the vegetarian cuisine at The Table and to the Great Canadian Theatre Company’s new digs means it’s no surprise to see an artsy, creative crowd coming through the doors. The store is modest and welcoming. The smell of coffee greets you, along with a smile from a girl sitting at the till.

Co-owner Christopher Smith, however, is in a bit of frenzy, busying himself over an upcoming book signing with American author David Sedaris. Christopher, who says he “didn’t really fit into the corporate culture,” opened Collected Works in 1997 with Craig Poile. Christopher is the shop manager while Craig remains largely behind the scenes and manages the store’s web site.

Christopher says he and Craig “got in on the ground floor” just as the scene was picking up in Westboro. He says that the bookshop is now used as a selling point for the neighbourhood’s prospective homebuyers.

Their stock reflects the interests of their community, with emphasis on Canadian literary fiction, children’s books, and poetry. (The latter category is somewhat surprising for a smaller-scale bookstore. Christopher says poetry makes up for 4% of sales every year; at most other bookstores that number would be closer to 1%.)

While Collected Works is primarily a bookstore, Christopher says the space functions more like a coffee bar until noon. Many locals come in on their way to work for their daily caffeine fix and some light conversation.

Collected Works really is a neighbourhood bookstore. Christopher relates how he received gifts and cards from customers when his first daughter was born and how the owners have built lasting relationships with their regular customers.

“They may not have invested financially, but they have emotionally and spiritually,” says Christopher, speaking like a true anti-corporate crusader.

Octopus Books: Fierce Independence

Tucked away on Third Avenue, a stone’s throw from the activity on Bank Street, Octopus Books resembles a worn-out cottage from a nursery rhyme. There’s bright green trim on the old white house and a sign out front that reads, “Not your average bookstore.”

I notice immediately some controversial books in the window display, one titled, Cunt: A Declaration of Independence. I also notice a bumper sticker as I walk in that declares, “Any book worth banning is a book worth reading.” Quickly I am convinced that the sign out front spoke the truth. Sean Zio, who’s been with Octopus Books for almost three years, greets me enthusiastically. Of all the bookstore employees I meet, Sean is the most empathetic of my “working for the enemy” plight, having toiled at a large-chain bookstore himself years ago. But Sean has changed. Now he is the quintessential employee for a socialist-rooted place such as Octopus. He speaks with passion and wit. He wears glasses, sandals, corduroy pants, and has tied-back ginger-coloured hair. Just as I’m about to ask to see his Che Guevara tattoo, I notice instead a monochromatic human heart tattooed on his forearm. Almost literally, Sean wears his heart on his sleeve.

The shop’s 40th anniversary is coming next year, but Octopus Books still bristles with the vibrancy of a teenager out to save the world. The venture was born in 1969 as a socialist newspaper but quickly evolved into a bookshop. It functioned as a collective until purchased by three of its members. One of the three, Lisa Greaves, is now the sole owner. “She has these socialist politics, so she lives and speaks her ethics,” Sean raves about his employer. And proof is easily seen “in the stock she carries, fair wages, and group decision-making,” Sean adds.

Octopus carries a large range of books on philosophy, cultural analysis, environmental politics, and social justice. Staff picks are flagged with little hand-written post-its, raving about titles such as DIY: Handbook for Changing our World. A table to the side of the cash offers lists and pamphlets on related zines. A pamphlet describing Anarchist Organizing Manual pokes out from the pile. Octopus offerings are divided into sections called “unusual histories” and “feminism,” and an entire wall is devoted to “Cuba” (the visage of Che Guevara graces a number of titles). Despite the boldness in selection, Octopus is careful not to step on the toes of other bookstores, says Sean. For instance, because another local bookstore called After Stonewall specializes in gay and lesbian titles, Octopus doesn’t carry too many of those.

While saying goodbye to Sean and Octopus Books and ending my bookstore quest, I realize that I had found what I initially hoped for: that the charming, specialized bookstore experience is alive and well in Ottawa—if you only look hard enough.

And, as I walked out, Sean offered an inspirational phrase that captured perfectly why these local shop owners work so hard to keep the experience alive. “Books change the world.”

Writer Meaghan Isaacs and photographer Jenny Tang are based in Ottawa.