Apparently, that’s what Books-A-Million is now calling itself (BAM – Books-A–Million).
But one opened in the spot where the old Borders used to be, next to Jo-Ann Fabrics in Columbia, Maryland.
I used to often go there when my better half would need to buy fabric next door, killing time in the cafe and reading some lit mag or what not. I was pretty sad when it left.
But I’m glad there’s another bookstore there, but it’s also a little creepy. The selection is a little smaller and a little less challenging. Less poetry and fewer books by lesser known poets. No literary journals. No classical music CDs. And no philosophy section. But things were generally in the same area of the store as they were when it was a Borders. A pale, platonic shadow of the departed place (even the bookshelves are similar, but not quite exactly what Borders had).
Nonetheless, I so glad it’s there. It’s never amiss to find a bookstore present where you thought there were none.
Firstly, check out this article about translating Albert Camus’ alienated classic, The Stranger. I’ll wait.
Done? Good.
I remember very clearly back in 1992 when I was in high school, my friend Matt telling me about the new, Matthew Ward translation. Part of what he told me was about how Ward was trying to capture the colloquial, ‘American’ style that he believed Camus was aiming for. And then he told me about the line.
On a purely nostalgic level, Mother died yesterday cannot be beat for it cultural cachet, which, of course, made Ward’s change so massive. It felt like editing It was the best of times, it was the worst of times (though I should add, that book was among Dickens’ worst and there’s no good reason for people who aren’t Dickens completists to just skip over it).
We were all would-be existentialists at that age (and would-be communists, anarchists, and beatniks, as well, never mind the contradictions because we were teenagers) and Camus had a powerful hold on the imagination, especially with those iconic photos of him at his Humphrey Bogart-esque best with the dark overcoat, half smoked cigarette, and weary/sexy face (yeah, I’m heterosexual, but you can’t tell me Camus wasn’t a sexy man – http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/backissues/camus.jpg)
I certainly hope not!
the coffee philosopher 
