Ridgeline subscribers —

That’s Things Become Other Things, up in the window of what is — IMHO — one of the greatest bookstores in the world. I think it’s worth taking a beat to note why the store feels so good and, ultimately, how deceptively simple the ingredients of that goodness are.

The store in question is Three Lives & Company. It’s a great name. In a great little neighborhood (the West Village (Manhattan)) which puts it off to a great start. It’s been around since 1978 (founded by Jill Dunbar, Jenny Feder, and Helene Webb) and moved to the current location in 1983. So it has some history. It has presence. Time is required for something to become a pillar of the community, and Three Lives has had time.

I’ve been visiting for at least 15 years. I wish I kept better track of when I first went, but it may have even been twenty+ years ago, pitching Kūhaku to various bookshops around the city, trying to get folks to stock it. Regardless, as soon as I did find it, I was smitten because:

I know of no other store (book or otherwise) with nicer, more knowledgable people working there. It’s uncanny, the amount of unharried, chill, giving-a-shitness you feel as soon as you walk in. The space is small, sure, but every millimeter is covered in arguably one of the best curated selections of books in the world. I dare you to visit and not buy something (I bought Eliza Barry Callahan’s The Hearing Test today). The taste is unparalleled. I’ve been to enough bookstores in the world now to say this with some confidence. No, they don’t have every book. But we don’t want every book. We want great books chosen by people whose adoration of books stems from a life committed to books.

And the size: I love the size. This is a human-scale bookshop. Human scale, sane, bounded — it is a shop you can know, a shop that doesn’t intimidate or hide anything. The whole is visible as soon as you enter. It’s a shop that invites returning not because you’re trying to discover a mysterious corner, but because the selection changes with season; there is a river-like quality to stepping inside and I much prefer a river to an ocean when looking for books.

The light is nice, the vibes — the vibes are good. And that’s it. A little history, great humans with great taste, human-scale space and selection. Shake it all together on a gorgeous leafy side-street in a paradox of a city and you’ve got pure physical book magic in a world of zombie digital anodynes.

I went to sign a few copies of TBOT there today and had a great time chatting with owner Toby and some of the staff. Seeing my book up in the window — well, I’d be lying if that didn’t feel pretty good. It’s not about seeing it in every window, just the windows of places I respect the most. Anyway, it was very nice. Can tick that one off the list. And Radiant Cafe next door serves up some great flat whites in a screen-free environment. Together, a sweet one-two combo for a lazy Wednesday. You should visit.

And! It seems like they’ve managed to long-term negotiate their lease on that expensive plot of land. Here’s to another four decades, please.

The book tour continues with a chat with Rob Giampietro at Notion HQ tomorrow and then a public event with The Atlantic’s Ross Andersen at Politics and Prose in Washington D.C. at 7 p.m. on Friday night. (Then on to SF and more: Full schedule up here.)

Thanks to everyone who came out to Rizzoli in the pouring rain on Monday. And to everyone who pre-ordered or bought a book in the last few days. It’s available in all the usual spots:

• Amazon
• Bookshop.org
• Apple Books
• Barnes & Noble

Please do leave a review, if you feel so inspired.

OK, time to pass out, the marathon continues tomorrow.

See you out there,
C