Bookstore — Literary Fiction

Few moments mean much beyond the transcription of events as they happen; there is little metaphor or symbolic interpretation at work within the pages. Character growth seems linear–again, like an RPG–where each character in the story has an issue that they confront and then resolve: being a part-time employee makes Jungsuh sad, but meditation helps her accept it; Yeongju want to run a bookshop but it is potentially unsustainable, yet she learns to accept the risk one day at a time; Mincheol feels like life has no broader meaning, but eventually finds meaning enough in simply existing. Characters grow into themselves in the same way a squire grows into a knight–none of them truly change, they just sort of prestige into the next tier of themselves.

David DinaburgDecember 18, 2024Korea, Bookstore, Fiction, employment

More Days at the Morisaki Bookshop

Anyway, there is simply no way you’re reading More Days without having read the first Morisaki–though I bet you could, and it might even be fun, but I find it so incredibly unlikely that anyone reading Morisaki 2 didn’t like the first one. Why would you even pick it up? Gosh, I would really hate trying to market sequels—you know exactly what you’re getting from reading the previous book, unless it’s wildly divergent, and then fans of the original would probably be displeased. But this book was a nice way to close out my summer of fiction–what, you don’t make yourself personal, overarching reading themes?—and it it felt like autumn, felt like a transitional text:

“I don’t have that many books yet. I don’t worry much about holding on to them, so I tend to gather them up and sell them.”
“I see.” Tomo fell quiet. “I’d better start selling more, or I’ll be in trouble. But once I like a book, I just can’t let go of it.”