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On the demise of real reading and bookstores
By Wan Lixin |
July 13, 2011, Wednesday
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Print Edition
Print Edition
ON Saturday a courier delivered to my home a package of seven books I ordered online a few days before.
When I opened the package I did not find the books in the best of conditions: an oversized copybook for calligraphy got crumpled, and a two-volume Chinese history was heavily dented by external force ó but I did not complain.
Except for the copybook (discounted 75 percent) all the titles were sold at 39 to 70 percent of the marked prices. The total was only 114 yuan (US$17), and there was no charge for delivery.
It is not easy to find such discounts or books at real, brick-and-mortar bookstores.
These attractions explain partly why traditional bookstores are struggling.
According to Mondayís Xinmin Evening News, over the past 10 years about half of all private bookstores have either relocated, scaled down, or closed because of soaring rentals and rising costs of labor and utilities.
In Shanghai the prime Nanjing and Huaihai roads have long been reduced to showcases of ìtop? fashion brands; bookstores have been crowded out.
Many other downtown streets are more hospitable to massage parlors, real estate brokers or restaurants.
In my neighborhood there are still two small bookshops, all kept alive by sales of ìsupplementary teaching materials? for middle and elementary school students.
A few years ago, even the once prestigious bookstore Sanlian, which specialized in scholarly works, diversified into this brisk trade in books intended to help students score higher.
On Fuzhou Road, there are still a few bookstores that look beyond teaching aids, but I find their gloss and grandeur intimidating: the dazzling illumination, the shining floors, the meticulously crafted ambience of culture and elegance always make me uneasy about who is going to pay for this.
At one time, wonderful bookstores were housed in aged buildings where books were stacked from floor to ceiling in a cramped space. Narrow, creaky staircases led to other levels.
Such bookstores can still be found in Washington, DC, and New York City.
This layout can be defended economically for it can minimize operating costs by making the most of limited space.
Domestic and international capital has played nearly every conceivable kind of commodities in China from garlic to housing, but it has yet to have luck with books.
Some online stores seem to be doing a vigorous business in books, but according to people who know, their real aim is to foster clientele for lucrative items other than books.
Only trash survives
Ultimately only trash survives.
Our urban designers are among some of the most can-do on earth.
Just to cite one recent example.
Shanghai Daily reported on July 4 that recently residents at a historic shikumen community on Weihai Road (near our office) have been complaining about more than 80 unlicensed bars, restaurants, shops and art studios that make the area dirty and noisy.
Efforts to reduce the nuisance have failed.
Do you know what the local Jing'an District planners intends to do?
They aim to relocate all the residents and turn the area into a Xintiandi-like entertainment hub.
When there is money involved, you never see more efficient urban managers. But these same urban designers can obviously do nothing about the disappearing bookstores, big or small.
The trouble with bookstores is that it is getting increasingly difficult for them to turn a good profit.
The problem is not restricted to Shanghai.
The Forestsong Bookstore, one of the cultural landmarks in Beijing for 16 years, recently closed down, citing soaring rental, among other problems.
Nor is the decline of the bookstore restricted to the Chinese mainland.
On February 4, 2008, a publisher of quality books (Luo Zhihua) in Hong Kong was killed in a storeroom when a shelf collapsed and a huge number of books fell on him.
Prior to his tragic death, Luo had given up the bookstore he had run for 18 years. The remaining books he had managed to remove to a remote warehouse, where the tragedy occurred.
Significantly, Luo's disappearance was not noticed for two weeks, until the corpse had considerably decayed.
Vigorous online book trade may explain part of the decline, but the real cause may be that few people today still read books, to say nothing of real books.
As the Oriental Morning Post commented on Monday, "The enemy of bookstores is the times."
When I opened the package I did not find the books in the best of conditions: an oversized copybook for calligraphy got crumpled, and a two-volume Chinese history was heavily dented by external force ó but I did not complain.
Except for the copybook (discounted 75 percent) all the titles were sold at 39 to 70 percent of the marked prices. The total was only 114 yuan (US$17), and there was no charge for delivery.
It is not easy to find such discounts or books at real, brick-and-mortar bookstores.
These attractions explain partly why traditional bookstores are struggling.
According to Mondayís Xinmin Evening News, over the past 10 years about half of all private bookstores have either relocated, scaled down, or closed because of soaring rentals and rising costs of labor and utilities.
In Shanghai the prime Nanjing and Huaihai roads have long been reduced to showcases of ìtop? fashion brands; bookstores have been crowded out.
Many other downtown streets are more hospitable to massage parlors, real estate brokers or restaurants.
In my neighborhood there are still two small bookshops, all kept alive by sales of ìsupplementary teaching materials? for middle and elementary school students.
A few years ago, even the once prestigious bookstore Sanlian, which specialized in scholarly works, diversified into this brisk trade in books intended to help students score higher.
On Fuzhou Road, there are still a few bookstores that look beyond teaching aids, but I find their gloss and grandeur intimidating: the dazzling illumination, the shining floors, the meticulously crafted ambience of culture and elegance always make me uneasy about who is going to pay for this.
At one time, wonderful bookstores were housed in aged buildings where books were stacked from floor to ceiling in a cramped space. Narrow, creaky staircases led to other levels.
Such bookstores can still be found in Washington, DC, and New York City.
This layout can be defended economically for it can minimize operating costs by making the most of limited space.
Domestic and international capital has played nearly every conceivable kind of commodities in China from garlic to housing, but it has yet to have luck with books.
Some online stores seem to be doing a vigorous business in books, but according to people who know, their real aim is to foster clientele for lucrative items other than books.
Only trash survives
Ultimately only trash survives.
Our urban designers are among some of the most can-do on earth.
Just to cite one recent example.
Shanghai Daily reported on July 4 that recently residents at a historic shikumen community on Weihai Road (near our office) have been complaining about more than 80 unlicensed bars, restaurants, shops and art studios that make the area dirty and noisy.
Efforts to reduce the nuisance have failed.
Do you know what the local Jing'an District planners intends to do?
They aim to relocate all the residents and turn the area into a Xintiandi-like entertainment hub.
When there is money involved, you never see more efficient urban managers. But these same urban designers can obviously do nothing about the disappearing bookstores, big or small.
The trouble with bookstores is that it is getting increasingly difficult for them to turn a good profit.
The problem is not restricted to Shanghai.
The Forestsong Bookstore, one of the cultural landmarks in Beijing for 16 years, recently closed down, citing soaring rental, among other problems.
Nor is the decline of the bookstore restricted to the Chinese mainland.
On February 4, 2008, a publisher of quality books (Luo Zhihua) in Hong Kong was killed in a storeroom when a shelf collapsed and a huge number of books fell on him.
Prior to his tragic death, Luo had given up the bookstore he had run for 18 years. The remaining books he had managed to remove to a remote warehouse, where the tragedy occurred.
Significantly, Luo's disappearance was not noticed for two weeks, until the corpse had considerably decayed.
Vigorous online book trade may explain part of the decline, but the real cause may be that few people today still read books, to say nothing of real books.
As the Oriental Morning Post commented on Monday, "The enemy of bookstores is the times."
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