I’ve forgotten the name of this bookstore, but I LOVE it! — I love the crazy chaotic beauty of it. I especially love that the floors are chequered: it compounds the confusion, sucks the eye through the doorways at the back that are lined with yet more books and more crazy chaos. and one can barely discern The Browser, engulfed as he is in the riot of colours and books; and here too is another, whose head is clearly bathed in some light of divine bookshelf emanation —
ah Paris! thou art missed. Though yesterday, in my solitary wanderings through London on my birthday, I discovered the splendid London Review of Books store near the British Museum — it stocks a copy of virtually every book reviewed by the LRB — and it was just about as good a birthday present as one could have hoped for.