The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald isn’t the type of book I usually read. I was searching through Scribd for something short, to listen to during my drive. It isn’t particularly happy book, but it’s so real.

Maybe that’s why I liked The Bookshop so well. Usually this type of story the bookshop owner, or chocolatery owner, or dressmaker sets up shop, and through charm, sincerity, and enthusiam changes the towns culture, instills their own values, and shows the town how vile their own values have always been.

It’s such hubris, such arrogance. While often its written in a way that I still enjoy the novel, there’s always a part of me that can’t help being put off.

I love the realness of The Bookshop. Will I do a reread (re-listen?)? Seems unlikely. But just now, it struck a cord, and I thoroughly recommend it, to those who know that the perspectives of others, have value, even if they are disparate to our own.

If you want a book all about the the love of books, I highly recommend The Bookshop of Yesterdays, or for some non-fiction The Books That Changed My Life.