The Little Independent Bookstore That Could
By Emilie Ross
A thriving independent bookstore sounds like an oxymoron these days. But I found one.
The changing book industry has mounted new challenges against the indies for years — first with the rise of the mega-bookstore chains in the ’90s (Barnes & Noble and Borders), then the dominance of Amazon, and more recently the introduction of e-readers and e-books.
“It was wave after wave eating away at the market — one thing after another,” Toby Cox tells me. He is the owner of Three Lives and Company, a charming corner bookstore in the heart of Greenwich Village.
The thinning ranks of independent booksellers in Manhattan — the literary epicenter of America — weigh heavily on the minds of New York City booklovers. The number of bookstores in Manhattan dropped from 150 to 106 from 2000 to 2012 — a 30 percent decrease. Of those that still exist in the borough, 39 are registered members of the American Booksellers Association, which is a trade group for independent stores.
Conventional wisdom suggests that to compete in this modern age, a bookstore has to build an online presence in order to market itself, just as all manner of businesses large and small have done over the last 15 years.
But Three Lives and Company has no intention of building out its simple five-page website, or tweeting, or opening a Facebook account.
The store windows artfully display books in rows, each one like the square of a patchwork quilt. And when you walk inside, you feel just like you would under such a quilt — enveloped.
Green bankers lamps mounted on the tops of bookshelves illuminate the collections below. A worn oriental rug sits under a display table. No shelf space or tabletop is wasted, but the place doesn’t feel cluttered or bursting at the seams. It’s compact and homey — like a hobbit’s home, only with more head clearance.
It’s staffed by friendly employees, like Joyce McNamara, who has worked at Three Lives since the early ’90s. When I ask what the secret to the store’s success is, she says:
“The neighborhood has changed, but the business itself is exactly what we did in ’78. We sell only books — nothing else. We’re still very much a neighborhood bookstore.”
I look around, and it’s true: missing from the literary milieu are the typical tchotchkes that usually clutter up bookstores. No journals, no mugs, no magnets, no gift section. Other than a few cards arranged on the ends of two of the varnished built-in hardwood bookshelves, and some canvas bookbags hanging behind the counter, the only thing to buy here is a book (or 10).
The simplicity is refreshing. The staff and customers seem to agree that this place is about books and the people who come together around them — and that’s it.
But working behind the curtain to make these simple virtues shine through is owner Toby Cox, who bought the shop from the original owners in 2001. He is the one who goes through the catalogs publishers put out three times a year to do all of the upfront new book buying — and he must be very selective because he doesn’t have a whole lot of space. This corner store is a mere 650 square feet, and Toby runs a tight ship.
“First and foremost it’s a business, and it has to be managed in that way,” Joyce says, citing responsibilities like paying bills on time, paying taxes, negotiating reasonable leases. “He takes care of all the stuff people don’t like taking care of. When bookstores fail, they often haven’t paid attention to the business aspects. It’s the same for all local stores…or it’ll turn into a nail salon.”
Another employee joins our conversation. Troy Chatterton has worked at Three Lives for two and a half years, but was a longtime weekly customer before that. He can remember the first book he bought here in 1998: The Hours by Michael Cunningham. Chatterton had an editorial career in magazines when he decided to change careers. He wanted to work in an independent bookstore instead, and he wanted it to be Three Lives and Company.
He calls it the best job he’s ever had because he never knows what’s going to happen, and it’s never dull.
“I open the front door, and say, ‘let the theater begin,’” says Troy.
When I ask him what sets Three Lives apart, he says that the employees, to a man, are book-obsessed.
“We all love reading,” says Troy. “We love reading the newest books coming out, or just what we’re into, and have a whole lot of fun talking about it,” says. “We love making recommendations.”
As I talk with Joyce and Troy they stop to greet a customer by name who walks in with a poodle in tow. He is a dog walker who stops by daily. Joyce darts behind the counter to get dog treats that are homemade by another employee for the specific purpose of welcoming their customers with canines. And the snacks are even vegan-friendly.
Not all customers are daily visitors on a first-name basis with the employees. Many are tourists who like to sightsee in the neighborhood. Others are neighbors, like Michael Kelley. He has come into the store every couple of months for the last 10–15 years.
“I have seen all the bookshops disappearing one by one — I’ve lived in New York City for 35 years,” he says. “I could go on Amazon but choose to come shop here.”
Behind him, a woman carrying a small dog under her arm hurriedly enters the store and marches straight up to the counter. She thanks Chatterton for the phone call notifying her that her special-order book has arrived. She says she could have bought the book at another store where the author is doing a signing, but wanted to support Three Lives instead. Before she heads out as briskly as she came in, she says, “I’m so glad you’re still in business.”
(Employees of the store hear comments like this every day).
Chatterton points out to me that staffers don’t label their sections, preferring instead to let people browse and explore the bookshop on their own. (Even though sections do exist, they simply don’t announce themselves with signs).
That’s something Michael Kelley values.
“I find it easier to browse and make serendipitous discoveries. A physical store has that advantage over online retailers,” he says.
Kelley says he wouldn’t feel this way about any bookstore. What makes Three Lives so enjoyable is that the collection is “intelligently curated.”
The word ‘curated’ is more commonly used to describe visual art exhibitions in museums and galleries. The comparison to the art world is appropriate, because aesthetics of this little bookstore are a big part of its allure.
“[Aesthetics] are huge,” Toby Cox says. “The women who started the store created an incredible space to showcase the book. It creates a sense of, ‘I want to be part of this entity.’”
“It always feels like working in a big cozy living room that’s filled with books,” says Troy.
Making sure the space looks presentable takes constant rearranging of books (to make space for new ones, or just to keep it looking fresh and new for regular customers). Cox likened the activity to “dressing a stage.”
The stage shows some wear and tear. Looking at the scuffed wood floors, “you can tell people have been coming and going, using this store for a long time,” says Kelley.
The foot traffic is about to pick up with the coming of the holiday season — a “crazy” time when Three Lives and Company anticipates selling hundreds and hundreds of books as Christmas gifts, just like they do every year. The team will wrap them free of charge. The rolls of paper are already stacked behind the counter, ready and waiting.
Cox doesn’t feel worried about the future.
“There will always be readers of the book,” he says.
