The open and shut charity bookshops

 

There are times when I feel that I have to clear out some of my books. It’s not that I no longer appreciate those that I have decided to re-home, it’s more about making more space to let in the new.

My latest dispersal included several books not on display but stored away in cupboards. It has been years since I opened them and I decided that they needed a more conscientious custodian. Use them or diffuse them! is my new guiding mantra.

Mind you, flicking through some that I had earmarked for donation, I found myself rereading. Interest renewed I decided to keep them. They live to light another day.

I wondered how much I had invested in the books and did a quick online search to check availability and current values. Even some of my pristine hard covers were only just a few £ pounds and there were loads for sale. So having decided to send the books on their way to new owners, it would be relatively simple and cheap to buy them again if I found I was missing them.

Selections made and packed into carrier bags it was off to the charity bookshop.

I had recently been to a newly opened store and spent some time discussing books and authors with the very knowledgeable vendor there. He welcomed the donation and thought many of the books would appeal to his customers. He also asked if I would complete a donation form describing the various books I was leaving. Of course: Miscellaneous titles, business and marketing, popular psychology, philosophy, leadership and some novels. That categorisation of the books was instructive, as many had been bought during my working life and now seemed less relevant in these retirement years. I was delighted that a future good home was assured and said that I would return in a couple of weeks with more books. Back home I resumed the task of clearing.

It’s a pleasure to handle books and I lost myself in the flow of thinning out their spaces. I packed up some heavyweight volumes in terms of both their poundage and content. I was sure that my new bookseller chum would be just as impressed as last time. But why had I packed so many? Clearly this new-found, guilt-free enthusiasm for parting with books had got the better of me. In my rush, I picked the wrong type of carrier bags; you know the ones with handles that dig deep?

I stopped a few times carrying the books to the charity shop only to arrive and find it closed. The times of business sign on the door confirmed that it should have been open but no - Books bite back!

What to do? Bring them home? Obviously not as that would mean stop/starting again, swapping loads and massaging fingers. Decision tome!

I knew there was a second-hand bookstore nearby where I could drop them off and although I have bought many a bargain there I was still wedded to that notion of goodwill gifting of the books. I thought of another charity shop that specialised in book sales. I had often gone there too and my donation would have the added benefit of supporting their good cause. It wasn’t far away either.

The staff member at this next bookshop was pleased to receive the carrier bags asking, as the first recipient did, whether I wanted them back. No thanks.

Have I missed the books? No, not yet.

I have though been tempted to call back into each of the shops to see if any are on their shelves and to check for how much they are selling them. My bookshelves aren’t empty however. Those freed-up spaces didn’t stay clear for long and new book tenants jostle for attention. They sit next to old inhabitants, familiar titles. Although many of these are in various states of wear and tear I couldn’t bear to part with them. Books are a bit like friends - the older, the nicer. Looking around I see instantly that some of them were pre-loved and picked up in charity bookshops. Other readers must have had their own clear-outs.

Thanks to those previous owners whose charity ends at home.

In situ reading: Power of the Powerless

 

Preparing for our trip to the Czech Republic I purchased a copy of Vaclav Havel's Power of the Powerless with an introduction by Professor Timothy Snyder. I've made this contract with myself that wherever I go abroad I'll delve into appropriate literature from the country, get a book, bring it with me and read it when there.  A cultural backcloth to the visit. In situ reading.

Close to our hotel in Prague we spotted this memorial to the Velvet Revolution and returned to picture it with the book.

Power of the Powerless is a challenging although instructive read.

Notes:

Check out the Vintage edition of the book here.

See this related Wikipedia article here.

Find the Velvet Revolution Memorial on Národní Trida in Prague

On tasting AI wine

Here’s something I learned last week. Artificial Intelligence (AI) is being used to produce wine.

Really? What about the vintner? I always thought that their practised, artful skill is what wine making was all about it. Technology and machinery in the vineyard by all means but in the alchemy of turning grape to wine surely not.

There’s a first time for everything and so it was back to school for a lesson on and taste of AI-curated wine. School in this case was a wine appreciation class where a dozen of us meet each week in a local social club. Our tutor - we’ve come to look upon him as a benefactor - selects several wines he thinks we’ll like and we spend a couple of hours tasting our way through them and comparing notes and picking favourites. In a recent class many of us also sampled for the first time “orange” wine and that might be the subject of a future post.

But back to that AI curation.

CTZN - Luminous Drift is a wine blend from South Eastern Australia, apparently bottled in London. That probably means it is a “tanker” wine, imported in large containers and bottled on arrival to reduce transportation costs. AI has no doubt been deployed there to maximise efficiencies.

At 11% volume, Luminous Drift is subject to a lower duty rate than other more powerful wines. This makes it more marketable as rates for all alcohol products sold in the UK are now linked to strength. That lower volume is attractive to many people , like me, who favour lighter styles for health reasons.

Do you know what? The wine was very well-received by our group. Fresh, bright and elegant with a nice acidity that would pair well with some pasta dishes or goat’s cheese. A summer-sipper many of us felt. And most would gladly have it again.

I wonder if producing this class pleasing result is how AI played its part. It seems that curation relies on algorithms harvesting data; pressing our preferences for various grapes and styles and fermenting our likes and dislikes to finally bottle something that appeals to the widest possible number of people. The outworking of those data points results in a wine blend of 52% Pinot Grigio, 23% Sauvignon Blanc and 16% Riesling. Of course, there is a Human dimension. That final 9% is the Vintner’s craft working to achieve a balanced finish.

Serious students do homework and so a trip to the off-sales was prescribed.

Back home with the bottle I noticed a QR code on the label. Now that was clever. Scanning the code with my phone camera a robot character called SOM - short for sommelier - appeared on screen. Som’s task is to guide the purchaser through a virtual wine tasting. It would be great to screen share that with a group of friends while also sharing the contents of a bottle. CTZN also offers a couple of reds in its hard drive, so more than enough for a virtual home tasting. Maybe not for our class though.

Som was a fun character but not as yet a replacement for our wine tutor, the benefactor who each week goes shopping for wines he thinks will delight us.

As well as wine knowledge, his human algorithms factor in history, geography, experience of and anecdotes from visiting the wine lands.

Emotional and actual intelligence. Worth bottling.

PS: Please be a good CTZN and drink responsibly

Haiku on storm-tossed trees

 

Sense? Pencil shavings.

Trees. Fallen by the wayside.

Sawdust. Pooled like blood.

The Refugee Woman and Child

The beautiful church in central France where I met the Refugee Woman and Child

I wrote the following poem 50 years ago. Scalded by an experience I found that I could only express my feelings through writing it. Whatever the poem lacks in style and structure, the act of going home and penning it had a powerful effect. Powerful enough to have stayed with me for 50 years. Still vivid in my memory.

I had been at a church service in a town in France and during the ceremony a woman, clearly a refugee, head covered in a blanket and carrying an infant made her way up the aisle through the congregation reaching out her hand for money. It was a direct approach to a captive audience. I remember seeing the celebrant taking her to the side and discreetly giving her some money. She hadn’t finished just yet however and continued her path through the church, having much less success with others in attendance.

Then our eyes met.
The look in those eyes. Defiant dignity.
I felt really uncomfortable as she headed towards me.
My moment of truth…

The Refugee Woman and Child

This morning I met the mother of God

As she held out her hand to say

« Give me some money for my child in rags,

I’ve asked and been turned away »

I gave her some centimes in loose change.

Her eyes questioned, Is that enough?

And the paper money in my wallet is still there

Richly folded up

Now I think only of that young child

That we are nailing to a tree.

« What you give to the least of my brethren

Then that so you give unto Me.  »

I think of that experience often, especially these days when countless more displaced people are on the move worldwide. The lack of respect in how they are treated has not improved in those 50 years. If anything it has deteriorated and the dehumanising terminology used to describe refugees does society no credit.

That child, if still with us, would be in middle age by now. 

What life have they had? What legacy is theirs? 

I hope that somehow, against the odds they made it.

That the mother’s love blanketed their growing up.

I hope they inherited those eyes with defiant dignity.