Alexander Ewing is reminded of a shameful secret

Readers will know that as a proponent of positive thinking, I always hesitate to dwell on the negativities. But a recent chat with a prospective student forced me out of my comfort zone.

He asked what I disliked about Oxford.

I instinctively said that I loved everything about the place, of course. But the issue has been nagging me ever since.

Luckily, I’ve had some time to think further whilst I enjoy my twice-a-day opportunity to sit on a sweltering bus marooned in bumper-to-bumper purgatory somewhere along the Botley Road.

And, as usual, it was The Oxford Times that provided the key information (never board a bus without it). In the July 2 edition, it ran a story about local bookshops – or rather the lack of them – in conjunction with Independent Bookshop Week.

At last, I was finally reminded of Oxford’s shameful secret. Upon arriving here years ago I was astounded at the dearth of quality independent booksellers, and in particular those who sell the used variety. Apart from a few endangered exceptions, it is a sad reality that perhaps the most famous university city in the world is a bibliographic wasteland when it comes to bookselling at its best.

Let me explain what that entails. In Boston, near Harvard Square, there is an unassuming basement bookstore called The Raven. Like all sanctuaries of its kind it is a promoter of liberal learning. Liberal because it is liberating; that is, it serves no purpose other than purveying knowledge for its own sake – at knockdown prices.

It also offers rarefied atmosphere.

Is there that comforting used bookstore smell? In buckets. Is there a crazy-haired crank behind counter? Tick. Is his assistant sometimes an undergrad with no social skills? Unfortunately. Is the till obscured by piles of recent additions? Is there a till?

Other places have this too. Skoob Books in Russell Square, Le Coupe-Papier in Paris, Bath Old Books (in Bath), Fossgate books in York and Bookcase in Carlisle come immediately to mind. The latter is reason enough to go to Carlisle. Trust me.

Looking at my bookshelves brings fond memories. I see Perry Miller’s The New England Mind and From Colony to Province, both found when rummaging through a now shuttered shop in Maine. There’s a copy of the Political Writing of William Morris that I obtained in Amsterdam’s Oudemanhuispoort Book Market.

Oxford’s only riposte to these places is The Albion Beatnik in Walton Street, a shop I implore my students to frequent.

Do they? Alas, I doubt it.

And my colleagues are no better. One recently attended a friend’s launch at Daunt Books and bragged about ordering a copy on Amazon the next day, saving a few bob.

Perhaps they should just give up books altogether and just sell those trendy book bags – for carrying Kindles and the like. Rename it Daunt Bags.

But Oxford should be different, starting with more independent booksellers. So I encourage the council, and especially the colleges, to see what they can do.