Double Hook and Grande Bibliothéque

The Double Hook Bookstore, a friendly, homey place that sold English-mainly Canadian-only books in Montreal, is closing at the end of July. (Got my journalism skills back long enough to write a lede explaining that, which helps give a reason for the below).

Above is an indifferent drawing of the Double Hook Bookstore I did for a project a year or so ago. Lousy scanner cuts out a certain kind of green-blue which goes in the sky here. (made the cat painting below look more skimpy as well). That bookstore was one of my favourite places to prowl around in, when I made the pilgrimage out to Greene Street. Enjoyed the many readings and launchings there for local writers such as (recently) Mary Soderstrom and T.F. Rigelhof. Kind of the cosier, English-Professor-level of writer, as opposed to the hipper spoken word types who hang out in Mile End, or on the Main, or the slightly crazier types I would sometimes drink with, or hear bad reports about.

Light on interesting sketches to blog lately. I've still been drawing things, and if I pawed through my books, I'm sure there'd be something to post. But though things have been going all right (the dentist visit wasn't a big problem, and I got a healthy cheque the other day), I've been in a bad mood. Not identifying with society, or other people much. Hope that changes.

Other good news was that I visited and liked the new Grande Bibliothéque, or however it's called. (actually the Bibliothéque Nationale du Quebec) The place was jammed, like a new exhibition at Disneyland). People like me were walking through the aisles grinning, entranced with all the open space and hi-tech gadgetry. There seem to be a lot more books in the new collection. I hope the good ones aren't all quickly stolen or mutilated, as they were in the previous incarnation of the central libe. I miss the old building somewhat, though it wasn't very friendly. The big tables smashed your knees if you were tall like me, and one had to pull one's chair out as a result, and that meant interfering with people who were passing behind. (Sorry for that sentence, though it's slightly corrected in this second editing pass). As well, there were herds of grumpy old men who would hoard the newspapers on the weekend. Assembling a giant stack of them, and then looking at you with hatred if you glanced their way trying to see if they had the Saturday "Gazette" so you could check the want ads.