The Bookseller at the End of the World
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- About the Author
- Read an Excerpt
"Shaw's writing is pragmatic and restrained; her voice is so strong and assured that when grief appears you gasp at its intrusion and your heart stops a second." --Alexa Dretzke, Readings Hawthorn "Amazing!" --Jack Tame, Newstalk ZB "A fascinating, funny and moving story." --Nicky Pellegrino, New Zealand Woman's Weekly "Shaw can write about these peaks and troughs [of her life] without a skerrick of maudlin introspection or mawkishness. Battered and emotionally bruised, she marches on. In a word, dauntless, and it's exactly this quality that makes this memoir so readable." --Chris Moore, NZ Listener "Utterly charming and filled with equal measures of heartbreak and humour, Ruth Shaw's memoir will have you booking the first flight to New Zealand to share a cup of tea at her Wee Bookshops. Shaw has been a cook, a nurse, sailor and world traveller, and endured immeasurable loss. But with Lance, the love of her life, Shaw has found her place bookselling in Fiordland." --Booksellers' Choice Australia '"Compelling. Shaw tells her own story free of over-sentimentality or self-pity; she's straightforward, frequently humorous... Her resilience, optimism and willingness to help others is to be admired; her remarkable story is to be read and reflected upon as it adds another vital perspective to a NZ life." --Dionne Christian, Sunday Star Times
ISBN-13: 9781988547756
Media Type: Hardcover
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Publication Date: 05-30-2023
Pages: 320
Product Dimensions: 8.60(w) x 5.50(h) x 1.10(d)
Ruth Shaw runs two wee bookshops in remote Manapouri in the far south of New Zealand.
CHAPTERRead an Excerpt
1
TWO WEE
BOOKSHOPS
O n the corner of Hillside Road and Home Street,
opposite Lake Manapōuri, sit Two Wee Bookshops,
painted in a medley of bright colours and surrounded by
plants, curiosities and the odd bookshop pet or two.
Each morning from late September through to mid-
April, weekends included, I open my Two Wee Bookshops.
My green 1961 Fiat 500 is prominently parked on the
corner of Hillside Road and the Southern Scenic Highway,
advertising ‘the Smallest Bookshop in New Zealand’. I put
out theOPENsign on the corner of Home Street and then
start setting up the various tables and brightly painted old
school desks with a variety of books. On the blackboard I
write:OPEN, PLEASE RING BELL LOUDLY IF I AM NOT
HERE. A ship’s bell hangs beside the door and I can hear it
ringing from nearly anywhere on our large, tree-covered
property.
I was 70 when I decided to open these bookshops, as a
fun retirement ‘hobby’. I had opened my first bookshop
almost 30 years earlier, as part of a yacht charter operation
that my husband Lance and I ran called Fiordland Ecology
Holidays.
Bookshops in general attract people who love books,
but my Two Wee Bookshops are a beacon to everyone
who travels past. It might be the bright colours, or the old
windows and door, or the fact that they really are so small.
Tibor, from Budapest, was driving past the small cottages
when he caught a glimpse of the word ‘Bookshop’ on
my corner sign, did a quick U-turn and ended up living
in our garden hut for a month. He was a male nurse on
an extended holiday, living in his old station wagon. In
return for food and accommodation, he worked in the
small forest that surrounds our home. He loved books and
spent a lot of his time sitting in the bookshop, reading
and chatting to my customers. When I had to be away, he
opened the bookshop for me and successfully sold lots
of books. When he left, there were a lot of tears; he didn’t
want to go and we were sad to say goodbye.
And then we met Jana, the young German girl who
came into the bookshop, sat on a chair and started to cry,
blowing her nose into a well-soaked tissue. I hugged her,
holding her close to me as she wept. Her relationship had
just ended, she told me. I took her inside and Lance took
over in the shop, in his usual understanding and compas-
sionate way. He is the bookshop’s personal counsellor
and serves endless cups of tea and coffee throughout the
day. Lance is also my handyman, my ‘Quick, help me!’
man, and he joins me in setting up the bookshops every
morning. Jana stayed with us for a week.
Along came Lily from Poland, who was so homesick
she just wanted to talk — and wow, did she talk! I heard
about her entire family, right down to her grandparents;
where she went to school and where she had travelled in
New Zealand. At the end of this breathless and mostly one-
sided conversation, she told me about the breakup of her
relationship.
Adam from Australia arrived. He looked about 21, a
broad fellow with a cheeky smile. He was working in
Milford Sound and had a few days off.
‘Just want to know how to read a book,’ he said.
I had never heard this before, but thought if anyone
should know how to read a book, it would be a book dealer.
‘What are you interested in, Adam?’ I asked.
‘Not much. I do like growing and smoking dope.’
I was a little taken aback at his openness — he didn’t
knowme. ThenIconsideredmyappearancefroma
stranger’s point of view. I was dressed in my trademark
baggy Indian cotton pants, with a tunic down to my knees,
topped off with a colourful hat. I could see his point. ‘I
have just the book for you,’ I said. ‘Just wait — it’s in my
own library and it’s not actually for sale.’
Bogor, written by Burton Silver and published in 1980,
is a book of cartoon strips about a lone woodsman named
Bogor who befriends a hedgehog who grows dope. The
hedgehog’s diet consists of snails that are farmed and fed
on his marijuana plants. The strip featured in theNew
Zealand Listenermagazine from 1973 until 1995, becoming
New Zealand’s longest-running published cartoon series.
We all fell in love withBogor, which was pretty radical
for the time.Bogorbooks soon appeared and are now
collectable.
I returned to the shop with the book and told Adam the
story behind Bogor and the friendly hedgehog who ate
stoned snails. ‘You’ll love this. It’s easy to read and I’m sure
once you start, you won’t stop!’
Adam did start reading. When he returned the book, he
said he’d been on Trade Me, hoping to buy some to start
his own collection.
ONE DAY Aman named Alan arrived. He sat on the
doorstep in silence, his shoulders stooped, his head nearly
‘Why don’t you come in and sit down?’ I said to him. ‘I’ll
lock the door so you can have some time to yourself.’
‘No, I wouldn’t expect you to do that,’ he said, but he did
stand up and come into the shop. I raced out, turned the
OPENsign around, cleaned the blackboard and closed the
door. We just sat quietly for a few minutes until eventually I
introduced myself. I looked across at him and he was crying.
Our home is right next door to the bookshops, so I ran
in and asked Lance to make two cups of coffee and bring
them to the shop. This is a frequent request during my
busy times when people are waiting to get into the already
crowded bookshop; more than five customers and there is
no room to move! Lance entertains people who are waiting
with amazing stories of his life, and makes tea and coffee.
Thankfully he is a reader too, so he is happy to discuss
books if required.
Coffee was duly delivered: one with milk only, the other
with milk and sugar. Lance had guessed correctly — Alan
was a milk and sugar man.
‘Thanks, Ruth,’ Alan said. ‘I think I was meant to come
here — except I don’t actually read books.’
‘Lots of people come here who don’t read books.’
‘It was the colours and the bell hanging by the door that
attracted me. I am a fireman from New South Wales, and
I was ordered to take some leave. So here I am.’ He sighed
and looked up at me. ‘Do you think I have let my workmates
down? Because I do. They’re still out there. And no matter
where I go, I still smell smoke.’ The Australian bush fires
that year were so horrendous that even here in Manapōuri,
at the bottom of the South Island of New Zealand, we could
smell the smoke and our skies bled with the colour of fire.
We talked for over an hour. The horrors of what he had
been through, and had to go back to, made me want to cry.
Eventually he stood up, put his cup on the small desk,
pulled a tissue from the box I have ready for all occasions,
and blew his nose. ‘Thanks, Ruth. You were exactly what a
worn-out old fireman needed!’
I hugged him, looking up at him as he was so much
taller than me, and smiled. I knew he was off to walk the
kepler Track the next day. ‘Try and smell the forest,’ I said.
‘Breathe the mountain air and know that when you go
back, you’ll be ready to work alongside your mates again.
I have a wee book for you.’ I handed him a copy ofFurry
Logic: A guide to life’s little challenges. ‘This will make you
smile — and possibly even laugh.’
Alan grinned. Iopened the door and, as he walked
around the corner towards the lake, I turned the sign
around toopen.
Some days I give away more books than I sell, which is
one of the delights of being retired and not having the
pressure to make money. The joy of giving away the perfect
book is far more rewarding than making a sale.
THESMALLERBOOKSHOP,whichisforchildren,is
tucked in behind a fence with only the front showing; the
red door is just over a metre in height.
Children come and go from the Children’s Bookshop;
often they sit and read while they cuddle one of the soft
toys sitting in a row on the bottom shelves, awaiting
precious attention. The mothers, fathers and grandparents
find a book from their childhood and as they read, they
drift away into their memories.
In one corner I have a lending library. In the days before
Covid-19 I let children take a book home for the night,
together with a soft toy, each one named by the first child
to borrow it. When the toys are returned I wash them and
hang them out to dry. Often my clothesline is full of furry
animals hanging by their ears or tails. Some of their names
are Honey and Maple, the twin bears; Blizzard MacMurray,
the very white furry cat; Mornington the cat; Camo the
camel; Moon the yellow duck and Bouncy the rabbit.
Eep the little white lamb had been on a sleepover for
two nights, and came back slightly damp and covered in
mud and grass.
‘Wow! Looks like Eep had a great holiday,’ I said.
‘I put her in the paddock with the sheep at night so she
wouldn’t be lonely.’
‘Great idea. I’m sure she loved it.’
Eep is now back on the shelf looking very white after
her bath.
Tama, who spends his holidays in Manapōuri with his
grandparents, frequently drops into the bookshop. He is
very serious, extremely thoughtful and often quite funny.
He took Growl, the small stuffed lion, home for a sleep-
over. Before he left the shop I explained to him that I had
put Growl through the washing machine and his roar
was no longer a roar, but more like the sound of someone
slowly drowning.
Tama smiled and said, ‘That’s okay.’
When he returned Growl the next day he looked me in
the eye, and said, ‘I think you were too hard on Growl. His
roar isn’t that bad!’
One of the favourite books from the lending library is
The Velveteen Rabbit, written by Margery Williams in 1922.
Rabbit asks his friend the Skin Horse, ‘What is real?’
‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ the Skin Horse replies. ‘It’s
a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for
a long, long time, not just to play with, butREALLYloves
you, then you become Real.’
I have read this book many times and this one sentence
reminds me of the times in my life when I really came to
understand the meaning of the wordreal.