Double Issue Review: Haunted Bookshop

Tobacco Cellar and Bookshelf

As enjoyers of what we must in many ways term an age of wonders, it is all too easy to forget the fantastic abundance all around us. Connoisseurs can struggle to correctly value dependable delights in favor of increasingly outré experiences. But of course as patrons of a pair of exceptionally sedate and thoughtful arts, literary and tobacciana specifically, we ought to know better. The complex and subtle, while they have their rightful place, mustn’t crowd out our love for the everyday and obvious delights. So in this edition we will examine two such carefully crafted masterpieces. The book: a sedate and sparkling 1919 mystery by Christopher Morley. The tobacco: a well-loved (if divisive) blend that took on the novel’s name and atmosphere. Let’s start at the place where we get our pipe going.

Haunted Bookshop the blend is a Cornell and Diehl offering that may be the most complete combination of tin art, tin aromas, flavor, and general “ethos” that this reviewer has smoked in some time. Everything about the experience immerses you in Old Bookstore. The tobacco is a stiff and feisty combination of Burley and Perique varieties, and takes no time displaying subtleties. Here is a mature man’s smoking blend, formulated to keep you upright on late evenings paging away through a stack of volumes while you keep an eye on the shop. Burnt nutty mustiness from the Burley, spicy peppery zip from the Perique, and a healthy nicotine kick from both. It tastes like you crumbled a mildewed page from a rare volume into your pipe, in the best way imaginable. Added notes of “kicking away scratchy autumn leaves as you approach the shop window of a pleasantly shabby New York bookseller,” if we must elaborate. From the first light you should expect to enjoy a self-assured and unbothered smoke, overflowing with careless enjoyment.

Now you may recall I said that Haunted Bookshop was a bit of a controversial blend, and that’s true. Many characterize it as “boring” or “one-dimensional” or even slap it with the dreaded slur “cigarette-like.” But recall our beginning thesis: blends like this exist as a training aid to recondition our spirit towards simpler times. Do more complicated and demanding experiences exist? Of course. But as with all arts, it is helpful to judge this blend on the merits of what it attempts to achieve. Haunted Bookshop captures the feeling of its namesake novel and presents a dependable, reliable way to experience that comfort and satisfaction. Rather than attempting many things, this tobacco masters a single one. Unapologetic, attention grabbing, unconcerned with pleasing finicky palates. Tasty.

In many ways, Christopher Morley’s novel could be described in the exact same way. This slim and atmospheric volume is less a plot or character story and more of a Vibes Novel, where the vibe in question is Interwar Americana. The plot lazily drifts through a cozy mystery of sorts, combined with an unhurried romance subplot and hefty helpings of philosophical digression on literature and life in general. Pipe smoking is less an atmospheric touch and more of a minor plot point. High art? Hardly. Perfect for happily smoldering through an afternoon as you recall that there are indeed Other Ways of Living beyond the hurry and vanity of your world? Without doubt.

It’s the atmospheric qualities of Morley’s writing, like the blend he inspired, that carry his work. Since very little Happens in the book, it is fortunate indeed for us readers that Morley excels in setting scenes and relishes in the joy of average physical surroundings and occurrences. It’s a wonderfully grounded book, an excellent example of the kind of Analog Literature that we both aspire to and enjoy around here. A book-lovers book extraordinaire, no apology offered for delighting in a very specific set of experiences and enjoyments. Feast on page-long descriptions of bookstore inventory, rhapsodies on the joys of midnight snacking, shiny kitchens with polished hobs and dingy basements with crates of empty bottles. Enjoy monologues on reading in bed and pacificism. Ease into the rhythm of the book and remember that there was a time when novels could have strong opinions, right down to the nuts and bolts of literary styling. A time we could bring back, if we tried.

Just before you step inside the shop door you shelter your pipe against the warm gray September wind and flick your lighter a few times. Nurturing the tiny coal in the bowl of crisped leaves, you can still smell the incense of mildewed pages reaching out through the sense-dulling smoke. A few shallow puffs fill the air around you with a drifting halo of vapor. An afternoon to yourself, nothing to do but smoke and loiter. You scan the shelves eagerly, looking for old friends and new. What discoveries await?