Brookline Booksmith:The Fine Art of Browsing

Selling books has never been easy. After all, how many industries have an existing competitor essentially giving the product away — as does the public library. But the last three decades have been particularly challenging for small, independent bookstores. In the 1990s, it was the rise of the so-called “bookmall” — as Borders and Barnes & Noble flooded the market, selling discounted books in unending square footage. Then came the online threat from Amazon.com. Long before Jeff Bezos had his vans making daily rounds with everything from Alka-Seltzer to Ziplocs, Amazon had already transformed the book industry on the Information Superhighway. Survive all that and small sellers were then competing with smartphones with the ability to download nearly every book ever written in just a matter of seconds — all without ever going near an actual bookstore. Despite all these challenges and more, Brookline’s own Booksmith, has not only survived but thrived. How have they done it? In part, by tapping into the spirit of the store’s original slogan:  “Dedicated to the Fine Art of Browsing.” 

When Brookline native Marshall Smith first cashed in his job on Wall Street and founded the original “Paperback Booksmith” on Arlington Street in Boston, he realized that the “joy of the hunt” mattered almost as much as the book itself. The year was 1961 and it was a good time to be getting into the business. The so-called “paperback revolution” had made books newly affordable, opening the worlds of Camus and Jane Austen for just a buck or two. Indeed, beatniks, hippies, professors, and leftists — along with more traditional bookworms — flocked to Smith’s stores in the early years. Radicals even managed to “occupy” his Harvard Square outlet for a few days, locking out the management.

The Brookline store avoided that 1960s hazard but still benefited from the town’s literary bent — opening originally at 271 Harvard Street and then moving a few doors down to 279 — where it remains today. Even as Smith opened some 50 stores and franchises along the east coast, as well as expanding into other industries with Videosmiths, Learningsmiths, Musicsmiths, and even a Cybersmith, the Brookline Booksmith managed to maintain its own identity, even after all those ventures came and went. In no small part that was due to two outstanding local managers, Dana Brigham and Evelyn Vigo.

When a giant Barnes & Noble opened just down the street in 1993, Brigham, Vigo, and their exceptionally well-read staff adopted the Guerilla Marketing Handbook as a guide for their own survival. Going beyond the usual book signings and authors’ nights, Booksmith hosted a dizzying array of book-related showcases. One now legendary event was an October midnight pajama party held in the mid-1990s.  Hot cider was still being passed around, prizes were being given out, and a band was rocking, when the clock struck three — the store was still packed with patrons getting down in their PJs. 

Another memorable event was an outdoor sale of “banned books through history” that Brookline Booksmith staged in 1995 — certainly an appropriate celebration given that Marshall Smith had been to court numerous times through the years to uphold his right to sell controversial books. Other events included a Captain Kirk birthday party, sci-fi clubs, local authors series, and the opening of the used Book Cellar. Compared to the hoopla at this little store, the big boys down the block now seemed just a bit boring. And whether due to the local competition or some unknown national franchising strategy, the Barnes & Noble on Harvard Street eventually closed up shop.  Another generation later, long after the e-book revolution, the Brookline Booksmith has only gotten more popular, recently adding additional square footage to its legendary status. 

Once during the 1980s, Booksmith teamed up with a non-profit Braille publisher to raise money for books for the blind. As part of the drive, the store gave out bookmarks featuring the famed children’s book hero, the Little Engine that Could. Indeed, some four decades after that promotion, and nearly 70 years since Marshall Smith opened his original store, the Little Engine that Could remains a spot-on metaphor for the store itself.