Globe Corner Blogs

In Madeleine L’Engle’s classic A Wrinkle in Time, characters time travel by way of “tesser.” The shortest distance between two points is a line, Mrs Whatsit explains,  but what if that line could wrinkle? Imagine a length of yarn, and if you folded it in half, the two ends would meet.

This is how I thought of the distance between Seattle and Boston when I chose to move to the East Coast after three years in the Northwest. Fold a map, and the cities kiss. I wouldn’t be that far from the stunning Cascade and Olympic mountain ranges that hemmed me in on either side, Allegro, my favorite hole-in-the-wall cafe, and my closest friends.

On one of my first evenings in Boston–already missing the ship canal that used to flow through my Seattle neighborhood–I took a walk to the Charles River. I approached around sunset, quickening my pace. The sky was turning a lovely pink and I could glimpse the John Hancock and Prudential buildings beginning to reflect the hue. Afraid all the benches along the river would be taken, I hurried on.

The NFT guide to Seattle highlights little known haunts where you can slip away from the fifth dimension.

I should not have worried. Every bench along the bank was free, as everyone within sight was in movement: walking, jogging, sprinting along a path. Even the sailboats in the river were racing in a regatta. I knew then that the pace was different here. I sank down onto a bench, already nostalgic for the cafe culture of Seattle, where one could sit for hours with a good book and cooling cup of coffee without wondering once where else they should be.

So when I noticed a recent slew of Booksmith booksellers taking time off to travel to the Northwest, I understood.  While I’ve come to appreciate the productivity and drive of America’s easternmost cities, sometimes it’s necessary to get away for awhile. If you’re planning a trip to the Pacific Northwest, we’ve got all the guidebooks and maps you need, plus a staff of travelers with recent experiences in Seattle, Portland, even Alaska. We’ll be sharing some of these adventures here at globecorner.com, so tesser back soon.

I went to Vegas for a weekend with my family. My older brother recently moved out there for work, and so after a few months I went to visit him with my mother and my two other brothers. I woke up super early one Friday, worked a full shift, and then went straight to Logan airport. By the time I arrived in Vegas, the sky was pitch black, but the city lights were ablaze. The sight from my little airplane window really was spectacular. (At least, it was when I pushed to the back of my mind thoughts about what all that electricity was doing to the  precarious state of the planet’s environment . . . .)

We landed at about 11pm Vegas time (2am Boston time) with no intention of going to bed anytime soon. Being accustomed to waking at dawn for work, I therefore felt mildly delirious for the entire trip. But that was probably inevitable given the absurd nature of Sin City, USA. The taxi ride to our hotel was an adventure unto itself. Driving along the strip through this somewhat nightmarish fantasyland, I stared wide-eyed at the bright lights, flashing signs, gigantic buildings, colorful cocktails, and some of the highest heels I have ever seen (keep in mind, I studied abroad in Eastern Europe). Continue Reading »

I-Concepts Prints

Yes, it’s that time again folks: Opening Day for the Red Sox!!! Cue wild cheering, followed by mild to moderate hyperventilation, and finally, breathing into a paper bag. Get ready for Ulla the Dog’s prancing around in her seasonal sports collar. Then, Lisa‘s bewilderment at my completely appropriate behavior. (She is a Mariner’s fan and, thus, is not really used to watching a winning and/or actual major league team. Minus the Griffey years.)

I-Concepts Prints

On Friday April 1st begins that long annual descent into the madness that Bostonians call Red Sox Fandom. Let me explain Red Sox Fandom: The Sox will inevitably disappoint at least once this season, causing you to throw things at your television, radio, and/or computer. (I suggest prepositioning something small and soft near you before a game begins to prevent the smashing of important and expensive things. Personally, I use a rolled up ball of dress socks for lightness.) Although Opening Day in Texas is Friday, we do have to wait for April 8th before the Home Opener at Fenway when the Sox will play the satanic Yankees. (Just kidding, I’m sure all the Yankees are wonderful to their mothers and small dogs. Children, not so much . . . .) You can get started on the season by picking up one of our new photo prints of classic Red Sox moments from I-Concepts. Whether it’s Ted Williams posing with Bobby Doerr or Mickey Mantle, the 2nd Fisk-Munson fight, or Luis Tiant at the plate in the ’78 World Series.* All purchases of  Red Sox books and prints in the store will be 10% off from April 1st through the 8th.

*Note to hipsters: El Tiante sports what is known as a MUSTACHE, please try to emulate!

Brooklyn Sunset--photo by Llalan

My new apartment in Brooklyn is not in the nicest part of town. There are no coffee shops or beer bars or trees. It is predominantly Caribbean, and I am occasionally called “Snowflake.” The soul record shop is next to a Christian bookstore that has a TV in the window, so all day long Al Green battles a bellowing reverend on the outdoor speakers.

Under the Brooklyn Bridge--photo by Llalan

It is not Somerville, Massachusetts, for sure, and sometimes I do feel as though I’m traveling in a foreign country. I’m afraid of the food: a whole restaurant devoted to brisket? I don’t speak the language: what is a “weave” exactly? I get lost a lot: damn you bus drivers and your mumbled announcements! I stick out like a sore thumb: my camel hair coat and red scarf do nothing to camouflage my skin. And sometimes I really want to go home. Continue Reading »

Edited by Dennis Lehane, a native of Dorchester, Massachusetts and author of eight novels including Mystic River and Shutter Island, Boston Noir is a compilation of eleven short stories, snapshotting the lives of seemingly ordinary Bostonians who are all suffering in one way or another. Whether derived from loneliness, failure, suppressed anger, a hunger for power, love gone afoul, or haunting childhood memories, a sense of desperation torments the characters of these fast-paced thrillers.

Each story takes place in a different part of Boston, from Cambridge and North Quincy to Watertown and Boston Harbor. It may be the year 1745 or 2010. The reader gets a taste of the pressures and discrimination of the financial district hierarchy, the sexual crimes of a priest in Southie, and the mental breakdown of a former pop star residing in Beacon Hill. Together these stories create a fascinating mosaic of Boston society, past and present. Continue Reading »

Iceland --photo by Lisa

I am absurdly excited  about the upcoming Viking Invasion of Boston. From March 11-17,  Boston will be hosting A Taste of Iceland. This festival of Icelandic culture and entertainment is bringing Icelandic musicians, DJs, acclaimed chefs, and a film festival to various venues in and around Boston in celebration of all things Icelandic…and Icelandair’s non-stop service to Reykjavik. You can even enter a drawing to win a trip to Reykjavik! The full schedule of events can be found at the “Iceland Naturally” website.

Certain staff members of the Globe Corner have already expressed their love for all things Icelandic: from the delicious and addictive Skyr, Arnaldur Indridason’s Inspector Erlendur Series, and The Blue Lagoon (a geothermal spa) to the always interesting Iceland Airwaves Music Festival. We’re so excited about the festival that we’re taking 15% off all books about and maps of Iceland through March 17th. And as an extra bonus,  Icelandic singer Ólöf Arnalds will be dropping by the store on Saturday, March 13th at 4:30 p.m. to play a few songs for us!

For the last many, many weeks, the most traveling I’ve done is walking home from work. Night falls early in Boston, so on my walk the sky is always as black as a sky can be that hangs over a big city.

Nonetheless, the streetlights never fail to illumine some small wonder. A while ago, after it had rained all day, I walked home in a foul mood, staring at the ground. When I looked up to cross the street, I saw the trees glistening. Each branch on every tree was covered in evenly spaced drops of water. The street lights behind them shone through like giant white orbs held aloft by the dripping trees.

Continue Reading »

Red Maple --photo by Llalan

The other day, cooped up in my room, computer on, windows closed and thermal, black-out-style curtains drawn, I realized I felt rightfully trapped. I rolled across the floor in my desk chair and folded back a small corner of my curtain. Blinded! The sun was out and singing loudly in a bright blue, cloudless sky.

It occurred to me that I might feel less claustrophobic, anxious, antsy, and frankly depressed if I got out of my dark cube of a room. After all, Mom had said as much when I talked to her on the phone earlier that day, and she’s always right.

So I swapped out the slippers for some sneakers and grabbed my point-and-shoot just in case anything caught my eye. And then I got lost.

Continue Reading »

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao --by Junot Diaz

I have ticked off another box on my Writering Life List (…like birding, but with authors).

Junot Diaz was sitting across from me on the subway the other morning. I was on my way to work, so it was early; I feared my senses were still blurry from having just woken. But there was really no mistaking it. Having seen his picture everywhere when our friends at Harvard Book Store hosted a reading with him, I was familiar with that stubble, that hairline (or lack thereof), those glasses, and that peculiarly frowning mouth. It was him.

Did I go up him and tell him how much I loved Oscar Wao? Of course not! Would you casually saunter up to a pileated woodpecker if you spotted one and tell him how brilliantly red his crest was? Of course not! Most writers are known to be solitary creatures, skittish at the sight of fans clutching books to their chests, grinning shyly, practicing softly under their breath how to say, “I’ve been the biggest fan for…” without sounding like that guy.

So no, I did not bother him. Besides, he was reading.

Continue Reading »

A New England Autumn by Ferenc Mate

Today, it is fall in Boston. Perhaps not on the calendar, but certainly in the air. The crickets of late-summer have stopped their song. The sky is low and gray. The local Farmer’s Market was full of crisp apples and fat heirloom tomatoes. Chrysanthemums are blooming and the leaves on the trees have turned dull in preparation for their brilliant costume change.

Autumn is a dressy affair in New England. When the trees finally do put on their finest, people migrate north en mass to drive the Kancamagus Highway or even hike the Long Trail in Vermont. I myself am looking forward to fresh apple cider, apple pie, apple cobbler, and those sugary maple candies they make in cute shapes.

Until then, I watch the skies darken further and hope the rain doesn’t pull down the leaves prematurely. And I rejoice in the excuse to wear sweatshirts and curl up inside reading all day.