34 Carmine Street, New York, NY
Separated by more than 18 months and a worldwide pandemic, I finally returned to New York City this June to scour for more bookshops. It was both awkward and a relief, roaming the streets and subways packed with people after having to avoid them for so long, but to do so vaccinated allowed me to enjoy that golden hour magic in early evening Manhattan, the neon just beginning to glow, the sounds of music from boomboxes in small west village parks, the rose-gold hue of the sky as the sun sets into New Jersey horizons across the Hudson. And it allowed me to discover the eclectic and wallet-friendly Unoppressive Non-Imperialist Bargain Bookstore, a throwback to a more defiant artistic culture one doesn’t always find in a city full of shallow Instagrammers and fleece vest-wearing finance bros. In fact, finding this shop felt like a perfect return to the unique experience that is book browsing in one of the greatest literary cities in the world.
Outside the shop I found a number of small “discount tables,” something I put in quotes only because the full shop is technically a discount display. The discounted books here mostly range from $3 to $8, and the only books I saw for more than that were newer hardcovers or giant art/photo books, and even those topped out at $13 to $15 dollars. The shops also prefers cash, venmo, paypal, and other alternative options to credit cards from major corporations and banks, though they will accept those as well as a fallback. And hey, avoiding credit cards keeps a little money and power out of the pockets of those mega banks that prey on people, right? So pay accordingly, if you’re into that kind of thing.
Throughout the relatively small, one-room shop are numerous displays, shelves, and walls of books covering a wide range of topics, including: Zen Buddhism, Alan Watts, civil service books, Beat poet biographies, music bios with a heavy dose of Bob Dylan and John Lennon, a lot of poetry that focuses on Black and African writers, books about NYC, film, theater, a swath of graphic novels, and a section of children’s books. Scattered throughout were little pockets of fiction, mystery, history, and more.
And I had that wonderful experience I look for in bookshops: the discovery of so many titles and editions I’ve never seen before. When you visit as many bookstores as I have, you start to see the same names, same editions over and over, so finding a store that carries a wide selection of titles that are new to me, that just makes for a far more satisfying experience. I grabbed Leonard Cohen’s first poetry collection from 1956, something I have never seen elsewhere, and what better place to buy it than in the soul of New York.
Atmosphere — A small shop with plenty to offer, books stacked and piled every which way, giving you something interesting to see everywhere you look, making for a true kaleidoscopic experience.
Quality — The books were either new or in very good shape for used/remaindered. There was an even deeper discount area in the back and some of those had seen some life in the world, but nothing too bad.
Quantity — They have a load of books packed into just one room. No shortage of music, film, zen, and poetry.
Diversity — This shop covers a lot of ground but don’t expect a ton of fiction.
Affordability — Most books were in the $3 to $8 range, with a few newer and bigger books double that, but nothing was full price.
Amenities — You’re there for the books, but there are plenty of bars and cafes nearby.
Location — In the middle of a block just a few blocks from Washington Square Park on Carmine Street.
Customer Service — The staff helping me were patient, polite, and happy to help.
Overall — This throwback discount bookstore was a cool discovery and felt like the perfect re-introduction to book browsing in New York City. With an eclectic selection and a dedication to sticking it to the man in the name of art and literature, it’s a shop worth visiting while you still can….before “they” turn it into the fourth Chase bank location in a .0224 square mile radius.
