Haven in the stacks
Author sets up shop in the basement of a Kingston bookstore.
The owner of Half Moon Books, Jessica Dupont, a friend and fellow school mom, let me work at a small desk in the basement of her Kingston shop during this odd school year. She handed me a key and the bookstore became my safe haven.
I would drop my daughter off at Hudson Valley Sudbury School near Woodstock, drive to Kingston and let myself in before the bookstore opened. Downstairs, I’d walk through a maze of banker’s boxes filled with books for online purchase and write at a desk, surrounded by even more boxes of books. Some needed repair, including a tiny damaged “Pictures from Italy” by Charles Dickens.
Being embedded in a used bookstore during a pandemic not only kept me safe. It nourished my book-loving soul, and helped me appreciate friendship and rare, inperson social connections.
Half Moon, to me, is the heart of the Kingston neighborhood known as Uptown. Before the pandemic, we commuted to Exit 19 on the state Thruway. I spent time writing in co-working spaces, libraries or coffee shops as my daughter attended this alternative school that was meeting her needs in many ways that a mainstream, public school could not. When school resumed during the pandemic and libraries were still closed and coffee shops did not offer workspace, I lucked out because of Jessica and was able to safely work and browse (mask on).
The store’s display windows are legendary. They never disappoint. I’ve seen books shaped into a peace sign and chandeliers made out of books. Right now, a massive supply of books is stacked in one window. On the other side is a handknitted facsimile of a first edition James Joyce’s “Ulysses.” (Jessica found the actual book while going through a book collection. She knit a copy since the book can’t be
displayed.) The display poses a question: What would you rather have — a first edition valued at more than $20,000 that you really can’t handle or an equivalent amount of other books that you can read without worry?
That sort of humor is visible throughout, like on a shelf labeled “The Book was Better” featuring books made into movies.
Jessica’s encyclopedic memory is impressive. People come in and ask if she has an esoteric title. She’ll say she doesn’t — or walk to the exact space in the store and pull out the book. No computer search necessary.
She once mentioned Pushkin, Julia Quinn and the book “Vanity Fair” in one conversation. She reads everything. “I’m a generalist. That’s why the store works,” she told me.
Sometimes, I had the bookstore to myself. During
the colder (and slower) months, Jessica closed on Wednesdays. The daily browsing kept me grounded and distracted from pandemic anxiety. I had a stack going on my desk of books to buy, a small price to pay for the privilege of access to this space.
I shared a large room with the highly organized Reilly Jeckerbyrne, who works in the early hours handling the online sales. He was business-like about the titles, which complemented Jessica’s passion for books. “That’s why we work so well together,” each of them told me separately.
When I had down time, I would pop up to say hello to the other amazing staff members or to Jessica.
Once, two men came by looking for Tarot cards because their pack had fallen into the river. The shop’s Tarot cards were a
little pricey for them, so they perused a giant Bible and they asked if Jessica had any Masonic books.
I learned about what Jessica called the “used book ecosystem,” which included library sales, storage units, estate sales and the ingenious donation cycle.
People drop off a neverending supply of boxes of books for a discount on future purchases. She sends many books off to Better World Books, but she finds enough — plus some treasures — to keep her shelves stacked, along with an overfill in the back room and plenty downstairs for online shopping.
The inventory constantly evolved. Every time I came out of my basement lair, there seemed to be something new.
The backroom for overflow, which meant doubles or triples or quadruples, was kaleidoscopic. Sometimes it would take me 20 minutes to get back downstairs because I got hooked.
Jessica would get multiple copies that seemed to happen at the same time, like six copies of “Franny and Zooey.” Another time, an armload of “Infinite Jest” appeared.
Jessica’s entry into the bookselling world was just as random. She was waiting for a pizza she ordered and saw the “for sale” sign in the window.
Since my daughter (who is also friends with Jessica’s daughter) now has her driver’s license, I have no need to shelter in the basement of a bookstore. And the girls are graduating early next month. But I drove down to Half
Moon to give my key back and have lunch with Jessica.
The basement area has been cleared of its maze of banker boxes (the online sales moved to another building) and “my” desk is there, now empty. I sat there and wrote one more story in the bookstore. We ate lunch at the old Senate house, and walked back to the store. I handed Jessica the key, forever grateful for a generous friend and to have been, for a brief period, part of a used bookstore’s life.
Visit the shop at 35 N. Front St. in Kingston and check out the website at halfmoonusedbooks.com.
Jessica’s encyclopedic memory is impressive. People come in and ask if she has an esoteric title. She’ll say she doesn’t — or walk to the exact space in the store and pull out the book. No computer search necessary.