In my ideal imaginary world, Virginia Woolf, George Orwell and Ernest Hemingway would have a bookclub together. Obviously the three of them would buy their books at Words’ Worth – because that’s definitely the best English bookshop in Munich.
Words’ Worth is a bookish institution since the 80s, located in front of the philology department, and is a lovely place if you’re into books like me – I usually spend quite some time here browsing the shelves and seldom leave empty handed.
And neither does my bookclub triplet: While Woolf first picks a couple of poetry volumes and then continues to the stationary section (magazines, mugs, tea towels), Orwell hurries upstairs to have a quick look at the latest political essay collections, grunting at the pile of YA dystopian fiction. In the meantime Hemingway wasn’t able to find a travel guide about Cuba, got really angry and leaves the bookshop with a loud bang.
“All of this all-male behaviour is driving me crazy! What do you think he’s up to now?”, Woolf asks. “Probably the same as last time, when he bought a whole bunch of secondhand novels at the Munich Readery and we all ended up with different editions of Moby Dick.”, says Orwell. (Check the Munich Readery article.)
And certainly, they will be found outside later on, arguing about their next read. But since I’m not a member of their ever so strange bookclub, I just start reading whatever I bought last at Words’ Worth and will return there soon.