Beating Hearts in Watertown

Literatus & Co., Main and Fourth, Watertown.

I stood by a small table on the way into Literatus & Co. bookstore in Watertown, Wisconsin, with small stacks of my historical novels: The Price of Passage and Izzy Strikes Gold! My agenda was buttonholing passers-by to introduce them to my books and myself. 

One young woman and her husband or boyfriend heard my spiel. “I’ve always thought I wanted to be a writer myself,” she said, “but I’ve never done it.” 

“Maybe you will,” I said.

She made a meek face. “May I ask . . . how old were you when these books were first published?”  

I scratched my head. The Price of Passage first came out in August 2022, Izzy Strikes Gold! only last July. “I must have been in my late seventies,” I said. “I’ll be eighty this June.”

“That’s so encouraging! I still have time!” She flung her arms around me and squeezed long and hard. Of course I squeezed back. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks—I knew they were there but could not see them, so fierce and arresting was her hug. Eventually, she let go. 

Not yet forty, she had come close to giving up on her dream of writing. 

“Of course you still have time,” I said. “Just write. Don’t look for fame and fortune, but write. You’ll make friends of other writers and maybe get together to read one another’s drafts and offer mutual critiques. You’ll find fellow writers are incredibly generous and supportive.” I said that last bit because I’ve found it to be true.

Someone else who is generous and supportive is independent bookstore owners, like Isabelle Eller and Wesley Crnkovich of Literatus & Co. (The always well-informed Wesley asserts there is an unseen vowel in his last name. Say “CHIRNkovich.”)

Isabelle, left, and Wesley, right, with Your New Favorite Writer in the middle.

It was no random chance that brought about the mutually helpful encounter between me and the young woman who wants to write. It was, rather, part of a careful design. 

I love bookstore proprietors like Isabelle and Wesley. They struggle, they care deeply about books and about people, they extend themselves to create islands of happiness and success. In today’s commercial milieu, that’s not always easy, but it’s done with aplomb.

Literatus & Co. stands in an old brick-faced corner at 401 East Main Street, smack in the center of Watertown. Like a lot of main streets in our part of the world, this one has seen more prosperous days. Literatus & Co., since its founding in 2019, has been “dedicated to keeping a thriving book culture alive in Watertown.” 

And, boy, are they succeeding. 

Wherever you may live, it’s worth the drive to spend a morning or afternoon at Literatus & Co. Let me tell you what you’ll find: 

The front window has a dazzling display of books. At present it’s mostly bright-colored picture books for children. Maybe they change that from time to time. 

Open the door, and you enter a long, narrow space, two old-fashioned stories high, lined with bookshelves. There are tables in the front end of the store where folks gather in ones, twos, threes, and sixes to meet, chat, and pass the time of day. An intense young man furrows his brows at a laptop computer; three mothers with shopping bags and coffee drinks exchange news while they watch their toddlers; a senior couple peruses books they have just bought or maybe are thinking about buying. 

All are enveloped in the comforting smell of book-paper, humanity, and hot food.

Upstairs or downstairs, take your pick. Space for browsing and socializing at Literatus & Co.

Overhead, a railed mezzanine stretches the length of the store, with upstairs tables for two dozen more loungers/loafers/chatters. On ground level, reaching rearward from mid-store, is the hub: A cash register, a case of goodies baked fresh by Isabelle, and a coffee bar cum short-order kitchen where you can get hot and cold beverages, soups, sandwiches, and hot panini made to order.

On any brisk Saturday when customers mill about, Wesley, Isabelle, and one or two part-time employees spend their time ringing up sales and preparing food and drink orders, with a special combination of relaxed chatter and easy attention to detail. The store owners are on a first-name basis with most customers. It’s the place you go for a fix of community spirit when you’re downtown on a Saturday morning. 

Browse through the bookshelves—take your time, Gentle Reader—and you’re bound to notice the collection is carefully curated. Books of a feather are shelved together, many turned face-outward so you don’t have to squint at narrow spines to divine what they are. The scope and variety of titles are stunning. 

But, as an author flogging his own wares here, I have noticed it’s not only the books that are well-curated. The customer base is just as well-cultivated. 

The owners and staff of Literatus & Co. know what they’re about. Their homepage says it: “A setting to gather, discuss, engage and learn—as real people. A place to form human connections and share stories. . . . Most of all—we commit to creating a place where minds are opened, and all ideas are welcome. In short: knowledge, curiosity, and civility.”

Isabelle’s baked goods.

This welcoming space does not just happen by itself. Wes and Isabelle pursue its elaboration with missionary zeal. If you’ve ever met real honest-to-goodness missionaries, you have noticed they don’t foam at the mouth with pet theories. They play the long game, work humbly and steadily to make their animating vision a new reality in people’s lives. 

In just six years, Wesley and Isabelle and their helpers have created a place in Watertown frequented by lots of people just looking for coffee or a sandwich or some human warmth, but also by lots of readers—discriminating readers—who come in looking for books, searching the shelves for new offerings, willing to chat and listen to an author who might have something to share. 

The booksellers at Literatus & Co. have made this new thing in their community. I am in their debt, and our whole wider Wisconsin literary community is as well. 

Make the trip. You’ll like what you find.

Blessings,

Larry F. Sommers

Your New Favorite Writer

When is a Bookstore Not a Bookstore?

Answer: When it’s Open House Imports, 308 East Main Street, Mount Horeb, Wisconsin.

Open House Imports, an elvishly decorated Queen Anne-style house on the right as you enter Mount Horeb from Madison, is really a gift shop devoted to all things Norwegian (or even Swedish or Danish). But it’s one of my favorite bookstores!

Here’s why: The owner, Janice Christiansen Sievers, embodies the Norsk concepts of velvaere (well-being) and koselig (coziness). It’s natural for Janice to help out a struggling author by buying and displaying his works, in case any of her customers are interested.

Your New Favorite Writer with Janice Sievers.
Fine examples of Norwegian rosemaling (flower painting).

How did Open House Imports get to be one of my favorite bookstores? Well, my first book, The Price of Passage, is about Norwegian immigrants navigating the social, political, and military challenges of the Civil War era. For years, my wife and I have shopped at Open House Imports, mostly during the Christmas season, when all its lovely wares seem especially relevant to our needs. So I knew that—right along with the rosemaling, Norwegian sweaters, and cooking utensils—the store has a robust display of Scandinavian-themed books.

Guess whose books you can buy there?

So I took the book out to show Janice. I told her the story of how The Price of Passage came to be, and what it means to me. I admit I choked up at one or two places, because the book’s themes are personal with me. I got a grand, koselig hug from Janice to help me through my spiel. She purchased several copies right on the spot, displayed the book in a prominent place, and even ordered more copies through my distributor.

Janice continues to promote my literary career. The last time I stopped in, I mentioned my second book, Izzy Strikes Gold!, a nostalgic trip back to 1957 from the viewpoint of a 12-year-old. Apologetically, I said, “Well, there’s not really a Scandinavian theme or connection in this one. ” Because her store is all Nordic, all the time, and Izzy is just an American kid with no particular national background. Didn’t matter. She wanted Izzy. So now he has a place on her shelves beside The Price of Passsage.

Scandinavian yummies.

Fair Reader: If you don’t yet have your copy of Izzy Strikes Gold! or The Price of Passage, Open House Imports is a great place to get it. While you’re there, you might also pick up one of many other books, fiction and nonfiction, with a Scandinavian flavor. Not to mention Scandinavian cookbooks—or receipe books, as Janice calls them. 

By the way, if you’re going to do any cooking out of those cookbooks, you might need utensils, or place settings—or ingredients! Don’t worry, Janice has you covered. Open House Imports has a full range of the things you need for breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, and snacks that will really ramp up your velvaere in a big way.

Norwegian sweaters.

Did I mention the Norwegian sweaters? And clogs. And tee-shirts. And all manner of essential housewares, from fine crystal to authentic wooden serving dishes decorated with sumptuous rosemaling. 

And cards, calendars, knicknacks, figurines of trolls and elves (nisser), postcards, maps, et plenty of cetera. Chances are you can find a great gift for almost anyone you are buying for.

I could go on and on, Gentle Reader, but remember: Best of all, it’s a great bookstore!

Even if you aren’t in need of anything mentioned above, drop in the next time you’re near 308 E. Main Street, Mount Horeb, and introduce yourself to Janice. Have a nice chat. You’ll be delighted. Tell her Larry sent you.

P.S.—But if you’re too far away, don’t worry. You can buy online at https://openhouseimports.com/shop/.

Blessings,

Larry F. Sommers

Your New Favorite Writer

Past, Present, Future

“Those who do not know the past are doomed to repeat it.” 

But rest assured, Dear Reader: It is no part of our purpose here to paralyze you with platitudes. 

Edward Gibbon. Public domain.

The fine example shown above has been attributed to Winston Churchill, George Santayana, Edward Gibbon, and Mickey Mouse. 

Just kidding. Nobody ever attributed it to Edward Gibbon. The best candidate is Santayana, a Spanish philosopher, who in 1905 wrote:

Robespierre, with head. Public domain.

. . . when experience is not retained, as among savages, infancy is perpetual. Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

Santayana could not have meant that literally—at least, not in detail. For example, there will never be another Robespierre. Yet over the years, any number of Robespierre avatars have goaded their nations downward, in circumstances reminiscent of the French Revolution. 

Maybe that’s what Mark Twain—or was it Theodore Reik?—meant when he said, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes.” 

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Alexander Cutting the Gordian Knot, Study for a Fresco in the Castel Sant’Angelo, Rome. Perino Del Vaga (Italian, 1500-1547). Public domain.

Ah, Fair Reader, what Gordian knots of human concern attend the passage of Time!

Consider Time’s chapters: past, present, and future. 

One night long ago, Your New Favorite Writer happened on a passage in Huai-nan Tzu, a Taoist text, that made him think of a rug being unrolled. The part already unrolled, lying flat and thus fit for examination, is the past; the part still wound in a tight coil, impenetrable, is the future. Exactly which part is the present I cannot say.

Caveat: If you search through Huai-nan Tzu for this rolled-rug metaphor, you won’t find it. It’s only an image in one reader’s mind, which was triggered by some obscure Chinese phrase describing the way events flow through their course.

I was about thirty years old at the time, and impressionable. Since then, I’ve seen the past as actualized, whereas all the contents of the future are merely potential. The past is real, whereas the future is theoretical. 

Gracious Reader, if you grew up in the same Modern Western Civilization where I did, you may envision past, present, and future as a giant map over which we are creeping, making our way toward what is already there but we haven’t encountered it yet. This is the basis of all time travel stories: There is a future somewhere that already exists, a place you might get to through a newly-developed mechanism or a wrinkle in the fabric of the Time-Space Continuum. 

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Well, it turns out that Huai-nan Tzu didn’t know the half of it. The latest version of physics calls into question whether Time itself is real. Isn’t it, rather, just something that happens as a result of unprecedented events, like the Big Bang? No Time, no Space—but everything explodes, and by some interaction of matter, gravity, and the Quantum Field—Time and Space are bent into being. And they’ve been hurtling outward ever since. 

Milky Way and night sky. National Park Service image by Jacob W. Frank. Public domain.

One might imagine the starry cosmos to be a visible record of the past, constantly receding into an inconceivable void where the future might be said to reside—if, for example, the future had to list its place of residence on a form to get its Real ID-compliant driver’s license.

Your New Favorite Writer is hardly one of those who believe a thing is true because somebody called a scientist said it. But Time fabricated by the unfolding of real events has a certain attractiveness to it. 

In that kind of Time, the past is not just a dusty page upon which a moving finger has writ. Rather, the past is woven through everything I or my ancestors, human and otherwise, have ever done or experienced.

I can’t know what will happen next year, or tomorrow, or five minutes from now. But I am free to search out and ponder all the curlicues and lateral arabesques of any and all events that have happened. 

Maybe that’s why I write historical fiction. I don’t know what my ancestors, or other people’s ancestors, went through that caused mid-19th-century America to fight with itself, and conquer itself, over the question of slavery. But I had a kind of notion, based on a real acquaintance with historical facts, and I wrote that notion in an imaginary way until it became The Price of Passage, a novel about Norwegian immigrant farmers and fugitive African American slaves. It’s not factual, but it’s plausible. The tiny details are factual, the great movements are made up. In a strange way, time has been re-bent to serve my narrative purpose. Try it, you might like it.

Likewise, I took things that I really, personally knew, from my very own childhood experiences, and invented a story called Izzy Strikes Gold! It’s about a 12-year-old boy struggling to find his way through the problematic year 1957. All the details are real, but the lives of the characters do not exactly match the actual lives of anyone I ever knew. 

But that’s okay. God has made billions of people, each with an individual story. If I add a few more to the pot, I don’t suppose it will hurt anything. There will just be a few more stories. Time and space will have been bent to new and interesting purposes in the realm of the imagination. 

Rod Serling would approve.

Right now I’m working on a World War II novel, in which two brothers from a small Midwestern town wind up in the Southwest Pacific, the continent of Africa, and other places to fight the Axis Powers and their own demons, which arise from their troubled relationship. You won’t want to miss it, but it’s only halfway done, so you won’t be able to read it for a while. In the meantime, Dear Reader, knock yourself out on the Price of Passage and Izzy Strikes Gold!

Until next time,

Blessings,

Larry F. Sommers

Your New Favorite Writer

An Early Spring

Fooboo

The temperature hit fifty again today, and the sun shone. The ground is pretty firm now. When Fooboo walked me around the block this afternoon, I spotted only one small patch of ice remaining in a shady spot on a neighbor’s lawn. 

Fooboo is a yanker. I survive these walks, Dear Reader—which are like non-mechanized tractor pulls—though a combination of dexterity, guile, and inborn inertia.

Here in Madison, snow can fall in mid-May. 

But it sure seems spring is here for real, easily a month ahead of time. 

Birch logs

I’ve been sawing up some birch logs a neighbor gave me. But also, I’ve been sitting in my zero-g chair out in the yard, reading a book. Everything’s dolce, I’ve got a whole lot of niente, and it only goes so far.

With a hey and a ho and a hey nonny-no, I’ve been sprung. 

Seek nothing ponderous, Gentle Reader. Hold me to no word-count. Let me be, I prithee.

Enjoy yourself. See you next week.

Blessings,

Larry F. Sommers

Your New Favorite Writer