One could be forgiven for looking at the cover of this book, with its gentle peach and grey-blues, the idyllic three buildings lit up like little beacons, and the title (I mean, little bookshops! How appealing can you get?) and expect a book of lovely little tales about finding the perfect book for the perfect reader. These tales are here, but they are interleaved between chapters of Shaw’s adventures. The main thrust of this book is the second half of Shaw’s memoir, begun in The Bookseller at the End of the World.
In that book, she detailed her first 35 years; now she delves into her life from 35 to 78, admitting wryly but without guile that this “period of my life was not as chaotic as my first 35 years”. This has to be a good thing. Surviving another 35 years as eventful as Shaw’s first, which included three marriages, several deaths and close encounters with pirates, would take more fortitude than one can imagine – perhaps more than even Shaw has. But she still takes on considerable adventures with gusto in this period, advised or non-advised.
Together at last with Lance – whom she met and was engaged to in her 20s before religious differences meant they went their separate ways for two decades – the pair are settled in Manapouri, just south of Te Anau. They’re forging a different relationship for the future, with a shared love of boating, of protecting the environment, books and travel. Shaw has also been reunited with her first son, who was taken for adoption as a newborn.
Her voice is warm and energetic throughout: “I was very much like my father – inquisitive, adventurous and bold.” She’s deprecating about her courage in the face of difficulty (“I sedated Dave and cleaned up his hand, placing the fingers back in position”), and matter-of-fact when she battles depression.
She tackles personal challenges, monkey-wrestling, undertakings that frighten her – such as diving – and travelling, including to Russia to stay with a businessman she and Lance met through their ecotourism business. As you would expect in the second half of a life, there are bereavements, health wrangling and the contemplation of life slowing down – or not.
The interspersed small stories of Shaw’s three bookshops break up the memoir narrative, which is at times chronological and at other times thematic. Ultimately, these are stories of people and their love for books, as Shaw finds them the perfect book (often sourced from her personal collection). Other times, needing a break from life, the customers might work in the bookshops in exchange for food and somewhere to sleep. Shaw has endless time and patience for her customers and it comes through loud and clear in these stories.
Memoir might be a story of a life, but it is seldom a complete picture. Three Wee Bookshops at the End of the World is more of one than most. It’s candid and open, from pelvic floor problems to law-breaking, bringing a striking honesty that has inspired many fans. Shaw brims with gratitude for this, speaking of her awe at the popularity of her first book and the fondness she has for her publishers.
It would take a heart of stone to resist Shaw’s happiness with her career as bookshop owner and author, and her wonder at her contentment as she approaches 80. Towards the end of the book, she says gleefully that “maybe it is time for Lance and me to hold ‘a very nearly dead’ party”, and the reader knows she’ll pack plenty more into her remaining years. Perhaps that’s the point.
Three Wee Bookshops at the End of the World, by Ruth Shaw (Allen & Unwin, $39.99), is out now.
