The best little bookshop in Edinburgh
The author invites you to join him on a spontaneous trip to his favourite bookshop in Scotland's capital city, Bassington's.
Let me tell you about one of my favourite places in Edinburgh, Bassington’s. Located within easy reach of several bus routes and a few streets from a train station, Bassington’s is the best bookshop in Scotland’s capital.
We are blessed in this most literate of cities to have many fine bookstores that are worth a visit. Edinburgh is a relatively tiny burgh but it can hold its own with London, New York, or Paris in these stakes. Its ability to do so should garner more pride and envy than it does.
Bassington’s is unique in possessing all the qualities that one could ask for in a bookseller.
It is open late, until 10 pm during the week and 8 pm on Sundays; allowing the different kinds of Bassington’s customer to visit without altering their schedules or going much out of their way.
Tourists can pop in for a copy of Sir Walter Scott or a Harry Potter book to commemorate their visit in the mornings, sleepy students can stumble about the non-fiction and academic sections in their late afternoon hungover stupors, and we night owls can creep among the shelves just before closing for something chilling or intriguing to keep us company in the foggy Edinburgh night.
Bassington’s is more than just a place to buy books; it is also a venue, resting place, and destination of its own.
The helpful staff, clad in corduroy trousers, patterned skirts, thick jumpers at inappropriate times of the year, and scuffed brogues or weather-beaten tennis shoes, are omnipresent but blend into the background, as adept at hiding in plain sight as Sherlock Holmes. They’re always on hand to take an order or make an astute recommendation; but otherwise, they leave the perusing customer be.
One never feels rushed in Bassington’s, or pressured into buying anything. Nevertheless, one seldom leaves without a purchase, and a complimentary bookmark, wrapped pleasingly in a paper bag and tucked under the arm against the elements.
The layout is clean and bright but the fixtures and fittings are dark, expensive, luxurious wood; oak, going by the scent.
That aroma is the first thing one experiences when one slides through the thin, single door and onto the shop floor. Everything is clouded in a well-maintained, appreciated, yet paradoxically clean musk. It is not the same as when one smells an old book, but it’s not entirely different.
It is laid out in a series of large rooms, connected by thin corridors lined with shelves, from floor to ceiling, and intimate, private alcoves in which one can spend hours undisturbed, either alone or in the silent company of a fellow bookworm.
There is a cafe, selling an excellent range of sandwiches, cakes, and coffee but it is a separate establishment that has a nodding agreement with Bassington’s. It does not play music, serves no hot food, and under no circumstances offers an app or reward card system. It is not a chain and is priced reasonably.
Bassington’s is a charming mess. The shelves are ordered so that only the well-paid staff or regular customers, both of whom feel a sense of pride in their association with the old place, know their way around.
Fiction and non-fiction are separated by floors and periodicals and magazines are available by the near-invisible tills. Tacky gifts, like those tawdry items emblazoned with Greyfriars Bobby or the name of the city, are forbidden. If you’re here, it’s for something to read! Except for an excellent yet unobtrusive range of stationery that always has unlined black moleskin notebooks in a range of sizes in stock.
The shop’s inventory is vast, historic, and updated regularly. Most of it is new but there is a thriving second-hand section. It is all reading material and treated with equal respect.
The management, led by the current Mrs Bassington, insists, as generations of her family always have, that the floorspace is for books and the selling thereof.
Her staff know her by name and her children take Festival jobs, during which the shop specialises in big-name writers and first-time authors. Both are treated and talked about equally. In that spirit, she guarantees that if you cannot find what you are looking for, it will be ordered for you and kept aside until your next visit. She has never knowingly been unable to find something. She has published a few novels of her own - they are not given special prominence.
Regrettably, much like George Orwell’s The Moon Under Water from which this piece draws near-plagiarism levels of inspiration, there is no such place as Bassington’s in Edinburgh or anywhere else that I am aware of.
That is not to say that there are no excellent bookshops in our town; far from it. But, to my knowledge, there isn’t one with all these characteristics and none of the downfalls of modern retail; like tasteless music, obnoxious order, or excessively chirpy staff. If you know of one, I’d be much obliged if you’d let me know.
Bookshops are churches for secular people.
There is a reverence, a familiarity, an austerity, and a transcendence to them that marks them as unique along our failing and ailing high streets.
They are to be treasured and supported. So please, while online purveyors are handy, do consider finding your nearest near-Bassington’s, mine are the excellent Topping & Co and McNaughtan’s at the top of Leith Walk; both of which came damn close, and buying your books from it. They matter.