One of my favourite book shops is in Brixton, London. It piled floor to ceiling in a place opposite the markets, and there's a book in the back with comfy sofas

One of my favourite book shops is in Brixton, London. It piled floor to ceiling in a place opposite the markets, and there's a book in the back with comfy sofas, a store cat, and a very hippy dippy owner who loves a natter about what he read this week. He curated the whackiest collection of literature, from high school text books, to ones on shamanistic practices in pre-colonial Uganda. It's utterly bizarre, and the complete antithesis of the author of OPs article. I try to avoid being critical of people's work, especially businesses because good on them for at least trying, but in this case I think the shop from the article is truly lacking any soul that a traditional bookshop can and should have. Empty shelves look sad, not trendy.