Taipei, City of Books
Today’s post is a long one, but hopefully with enough variety to keep you reading, and enough pictures to keep things interesting! (In my defense, it could have been sooooo much longer.) Hope you all enjoy reading about a source of never-ending joy to me in Taipei.
There were a lot of things I was prepared for before I arrived in Taipei: the diverse and exquisite food scene, the natural beauty of mountains and subtropical vegetation, the ubiquitous scooters darting in and out of traffic, the garbage trucks that play Für Elise, the like-clockwork train system and the come-when-they may buses.
Something that never came up was bookstores. As a lifelong nerd who will usually read almost anything you put in my hands, bookstores have always held a certain magic for me. As such, it has been encouraging to see the recent resurgence in America’s independent bookstores, along with the durability of high-profile independent bookstores like LA’s The Last Bookstore, Chicago’s Seminary Coop (also America’s first not-for-profit bookstore), and New York’s venerable The Strand.
But here in Taipei, books are more than just a business. They’re more even than a place to feed a reading habit. They’re a lifestyle.
I really do mean lifestyle. Each of the bookstores I’ve been to in Taipei could almost be a character type in a Buzzfeed quiz (“OMG! Tell us what bookstore you like, and we’ll tell you your favorite ice cream topping, your hair color, and your collagen levels!”) From the corporate megalith Eslite 诚品, to highly curated independent bookstores, and from privately operated libraries to the bookstore cafes that pepper the city, Taipei is a reader’s paradise. Despite the rather prodigious amount of grant moneys that I’ve already managed to spend in these spaces, I feel like I’ve barely managed to scratch the surface, so I hope my veteran Taipeier [is that a word?] friends will forgive me when I inevitably overlook a hidden gem that I should be sharing with the world.
And with that, let’s dive down Taipei’s book-peddling rabbit hole and see what magic awaits.
Eslite: The Executive
For an economy that is primarily built on electronics expertise, a giant lifestyle brand built on a foundation of books might seem decidedly analog.
And yet, that’s exactly what Eslite is. Eslite was originally founded as a bookstore, and rapidly expanded to include a range of services, including books, stationery, a movie theater, one of Taiwan’s premiere concert halls, a modern art gallery, a hotel, and numerous third-party vendor spaces selling products that fit within the Eslite brand of “humanities, art, creativity, life.” This brand philosophy is, it must be said, rather capacious, and manages accordingly to incorporate everything from camping equipment to high-end hand soap, from foreign groceries to a YouTube channel. The company now operates dozens of locations throughout Taiwan, and has in recent years expanded to Hong Kong and Mainland China.
There is also a certain mystique about Eslite, stemming from its original, much-beloved 24-hour location. So iconic was this branch that its closure warranted an extended article on Taiwan Panorama, the English-language news outlet run by Taiwan’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and even prompted a final visit from the president of Taiwan. This location also became a fixture in the local queer community at a time when safe, accepting spaces to meet and chat with other members of the queer community were not as abundant as they are today. As one friend put it, it’s the only place anyone has ever tried to pick him up based on the book he was reading.
Given the degree of mourning following the closure, and the consistent stress on the fact that the abandoned store was the 24-hour location, I was surprised to learn that Eslite’s current flagship store in Xinyi 信義 has continued the 24-hour tradition. Also, given that everyone mourns the lost queer space of the original location, I’ve been pleasantly surprised at what a clearly queer-friendly space the Xinyi store remains. Indeed, on my first trip to the bookstore, the first sight that greeted me as I approached the entrance was a young man (or male-presenting person) who was artfully posed on the escalator landing, sporting a masterfully drawn-in smoky eye, and wearing immaculately pressed, cinched waist, flared-leg, ecru linen pants and a midriff Argyle sweater vest. Despite this rather striking welcome, the unanimous consensus is that the Xinyi space is but a pale imitation of the former queer-friendly glory of the greatly missed Dunhua branch.
What I find most intriguing about Eslite, however, is the way the bookstore is able to thrive, despite a massive investment in stock that probably doesn’t top most sales charts. From classical Chinese philosophy texts to classic Western fiction, from arthouse films to books by members of my dissertation committee, this place has pretty much everything. And although I consider these kinds of books to be great reads, a large corporate bookstore is not my first port of call when I’m looking for scholarly texts on the ontologies of “world music” or a history of the castrato.
In fact, Eslite’s catalog has convinced me that, in terms of general readerships, Taipei may be the best-read city in which I have ever lived. For every crypto-bro who “reads” an investment strategies book while nonchalantly clasping his hands behind his head and casually flexing his biceps (alright, there’s only one of those, but he’s there a lot), there is someone browsing the shelves in the anthropology, philosophy, or queer theory section (yes, they each have a dedicated section). In short, compared with the post-Bezosian digital dystopia that many Western booksellers are forced to contend with, Eslite has notched a notable win for paper-based media.
I strongly suspect that a key to Eslite’s success has been the way it makes books into part of an aspirational lifestyle. And although I have no way to prove this, one of the fun parts of blogging is the license to speculate wildly, so I’m going to stick with this explanation.
Megalithic and omnipresent though Eslite may be, I would be remiss to suggest that this glossily corporatized vision of bookishness is the only lifestyle accommodated by Taipei’s remarkable collection of bookeries.
Bookstore Street: The Experts
I can’t claim any kind of deep knowledge of Taipei’s so-called Bookstore Street 書店街. In fact, I used this blog post as the excuse to finally go explore. But even though this stretch of Chonqing South Road is perhaps not what it once was, what I found was still encouraging.
The street’s eponymous bookstores ranged from one-room storefronts to multi-level, multi-department independent bookstores. Many of these stores were narrowly focused, with highly curated and deeply researched stock.
The first store I found, with a wood-paneled interior all in warm yellows and reds, tucked behind a mismatched green marble exterior, was one small room that focused almost entirely on classical Chinese poetry, philosophy, and political theory, with a few translations in English, French, and Italian thrown in for good measure. Another store was devoted to architectural literature, another to coding, another to public school textbooks and subject-specific cram materials. In the basements of various buildings were dingy and labyrinthine stationery stores selling everything from Post-It Notes to I ❤️ TW tchotchkes, and which in lieu of decorations were filled with piles of unopened brown shipping boxes and broken-down, unplugged photocopiers.
If Eslite serves the better-lettered subset of a sartorially savvy, aspirationally executive clientele, many of the institutions on Bookstore Street serve experts looking for the information they want now, without the hassle of special ordering through a store built around a more general readership, or the wait times associated with online ordering.
Even here, though, hints of social tensions emerge amidst the mercantile hustle and bustle. For example, Tianlong Books 天龍圖書 markets itself as a store specializing in simplified characters. There are innocent enough explanations for this. Until COVID-zero largely foreclosed the possibility of travel to the Mainland, career opportunities in China were appealing to many Taiwanese professionals. For those who grew up reading traditional Chinese characters, simplified characters take some practice, and it makes sense that places would exist that offer resources to help with that transition. On the other hand, the entire wall of the store devoted to biographies of the great leaders of the Chinese Communist Party, and otherwise extolling the virtues of China’s economic and political system, as well as steep discounts for those who pay in Chinese renminbi, suggests that, alongside practical economic concerns, the bookstore may also be running a sideline in soft power.
Bleu & Book: The Aesthete
One of the challenges facing many older cities is what to do with legacy buildings that are part of local urban history, but that have outlived their original purpose. The decommissioned automobile factories of Detroit, the abandoned subway stations of New York, the rewilded zoo in LA’s Griffith Park, or crumbling Japanese theme parks of the kind that might get you Spirted Away (buh-doom, ching).
In many Taiwanese cities, Japanese-era factories are a key example of this kind of problem. The solution here has been to turn them into hip “creative parks,” hosting everything from movie theaters and restaurants to concerts and pop-up museums. Taipei alone plays host to several of these reclaimed industrial spaces, including the Huashan 1914 Creative Park 華山 1914 文化創意產業園區. Not only is this space home to the independent movie theater over which I have gushed on many an occasion, it is also the site of Bleu & Book 青鳥. (Incidentally, they also run a branch at Taipei National University of the Arts 國立臺北藝術大學, my host institution here in Taiwan.)
Set discreetly in the upper floor of the creative park, and marked only by a small chalkboard set outside the door, this independent bookseller has garnered a devout following. Many come to browse and buy from their carefully selected catalogue of titles on film, photography, music, and Taiwanese literature, and many more stay for the tea and coffee. A few even just stay for a nap on the store’s Ikea couch (truly—every time I’ve been here, someone has been asleep on the couch.)
In many ways, Bleu & Book is a business that markets something even more abstract than “lifestyle,” instead offering patrons a fully aestheticized vibe. The coolly modern concrete exterior, which opens into an invitingly warm interior, is clearly staged for maximum effect. Spot lighting creates a sense of glamour, the high ceilings produce an airy atmosphere despite the limited floor space, and the dense, midair thicket of desiccated foliage absorbs echoes that might otherwise bounce off the exposed concrete surfaces. Meanwhile, the trademark clean lines of Ikea furniture stop the atmosphere from getting too hoity-toity.
Ultimately, I don’t think Bleu & Book’s success is due to what they sell so much as the way they sell it. Could I go to Eslite for the tea and coffee (or most of the books)? Yes. Could I go to a specialty store on Bookstore Street for a deeper catalogue in the same subject space? Almost certainly. But none of those spaces have the effortlessly and unpretentiously modern affect of Bleu & Book.
Bookstores like Bleu & Book interest me because they show the marketing power of aspiration, not in a thing-oriented way, but in an experiential way. In all likelihood, a pilgrimage to Bleu & Book will yield nothing to prove definitively that you were there. They won’t sell you a designer-label bag; they won’t even give you a highly distinctive shopping bag in the event you buy something. You won’t end up with a signed copy of a book, or points to spend on your next purchase. But if you’re anything like me, you’ll walk out feeling much the better for having taken a deep breath or two.
Not Just Library: The Mad Scientist
Speaking of Taiwan’s phenomenon of creative parks, perhaps the most unique place on my list is a concept space called Not Just Library 不只是圖書館. Now, strictly speaking, this space may not belong in this discussion. They don’t sell books, or even lend them.
BUT IT’S A LIBRARY IN A BATHROOM PEOPLE!
Seriously, this non-circulating library, run by the Taiwan Design Research Institute, is in the old bathhouse facility of the site that is now the Songshan Cultural and Creative Park 松山文創園區 (which just so happens to be literally in the shadow of another major Eslite location). For NT$100 (about US$3.50), you can swap your shoes for slippers (this step is actually non-optional), browse the collection for as long as you like, sit and work at the plentiful desk space, and (after swapping your house slippers for outdoor slippers) enjoy the quiet garden in the central courtyard of the Creative Park. The same fee also gains you entry into two other spaces on the same site operated by TDRI.
As one might expect of a library operated by the Taiwan Design Research Institute, the entire collection of 20,000-odd books focuses on architecture, design, and aesthetics. But the space itself is also a study in design, combining the concrete rooms of the building’s colonial Japanese architecture with contemporary add-ons clearly inspired by modern Japanese aesthetics. This blend of old Japanese industrial space and modern Japanese design shows up throughout the library, from the recessed reading space in the library’s first room, to the cracked tiles that have been filled in and then painted gold, presumably in a gesture toward Japanese kintsugi.
There is something a little mad about Not Just Library as a concept. I’m no expert, but I feel like it takes some vision to look at a decommissioned bathroom and say, “You know what this place really needs? A power wash and some books.” And yet, in my head, that’s exactly what went down here. The result is a unique space that invites quiet thought, work, and reading, all just a few yards away from one of Taipei’s most vibrant commercial districts.
Illumination Books: The Obligatory Hipster
We were clearly never going to make it through an anthropomorphized taxonomy of bookstores without the hipsters making an appearance. But I think it’s important to give hipstery shops like Illumination Bookstore 浮光書店 some love, because these spaces repurpose and make accessible the old shophouses of Taipei’s alleys.
You see, thus far everything I’ve talked about has been a destination of some sort, whether it be a major thoroughfare, a cultural attraction, or its own high-rise building. By comparison, to find Illumination you just have to wander (or at least search Google Maps). Even once you’re there, its discreet storefront, leading to a narrow flight of stairs up to the second floor, is eminently missable. But as I’ve said before, if you don’t explore Taipei’s alleys, you’re missing out, and Illumination is yet further proof of that.
As with so many of Taipei’s small independent bookstores, Illumination is a combined space, selling books, tea, coffee, and pastries, all of which can be enjoyed in their generous seating areas, both on the main floor and in the lofted space under the rafters. Also like so many other small bookstores, they have a thematic focus, in this case on philosophy, critical theory, and cinema. But Illumination has perfected the type, creating a space that is equally suited to a day of focused work, an afternoon kvetch with a bestie, or just a brief break from exploring the alleys of Taipei’s Zhongshan district.
Bookstore Coffee: The Cat Lady We All Aspire to Be
I thought about assigning this bookstore-café the role of “bohemian.” But although parts of this store are bohemian-adjacent, that didn’t quite capture the vibe. That’s when I realized that this is really the bookstore incarnation of your cat-lady aunt (or uncle), who is blissfully unaware of the tuft of tabby caught in the collar of their hand-knitted sweater; who manages to whisk a fresh, piping hot batch of homemade scones out of what seems to be a pile of newspapers left over from sometime shortly before the fall of the Berlin Wall; and whose zest for life we all aspire to.
The location of this, the final stop on our tour of Taipei’s bookstores, is a stone’s thrown from Taiwan National University of the Arts. Unfortunately, it is a stone’s throw from nothing else, lying close enough to the outer margins of New Taipei City that it is not accessible by subway (no stamps!), instead necessitating a ride on commuter rail. In a marketing decision suggesting the owners did not blow their budget on focus groups, the English name of the business is Bookstore Coffee. In Chinese, they dispense even with the coffee, going simply by Bookstore 書店.
But the space is well worth the trip. Throughout the store, mismatched tables for working and eating are tightly packed in and amongst the overstuffed bookshelves, upon which new and used books are arranged with seemingly blissful arbitrariness. It is full of yet-to-be-cataloged used books lying higgledy-piggledy on countertops and piled around the borders of cooking surfaces; old stoneware balanced on planks suspended between shelves to catch leaks in the roof; a burbling indoor koi pond; an overstuffed armchair (possibly upholstered with repurposed old curtains) inexplicably situated on a dais; and possibly a ginger cat who occasionally turns up to perform its managerial obligations. The whole thing lies somewhere on the spectrum between Flourish & Blotts and The Burrow, and it is purely enchanting.
I’ll confess that I was a little miffed to learn that Bookstore is already moderately famous on the interwebs, having already been featured in TV dramas, countless newspaper features, and at least one music video (in which neither the bookstore nor the romance survives).
My sulkiness notwithstanding, the fact that a bookstore like this can thrive and gain a following in an unglamorous industrial district at such a remove from Taipei’s commercial core seems to speak volumes about the ongoing vitality of Taiwan’s readerships and literary scenes. From main streets and modern high-rises to narrow alleys and industrial districts, no matter where you find yourself, Taipei has a bookstore for you. Whether you want to read, browse, sip tea, or even just take a nap, Taipei has a bookstore for you. And no matter what lifestyle you aspire to, be you an up-and-coming ruler of the boardroom or counter-culture intellectual brushing up on your Marxist credentials, Taipei has a bookstore for you. For me, Taipei really is the city of books.
The Elephant in the (Bath)room
This has been a really long-winded paean to the richness of Taipei’s literary ecosystem. And like I said earlier, this only scratches the surface. Bookstores are everywhere in this town.
There is, however, a rather large elephant tiptoeing through the bathroom-library. The name of this elephant is “Mandarin.” You see, to get the most out of Taipei’s bookselling culture, knowledge of written Chinese is fairly crucial. This is not to say that foreign language bookstores don’t exist; Taipei is, after all, a modern, cosmopolitan city. But if you want to truly satisfy your wildest bibliophilic impulses, knowledge of the local language is indispensable.
As such … what are you waiting for? Crack open those Chinese textbooks (please buy local), and start studying some characters. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.