McNaughton’s Bookshop

Old, musty bookshops draw me in as much as any alluring and brightly coloured sweetshop. The promise of hidden treasures like a pre-​war date and inscription in a flyleaf, or a decorative, early edition of a loved classic send positive shivers down my spine.
McNaughton’s, unfortunately, goes so far in its mystery as to be a little alienating. The atmosphere is still, but unlike the peace of a tranquil bookshop, I found it oppressive and unfriendly. Lose the gathering of book-​types inside the entrance for one; with their bowed heads and whisperings you’re made to feel as though you have come uninvited into their little cave of wonders. Maybe the books in McNaughton’s are simply too good to sell, or perhaps the customer is required to prove a certain worthiness for a desired volume, and browsers of weak spleen are unfit for such treasures, and quickly eradicated by the dragons on the door.