Borders, and the City.

My mother called me the other day to ask me if I still liked the music of Ari Hest. It seems his CD was on sale at the local Borders bookstore, which was going out of business. I didn't have the heart to tell her I mostly download my music, so I told her "no, but thank you". Then she went on to talk about how sad it was to her that they were closing the bookstore. She told me she had met someone while perusing the aisles who agreed with her that it was sad that Amazon.com was the preferred store for book purchases. "I like to walk the aisles, get a coffee, hold the books in my hand. I like to be surprised by what the store has to offer, or maybe run into someone I haven't seen in a while. You can't do that online!" she said.

I agreed with her and told her it was a sad reality of the direction our culture is moving, then we went on to talk about the Indians recent loss, and my dog Sammy's most recent interaction with a skunk. After I got off the phone, however, I realized something: Borders' story is not unlike that of Cleveland. You see, what I didn't notice at first was that my mom's description of her experience at the bookstore offers a fantastic parallel to the city.

When one visits the local bookstore they might have a particular book in mind, they show up and enter a space filled with various books, CDs, assorted art, and miscellaneous items. As you move through aisles you come to intersections where new topics and merchandise is on display often with signs and decorations calling for your attention. The space around you seems dense and filled, you feel surrounded and at the same time immersed in the space you occupy. There are people around you, neighbors and strangers alike, who can offer conversations, opinions on a book you pick up, or simply opportunities to people watch. The entire experience might include an espresso, an hour of reading the recent purchase, bumping into old friends or making a new one.

Pull up a chair. This faux-living room in a Borders brings strangers close together.

...and then there's the internet store. You arrive before you've left your home -- your individual space -- and use a search bar to locate the exact book or section you need. After a few clicks you've completed your task and can log off. Done. It's simple, sterile, and anti-social. But it's efficient, and that's exactly why it's the suburbs of book shopping.

His and Hers anti-social centers. You even order pizza online!

A suburbanite is like the internet shopper, getting up and using their individual transport to get the from bed to office efficiently, quickly, and without any opportunity to browse, mingle, or shop. The highways of cement and asphalt move consumers from point A to B as quickly as highways of broadband cable move you from buying a book to buying your groceries.

The book store aisles and intersections are the roads of our cities and the corner stores of of neighborhoods. That positive feeling people express when they hold a book in their hand or run into an old friend -- that's simply not possible on the internet, and it doesn't work that way in our sprawling new world.

Jane Jacobs best known for The Death and Life of Great American Cities (1961), in an interview commented that the "corner store was just that... a store found at the corner. Of what? Of your neighborhood, of your community". But the suburbs are literally and figuratively communities without corners. Our main streets are often highways, and the 8 lane intersections surrounded by malls, gas stations and office parks do not make for corner stores.

Cities all over the world have active vibrant streets. Above: Varanasi, India

My mother will miss the book store, not because she won't have a place to go and buy books but, because she will be missing out on a place to see, meet, and talk to people. We need these connections in our lives and the city is a place where connections thrive.