About Transom Bookshop

An Open Letter to Readers.

I have loved reading my entire adult life. Reading is, to me, both school and sanctuary, therapy and theology, introspection and escape. It enlightens, it entertains, it demands imagination. It engages both sides of my brain, all the chambers of my heart, and the depths of my spirit all at once. I have a respect for all of the arts (yes, even interpretive dance), but there’s nothing in the world quite like a book.

I’ll read just about anything, but I cherish fiction, where writers can make and break their own rules, give birth to the most realistic or most fantastical characters, recreate a real place brick by brick or invent an entirely new world. Poetry, in particular, feels like white magic to me—and not when it’s complex or esoteric, but when it is poignant and moving in spite of its austerity.

I love words. I’ll often pause on one to ponder its etymology, I’ll re-read paragraphs that delight me, and I’ll break a sentence apart in my head to try to understand just how the writer managed to pull it off. A well-executed piece of writing is a stuntman performing a controlled fall down a flight of stairs, making it look horrifyingly real, but then walking away unscathed at the end. It’s a joy, an astonishment, a wonder.

And it’s not just reading I love, but books themselves. When read, a book becomes a kind of totem, an artifact of life that serves as a manifestation of a time, a place, a memory. (I often recall places I’ve traveled to by the books I had read there.) And for that, I love the physical book—from its cover (of which I am a shameless judge) to its typography, margins, paper, and printing. I love to turn a book over in my hands, tuck it neatly onto a shelf, or fan its pages. As a minimalist, I avoid ownership of things, but I am guiltlessly fulfilled by possessing physical books in the way I imagine other people are fulfilled by shoes, furniture, sports memorabilia, gadgets, or souvenirs. We’re a sensory and tactile species, after all, and I believe we each share a frequency with physical things that draws us to them. I’m just grateful to be on the same wavelength as books.

I also love writers, those everyday wizards who stir imagination and emotion with the flick of a wrist, a flurry of the keys. I have a deep respect for the creative process and all that goes into writing a book and seeing it through to its publication. With the demands, distractions, and (for some writers) comforts of our modern age, it is increasingly difficult to write a book. Meanwhile, the performance-pressure of the book industry makes it ever harder to publish one. Hundreds and hundreds of hours spent on an avocation that will maybe, possibly result in reaching across time and space to inspire or enlighten or entertain a complete stranger—could there be anything more noble?

I’d be remiss in not adding here that I love Tarrytown. My family moved here from New York City a few years ago and I felt instantly at home. I immediately recognized Tarrytown’s Main Street as the place I’d been trying to piece together through my day-to-day wanderings in the city — diner, cafe, deli, barber, good restaurants, a great community, and a little nature. All that was missing was, well, a bookstore.

So given all that, I guess it’s only natural that I would harbor a dream of someday running my own bookstore. And moving to Tarrytown made someday feel less like a north star to navigate by, and more like a distant shore that could be reached.

That shore, as it turned out, was right around the corner at 23 Main Street. I happened upon it one day in the early spring of 2021, after a particularly tough winter (physically and emotionally). The thawing snow and a fresh shot of the COVID vaccine made things feel possible again, and I set aside my natural risk aversion to imagine, what if?

With “someday” solved, the “what if” part quickly turned into a series of down payments, endless logistics, and a whole lot of hustle. Thanks to the hard work of countless people, the encouragement of my family and friends, the support of our wonderful community, I now have the rare honor and privilege of sharing my love of books—and everything about them—with you.

All the best,