The Legend of the Invisible Bookshop

You may have heard the rumor of the invisible theological bookstore, whose lore is often passed from one geek to another like the legend of the Loch Ness Monster. Like all such epic fables, the details - which were always blurry to begin with - seem to grow with time: there is no sign on the building, they don't sell books online, they don't actually have opening hours, they lock you in when you shop and don't answer the door unless you call their secret number.

These kinds of tid-bits are expected, but like most of us who have heard the story, we dream of the core truth - as there often is with these stories. We think about the aisles of theology books, stacked wherever there is extra space, with no rhyme or reason behind it. We day-dream about the out-of-print books for a pound and the arbitrary discounts inevitably dispensed by the Santa-Clause-like patron who wanders his collection of volumes like Santa his workshop.

So why do I write about this bookstore that can't be found except by those who already know where it is? Because Kelli and I found it - and while we have sworn an oath not to reveal its location, we are able to provide photographic evidence of its existence.



What surprised us most was not the aisles of books - everywhere - nor was it the total lack of order (any real order would have ruined it anyway). No, what surpised us was the fact that all of the legends were true. After phoning for an appointment, arriving on time, and waiting for the door to be unlocked, we were ushered in and the door locked behind us. As you can see above, there is no sign, just an old non-descript building in the middle of nowhere. For three hours we plundered the treasures within, hoping to return and hoping more that it will remain just the way it is.