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One of the most persistent memories in the life of a bibliophile has to do with a bookshop. THE bookshop, actually. It may be that cozy shop, full of children's fiction, or the bookshop where we spent our allowance as teenagers. Or that second-hand temple, perfect for university students.And along with browsing, hunting for old and new treasures, friendships were forged and the first literary discussions shaped us as readers.

In my case, there were two bookshops that make me feel nostalgic at the age of 32. Both are connected to my late grandmother. I grew up in a family that had- and still has- reading as a second religion, but my closest partner in crime was grandma. She would read without getting tired, without omitting a single page even though I could see her eyes growing heavy with sleep. So, she and I had our personal ritual. At the beginning of every month, we would visit two bookshops in our neighbourhood. The first was an ordinary bookshop, its owner one of my mum's good friends, and from here we would buy all the Classics and books that were always slightly (or significantly) above my age. I was reading books suitable for adolescents when I was 8 or nine years old. The, we would visit a second shop that sold toys and children's books.Its owner was Italian, like my grandma. They would talk for hours in their mother tongue, while I used to sneak around, rummaging the shelves, marvelling at the pictures. I usually left that shop with my arms full of books, 5-6 that grandma had bought me and 2-3 more that had been given to me as a gift by the nice lady. Every month was like Christmas back then.

Now, how much more significant some bookshops can be when you eventually become a writer? The authors of this beautiful collection write about their memories connected to these ‘'temples'' and the way their writing identity was influenced by them. Quirky owners, dimly-lit second-hand bookshops, industrial, cleancut, immaculately organized shelves. We travel from Scotland to Kenya, from Denmark to China, from Colombia to India, to England,Egypt, Ukraine and Italy, every corner of the world, every culture, every way of thinking and talking about books acquires a voice.

The essays are superbly organized, directly speaking to the reader like a memoir of the common desire to own every book available and express the deepest love for this little item that helps mankind not to fall into eternal darkness. Every text has something to offer and communicate.'' Leitner and I'' by Saša Stanišić is what I consider the highlight of the collection. It shows how booklovers are serious addicts through and through, by composing a striking text full of similes and metaphors between junkies and unrepentant book lovers.

The least favourite was ‘'Intimacy''by Dorthe Nors. In fact, I found it rude and pretentious. A poorly-written blend of childhood memories and an ordinary bookshop owner, while name-dropping Kristin Lavransdatter in the mix for effect's sake. The author tries to justify her unethical behaviour in a Copenhagen bookshop and blames the owner for throwing her out. Of course, she would throw her out. I would. I don't think Nors had the right to re-arrange the shelves and make the copy of her book stand out. Perhaps, she has no idea of the toil that is to organize a shelf. Hell, when it is so difficult to do it in our bookcases,how much harder will it be in the case of whole store? It was downright unprofessional, self-indulgent and her text had nothing to offer apart from informing us that she had a Degree in Literature without ever reading Sigrid Undset's masterpiece. It was cringeworthy.

The two bookshops of my childhood don't exist anymore. They passed away upon the altar of our current times. It doesn't matter,though. It doesn't matter if your favourite bookshop belongs to a bookstore chain with classy, gloriously beautiful and shiny shelves, with grey carpets from wall to wall or a cozy second-hand shop where books are in piles reaching the ceiling or carelessly forming a bookish wall on the steps of a wooden staircase. Spaces are made by people. Sometimes, the person who would take you to the shop and let you indulge in your passion from an early age is the one who creates the memories, and for this, my review of this moving, tender book is dedicated to grandma.

Many thanks to Pushkin Press and Edelweiss for providing me with a free copy in exchange for an honest review.