This is not a story about how books are good and the Internet is evil, nor is it about how modernity has vanquished antiquity and, therefore, doomed posterity.
Although. The Bookhouse feels like a safe house. It announces itself, barely, with tiny lettering on the front porch. It is for stumbling upon, a anachronism in a universe ordered by Google at a time when life is completely searchable and the exhaustive hunt for a vellum-jacketed gem has been reduced to a simple tap on a touch screen.
This is the cutest thing.
Read this. I cried.
this: teachingliteracy: cutethoughtscutelife: