* I want to preface this by saying that Javier Marias died a few days ago, and it's a death that hurts. His prose was original, charismatic, lyrical and spoke to me in a very intimate way. A Heart So White, Tomorrow In The Battle Think Of Me and especially The Infatuations (I was actually addicted to that novel) are all essential reading. Powerful, quietly devastating books. Truly one of the most important writers in my life. Rest in peace.
Grochów is not the most spectacular district in Warsaw. It is moody and it may let you down after the ramshackle charm of Praga-South. That is, however, if you make two mistakes: come here at a time when the trees are not in full bloom and choose to forego the famous Antykwariat Grochowski. Green trees bring the monotonous architecture alive and even the local parks acquire the edge they normally lack. And then, of course, there is the bookshop. The bookshop that is, let's face it, the sole reason why you are here.
Antykwariat Grochowski is actually two separate shops. The first one is devoted to books in the Polish language, and the second one is a bizarre and bewitching blend of every single thing on earth: oil paintings, pre-war posters, foreign books, vinyl records, vintage coats, obscure magazines, china dolls, etc. Outside, in Kickiego street, you are greeted by the sight of several rows of cardboard boxes filled to the brim with cheap paperbacks. Browsing through them is a vaguely familiar pair you are likely to meet in various parts of Warsaw: a middle-aged woman and a dog. They are both inspecting the offers thoroughly, and with the kind of tranquil precision that makes you feel at home before you even enter the door.
So there is another part, and it is, indeed, the reason why I am here. I go down the stairs, and I find myself in the underground Moria of bookshops. This part is actually bigger, spacier, and one can finally distinguish the shelves from the books. Which is not to say that these shelves are not heaving from music, literature, art. They most definitely are, and the smell is much the same. Only richer, denser, more intoxicating. Quite simply, you can find just about anything - even if the best way to come here is in a blindfold, without any prior wish lists and preferences. That way, you may just find something you had always been missing, quite unknowingly, like that battered old anthology of Polish films of 1964, a poster of Zbigniew Namysłowski's jazz concert from August 1973 or a German compilation of Blood, Sweat & Tears on vinyl (my case).
Their collection of American jazz is impressive, as are the stacks of black and white magazines from the Golden age of Polish cinema. The section with books is equally arcane and extensive, and you might just come across a hefty volume on Italian mushrooms or else on sports cars in Łódź in the second part of the 80s. The English language sections is relatively limited, but you you will find the first edition of The Adventures of Augie March in between the tedious paperbacks of Catherine Cookson. When after all that search and browsing you get to the counter, it has been hours and you have lost all sense of time.
Outside, it could be night and it could be the breaking of dawn. That you go out and the trees are still green is a pleasant bonus. One, however, that you no longer need. The monotonous architecture of the Grochów district finally gets to you.
