The Bookshop Of Yesterdays
One little bookshop will change everything…Miranda Brooks grew up in the stacks of her uncle’s bookstore, solving the inventive scavenger hunts he created just for her. But on Miranda's twelfth birthday, her uncle suddenly disappeared.She doesn't hear about him again until sixteen years later when she receives unexpected news: Billy has died and left her Prospero Books.When Miranda returns home to the bookshop she finds clues that Billy has hidden for her inside novels on the store's shelves, in locked drawers of his apartment upstairs and in the name of the store itself. Quickly she becomes determined to solve Billy's last scavenger hunt.But will she want to uncover the terrible secret that tore her family apart?Readers love Amy Meyerson:“I found myself engrossed in the story and enthralled by the graceful writing”“It's an impressive debut novel by a gifted author.”“Lively and fun read!”“The book is well-written, well-conceived, well-structured and a joy to read.”“I was hooked from the beginning and didn’t want to put the book down.”“ I really enjoyed it and look forward to her next book.”“An excellent, engrossing read!”
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A woman inherits a beloved bookstore and sets forth on a journey of self-discovery in this poignant debut about family, forgiveness and a love of reading.
Miranda Brooks grew up in the stacks of her eccentric uncle Billyâs bookstore, solving the inventive scavenger hunts he created just for her. But on Mirandaâs twelfth birthday, Billy has a mysterious falling-out with her mother and suddenly disappears from Mirandaâs life. She doesnât hear about him again until sixteen years later when she receives unexpected news: Billy has died and left her Prospero Books, which is teetering on bankruptcy, and one final scavenger hunt.
When Miranda returns home to Los Angeles and to Prospero Booksânow as its ownerâshe finds clues that Billy has hidden for her inside novels on the storeâs shelves, in locked drawers of his apartment upstairs, in the name of the store itself. Miranda becomes determined to save Prospero Books and to solve Billyâs last scavenger hunt. She soon finds herself drawn into a journey where she meets people from Billyâs past, people whose stories reveal a history that Mirandaâs mother has kept hiddenâand the terrible secret that tore her family apart.
Bighearted and trenchantly observant, The Bookshop of Yesterdays is a lyrical story of family, love and the healing power of community. Itâs a love letter to reading and bookstores, and a testament to how our histories shape who we become.
The Bookshop of Yesterdays
Amy Meyerson
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © Amy Meyerson 2018
Amy Meyerson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © June 2018 ISBN: 9781474077194
Contents
Whatâs past is prologue.
âThe Tempest
The last time I saw my uncle, he bought me a dog. A golden retriever puppy with sad eyes and a heart-shaped nose. I didnât have her long enough to give her a name. One moment she was running around my living room with the promise of many adventures together and the next she was gone. It was the same way with Uncle Billy. One moment he was waving goodbye as he reversed out of my driveway. Then I never saw him again.
Mom never wanted a dog. Iâd begged her, promising to walk the dog every day, to scrub the living room rug after any accidents, but Mom was insistent. It wasnât about the rug, or the countless shoes the dog would ruin. It wasnât about love, either. She had no doubt I would love the dog. Of course, she would love it, too, but a pet, like any relationship, was about accountability, not love. I was on the brink of my teenage years, of boys and friends who mattered more than allowance, more than dogs, more than family. Weâd been over it. No dog. I knew this. Uncle Billy knew this, too.
The dog was a birthday present. For my twelfth birthday, my parents had rented out an arcade and batting cages in Culver City. It was the beginning of 1998. We always celebrated in January, since I was born so close to the end of the year.
My friends crowded behind the plate, cheering as I nudged the batting helmet out of my face and timidly stepped into the cage. Dad offered me last-minute advice to keep my feet shoulder-distance apart, my right elbow up. I expected Mom to remind me to be careful, but she was at the concession stand, making a phone call.
All right, Miranda, you can do this, Dad said after a swing and a miss. Mom appeared at his side and whispered something into his ear. I swung at the next pitch once it had already sped past the plate. You should know by now not to count on him, Dad said to Mom. Miranda, he called to me. Keep your eyes open.
He promised heâd be here, I heard Mom whisper.
