Picture an antiquarian book dealer. Typically, it’s all Harris Tweed, horn-rimmed specs, and a slight disdain for actual customers. At the beginning of D.W. Young’s new documentary we are guided around New York’s rare book dealerships, and witness how, in the age of the internet, this rare breed may be going the way of the Gutenberg press.
Whilst the impact of Amazon (specifically the Kindle) as well as Barnes & Noble are mentioned, the heart of Young’s work focuses on the dozen or so booksellers who are trying against the odds to make a living trading in leather-bound books and literary ephemera. The older generation feel that time might be up for the trade, but there’s a handful of young hopefuls who believe ink and paper will never go out of fashion. 
Young has an impressive array of talking heads on show. There’s today’s answer to Dorothy Parker, Fran Lebowitz, and New Yorker writer Susan Orlean. Young is keen to provide a rich portrait of this esoteric world, exploring everything from the historical gender imbalance of the trade to the recent inclusion of black dealers and collectors.
As much as it captures the book world, the documentary is also a portrait of an ever-changing city. Much like London’s Cecil Court on Charing Cross, once a haven of book lovers, the windows filled with leather-bound books are vanishing from New York. Young is out to debunk a few stereotypes too. Yes, there are the “little dusty Jewish men who get annoyed if you try to buy a book,” as Lebowitz describes them, but there’s also Mikey, who loves playing baseball 7-days a week, or the host of female booksellers, like the pioneering collector Madeleine Stern, who uncovered the rather more racy work of Louisa May Alcott.
We also see rare behind-the-scenes glimpses, like one collector’s New Jersey warehouse, packed to the rafters with 300,000 books. Or the envy-inducing Walker Library which is designed to recall an Escher painting, and where the books are organised by size, not subject.
The craft of the film is a little messy, and there are no identifying title cards which is frustrating. The cuts are a little abrupt, even jarring at times, as Young shifts to another aspect of the book world. No matter though, before long you’ve been eased back into the documentary, helped by David Ullmann’s jazzy score, which feels deeply suitable for the subject matter.
For book lovers, this documentary is a no-brainer. Here is a rich snapshot of a beautifully eccentric world, full of people who love books for the beautiful objects they are.
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