D AV I D PAT R I C K C O L U M B I A brilliance, Saul Steinberg had been blessed with a very special good luck. The beautiful Gayfryd, impeccable hostess, member of bestdressed lists, mother of their daughter, Holden, and their adopted son, Rayne, took over the reins for the family and managed her husband’s health. As those who knew the couple—and as those who didn’t know the couple assumed—they were defeated (and broke). But Gayfryd, the former executive who once ran her own company, rose to the occasion. Within a few years, Saul’s impairment had improved from rehabilitation. He was able to walk and get around. They acquired a townhouse on the East Side which Gayfryd, herself very handy with a hammer and nails, staplers, and paintbrushes, renovated
into a comfortable and elegant abode for her husband and their family. Although he would never work again, Saul began to get out and about again, making regular strolls through the neighborhood with a friend. Surrounded by his books, his children—and their spouses and children—by the family dogs and his in-laws, Saul never foundered. He declared, whenever asked, that he had never felt better or happier in his life. The great big life he made was now merely a memory. However, Gayfryd had made a new home for him—a haven where he passed his days in a serene atmosphere, buoyed by his intellectual interests and his books. The marriage was his saving grace, a perfect dénouement to a spectacular career of fame and fortune.
When he passed away in his sleep in his bedroom on that Friday morning, Saul Steinberg was already a man at peace. On the Monday afternoon of Christmas Eve, Archivia, my favorite bookstore for browsing (and buying), closed for good, much to the chagrin of many of its loyal customers. Aside from the astronomical commercial rents on the Upper East Side, which make it almost impossible for any small retailer to run in the black, Archivia was suffering the economic tortures of the publishing damned caused by Amazon.com. Everything had been further exacerbated by the appearance of the Kindle. Perhaps printed books on paper will become entirely obsolete, and therefore valuable collector’s items. I could mourn those facts because I love bookstores and
I love books. But such is the progress, if that is the correct word, of the technological age—an age in which is it presumed that there are infinite planetary and inter-planetary power sources to keep our machines running so that we can read, learn, communicate, and progress. Infinitely. Cynthia Conigliaro, who founded Archivia, had a good business and a good location. However, in the book business, she could not obtain the discounts or the advertising help from publishers that she needed to keep her product moving as voluminously as needed to compete with Amazon.com. A couple of Christmases ago, one of her wealthier clients wanted to buy 50 copies of one particular coffee-table book to gift to friends. She wanted a discount. Cynthia figured that
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