
Um... the reading room? In the basement? With the low ceilings? And no windows? Next to the noisy cafe? Around the corner from the toilets? That reading room?
I've read in Elliott Bay's reading room and I've attended readings in Elliott Bay's reading room and Elliott Bay's reading room is really unpleasant. I've never understood why Elliott Bay doesn't host readings in any one of the store's large, high-ceilinged rooms upstairs, near the windows that look out over the street. Why do they hide authors away in the basement? Last night Hank Stuever read from his new book Tinsel—I'm 100 pages in and it's totally brilliant—and Hank noticed one of the weirdest thing about Elliott Bay's reading room: its microclimates. The audience was perfectly comfortable, sitting on chairs in the temperate zone at the bottom half the room, but poor Hank, standing on the platform in front of us, was roasting to death. The heat trapped by the low ceilings and the lights—which are pointed at directly at the reader's face—result in the top half of the room being about 20 degrees warmer than the bottom half of the room. I've been up there myself, reading under those hot lights, my head scraping the ceiling as the sweat runs down my face. It's not pleasant. Nor is competing with or listening over the the sounds of dishes being slammed into bus tubs and milk being steamed in the adjacent cafe. The room is poorly lit, airless, and, again, a lot warmer the closer you get to the ceiling. It may be an okay place to listen to a reading but it's a thoroughly lousy place to read.
Here's hoping Elliott Bay moves to Capitol Hill. And here's hoping that they wind up in a new space that has a reading room with air, light, and windows, a room that's nowhere near their cafe, a reading room that doesn't roast visiting authors alive.
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