Sometimes I subject myself to punishment. Not in a masochistic way. There’s no gratification. In this case, it was to affirm a sad truth I already knew.
I’d had a medical appointment last week on Vancouver’s Davie Street which was once the heart of the city’s “gay village.” That always seemed sad in and of itself. There’s never been anything pretty about the street. There were gay bars and gay businesses scattered among a hodgepodge of other establishments—a bakery that always seemed to have a lot of flies doing aerobatic loops, a hardware store that made mops and dustpans look especially dull, an overrated Greek restaurant that always had people lining the sidewalk. I lived in the area for a year or two and avoided most of the spots, not needing an apricot Danish, another toilet bowl cleaner or an instant, unanimous rejection at Celebrities as Crystal Waters sang “100% Pure Love.” The videostore was my most frequent destination.
The clubs are still there though I haven’t been in one in about a decade. The hardware store and bakery remain. Same for the Greek restaurant though I don’t think it draws the lines it once did. The videostore is, alas, long gone.
After my appointment, I should have headed east to begin the half hour walk home, but I paused and opted to go one more block in the other direction. Tucked away off Davie Street is Little Sister’s, a business I first knew from its previous location on the second floor of an old house on Thurlow Street. Back then, in the ’90s, it was a queer bookstore that always had people milling about, checking out books and each other. This was a place to be amongst other queers without having to order a drink. If no one made a move to take you home, you could at least leave with a work of fiction by Paul Monette, Armistead Maupin or a hot, new author, “hot” because he had a certain way with words, not necessarily on account of his photo on the back flap.
The bookstore is very much part of gay history in Vancouver. It endured an ongoing battle with the Canada Border Services Agency which blocked the importation of various books the authority deemed obscene. Little Sister’s sued the government in 1990 and the case slooowly made its way through the court system until, a full decade later, the Canadian Supreme Court ruled in favor of the bookstore, stating the border agency had violated the Charter of Rights and Freedoms which protects against discrimination based on, inter alia, sexual orientation.
A book once banned from entry
into Canada for delivery to
Little Sister's.
Also, of note, the bookstore had been smoke-bombed three times at its prior location, acts of intimidation that did not lead to the business shuttering. Thus, Little Sister’s was more than a place to buy a book by Maupin, or the blocked children’s book, Belinda’s Bouquet, or maybe even a titillating magazine. Its struggles reflected our own, as it trudged on despite hatred and discrimination.
In 1996, the bookstore opened at its new location. Its doors being twenty steps back from the other businesses on Davie, patrons could take the back alley and park behind the store, never to be seen by pedestrians and drivers on the busy street. It seemed ideal as there were many more closeted queers at the time. (Yes, I always checked for a spot in the back first.) I clearly remember going to the store when it first opened. While its prior location had books stuffed in boxes, crammed everywhere with limited opportunities to prominently display anything, the new spot had rows and rows of beautiful shelves, of cherry wood according to my recollection. I remember thinking the rent to be much higher and the bookcases alone must have been a huge budget item in the re-lo plan. It was a stunningly beautiful space, a true showcase for queer lit that seemed to elevate the city and its gay ghetto, the otherwise lackluster Davie Street.
That was long ago. Back in 2013, I blogged how much had changed. The bookstore, then named Little Sister’s Book & Art Emporium, seemed to retain the work “Book” in its sign as nothing more than a nod to the past. Gone were all the beautiful shelves. Gone were the books. The space was filled with those bright, cheaply made, Lycra and mesh short shorts and tank tops that are apropos for Pride parades, raves and not much else. There were prime displays of cock rings and dildos. Aside from a collection of greeting cards, I saw nothing to validate the word “Art” in the Little Sister’s sign either. It was a novelty store, a cross between International Male and a gay version of that ’80s mall standard, Spencer’s. A gay Barnes & Noble? Wishful thinking.
It’s that sort of thinking that made me opt for another walkthrough. I’d been buoyed in the past year by a new queer bookstore in Seattle. Seattle may be a UNESCO-designated City of Literature, but surely Vancouverites didn’t just hike and build cock ring collections. We have just as much rain. Weren’t we readers, too? Couldn’t we enjoy in-person book browsing just as much?
Hide and Seek:
the book version
Hopeful, yes, but still I braced. I entered Little Sister’s Book & Art Emporium, empty at 10:30 on the weekday morning, and it was like passing through a time capsule. Sadly, from 2013, not 1996. Gaudy rainbow clothing plus a vast supply of lube, dildos and those ring things. Books? Yes, I found a few, seemingly hidden on plain shelves, first a few hundred used books, then “newer” books against another wall—one shelf poetry, one shelf memoir, four shelves of other nonfiction, four shelves for children, five shelves fiction. Strangely, the two display shelves with book covers fully on view were placed as a seeming afterthought at the bottom of the bookcase, level with my shoes. Bookselling was clearly not the draw.
I walked out, disheartened and bookless. If the place even remains in business based on a consistent demand for cock rings, let it be a decade before I take another punishing peek.
