A Booklover’s Guide to Texas
More on the state’s indie bookstores, storytelling champions, and literary destinations turning the page
For one hour on a Sunday evening, we read in silence. There are 25 of us sardined into Poetic Republic Coffee in San Antonio’s Southtown, but it’s so quiet I can hear readers turning the pages of their books, a train horn in the distance, and the low hum of the espresso machine. What is this rare stillness of a room full of people?
It’s Silent Book Club, a concept so simple it’s almost radical: people meeting in public to enjoy the undistracted analog pleasure of reading together. There are almost 100 Silent Book Club chapters across the state. Who says people don’t read anymore?
The San Antonio chapter, which meets bimonthly and rotates sites, has become so popular that tonight there almost isn’t room for me—I’ve forgotten to RSVP. But Erika Murray, who helps organize the events, tells me I can share her table. Although Poetic Republic Coffee is about the size of a studio apartment, the space feels expansive, with black-and-white photographs of famous authors and bulletin boards announcing literary events like the regular Spanish-language book club led by the café’s owner, Brenda Leal. This month they’re reading Toni Morrison’s debut novel, The Bluest Eye.
Because this is my first Silent Book Club, Murray gives me the lowdown. “You’ll have 30 minutes to talk, settle, and grab coffee,” she says, holding a tote bag that reads “Book Dragon.” “Then I’ll announce the beginning of silent reading time. After an hour, you can keep reading or mingle. This is a place for introverts, but we still like to talk. We like to talk about books.”
She isn’t kidding. There’s a buzz of conversation at the coffee bar. The dominant question is, “What are you reading?” “The Midnight Library!” says one girl in a pink sweatshirt that has the words “Psalm 23” written across it. A woman wearing a T-shirt that says “Books are my Love Language” tells me she’s reading a “dark Irish mafia romance.” She seems happy to be here: She homeschools her kids, and her truck driver husband is often away.
Next to me in the coffee line, I meet Thomas, who wears a neat button-down. “Silent Book Club reminds me of grade school,” he says. “Remember class reading time? This is a grown-up version of that.” He stirs when I ask him what he’s reading. “It’s on mortuary science,” he says and runs back to his table to grab it and show me. “I am a funeral director and an embalmer,” he adds, before passing me his business card.
At 6:30 p.m., Murray stands in the middle of the café. “Ding, ding, ding. Welcome everybody,” she says. “Without further ado, let the reading begin.”
With Gabriel García Márquez smiling down from the wall, I slip into my book, The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny, an epic tale by Kiran Desai of longing for companionship. Who knew such a thing could be so easily found in a silent café full of book people quietly turning our pages together?
