The Fountain Bookshop — Local services in New York

This neighborhood has been starving for a bookstore for years and years. A real one. Not a pop-up, not a gift shop with books in the corner, not a website. A place with shelves, spines, surprises. And now, at long last, we have Fountain Bookshop. And it is everything.

This place isn’t for someone who wants to play-act literary seriousness—it’s for someone who reads. Someone who walks in not to be seen browsing, but to actually browse. Someone who still believes in the quiet, communal thrill of a good bookstore. Yes, there are tote bags. But there are also books. Real books. Good books. Risky books. Books that demand your attention. Books that keep you up at night.

The fiction section is the first thing you see when you walk in. It’s the heart of the place—and it’s beating strong. You get the sense someone is reading along with you. The expected titles are there, yes, but so are sharp, left-field choices. Translations. Debuts. Indie presses. (New Directions is well represented, and thank God.) You’ll find an Ottessa Moshfegh novel next to an overlooked Don DeLillo, next to a slim gem from Archipelago you didn’t know existed. This section doesn’t just invite browsing—it dares you to walk away without something unexpected.

The poetry shelf is small, but refuses to be sad. It’s clearly loved. There’s care in what’s there: contemporary voices, a few touchstones, and no filler. Drama and essays share the shelf, and even with limited space, it feels considered. It’s not there because someone felt obligated. It’s there because someone believes those sections matter.

And nonfiction? Here’s where the store shows its teeth. This is not a pageant of pop psychology and bland memoirs. Yes, Gladwell is there, but so is Fanon. So is Graeber. So is Streeck—in a Verso edition no less. These are not afterthoughts. These are signals. There’s a real hand behind this. The politics section has bite. The culture shelves surprise. Philosophy may be compact, but it’s not timid. Susan Sontag and Plato aren’t just symbolic—they’re standing guard. There’s no Naomi Wolf or Pinker, which is merciful, and what’s in their place feels like progress.

The history section is growing—and growing in the right direction. American history gets the most space, and rightfully so. But there’s also thoughtful inclusion of books on Russia, the Middle East, and China—not the usual reductionist thrillers, but dense, serious works. The store is paying attention. It’s reading the world, not just following headlines.

Then there’s the basement. And oh, what a basement. Children’s books that sparkle. Sci-fi that isn’t just the top 10 most recent space operas, but actual vision—classic and new, Ursula K. Le Guin and N.K. Jemisin, side by side. Fantasy that doesn’t condescend. YA that doesn’t pander. The mystery section is packed with more than airport paperbacks—it’s atmospheric, it’s smart. These are books selected by someone who reads widely, and wants you to do the same.

I’ve spoken to more than a few serious readers in the neighborhood who feel the same quiet thrill I did walking in. That moment where you think—wait, this might actually be it. A place where you could find something new. Something worth your time. Something that wouldn’t show up in an algorithm. A place where the shelves don’t just reflect trends, but push against them. That’s what makes it a real bookstore.

And yes—the front third of the shop has an ice cream counter. And if you’re somehow bothered by the presence of mint chip near a copy of The Dispossessed, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t go to bookstores for ice cream, either. But I don’t mind if someone else does. And when a store makes room for both? That’s not dilution. That’s community.

Fountain isn’t perfect. It doesn’t need to be. It’s alive. It’s growing. It’s already better than most, and it’s getting better still. Not every bookstore makes you want to come back. This one does. This is the one we needed. And it might just be the best bookstore I’ve ever...

This neighborhood has been in dire need of a bookstore for years and years. Sadly, Fountain Bookshop isn't it.

This place isn't for someone who likes bookstores, books, and reading, but rather for someone who likes the idea of bookstores, books, and reading. Tote bags abound—book choices, not so much.

I refrained from making an initial review at launch because book deliveries are slow, things might've changed, and a manager shared some of my concerns about the selection. In the two months since, nothing's changed, although there are many new books on the shelves, workers busy stocking others.

The fiction section is the first and largest one in the store, and it's not so bad. There are a few interesting surprises here, given the rest of the store, but not too many. More indy presses like New Directions would be nice to see. It earns Fountain the single star.

The poetry section is tiny, shabby, and neglected. The rest of this half-height shelf is taken up by drama (Folger Shakespeare) and essay collections, of which there are five.

The nonfiction is truly awful, a barometer for the approach to atmosphere, selection, and clientele the owners are aiming for. The few shelves here are vastly overshadowed by two full-height, full-stocked Romance shelves—softcore pornography, without exaggeration—and seem like the owners thoughtlessly filled them in at the last minute. The philosophy section should make them embarrassed. Malcolm Gladwell, Yuval Noah, Sapolsky, and Mark Hanson, with Plato and Sontag thrown in as an afterthought. No more Steven Pinker and Naomi Woolf, but no improvement, either.

David Graeber, Fanon, and, astonishingly, a Verso edition of Streeck in the History section ought to be moved to Philosophy. There have been some improvements here (mostly in American history), but trite choices with limited geographic scope make this an impoverished section. The resurgence of interest in history as people look for deeper context to constant headline crises from Ukraine/Russia, China, and the Middle East is an opportunity that the owner has completely missed.

The basement is full of children's books, which should make for some nice gifts, and sci-fi, fantasy, mystery, and Young Adult. It's pretty clear that there's a specific business model and demographic in mind.

That's a shame, because there are many, many serious readers in the neighborhood who wanted a real bookstore, some of whom have shared in my disappointment. I'm writing this in the hopes that the Fountain turns into a store that one could look forward to walking through, browsing, finding something interesting, worthwhile, novel, something that marks it as a unique bookstore, different from the rest. As it stands, I'm going down to Westsider or Book Culture.

The rest of the Fountain Bookshop is filled with gift sections and the ice cream parlor taking up the first third of the main floor. But I don't go to bookstores...

I'm grateful for this new community-building enterprise. There's a definite emphasis on children, but this is by no means exclusive. The ice cream and treats provide added revenue for the bookstore to thrive and entice kids who might not be intrinsically motivated readers. There's also just a lightness and joy to the place to uplift patrons of all ages. Visitors with some underlying, foundational common sense will intuitively grasp that such a small store won't have a vast selection across all categories. I don't view this as a deficit. NYC has a number of very large bookstores and specialty bookstores within easy mass transit reach and a vast library system. Or one can order titles through Fountain. I do think the "Upuptown" market could support a used bookstore, perhaps with a sit-down adult cafe incorporated, with poetry and nonfiction titles in a more prominent role. But Fountain beautifully fulfills its role of creating a cheery space for book lovers and potential book lovers. My thanks go to its friendly...