I’m sad to announce that Caravan Books of Ikebukuro has passed away.
One of a kind, nestled away (cause of death?) in a quiet neighborhood near Ikebukuro station. Tastefully lit (take note all fluorescent-bathed Ebisu-based foreign bookstores), looking more like an old English country house than a Tokyo dwelling. Reasonably priced. Oh Caravan. I only visited you once to drop off Kuhaku, but how I dreamed of visiting you again and again. Alas, you were in that crook of Ikebukuro â€” everyone spoke so fondly of you but no one had the energy to venture all the way out there. Even women in Kyoto, when asked about Tokyo bookstores, whispered the words, “Caravanu,” as if you were a ghost of an old Arab man, swilling Arab whiskey while plodding your way through the Arab desert. And plod you did Caravan. You plodded until your legs gave out and your whiskey ran dry and the desert took you and your sack of books and swallowed you whole. Au revoir, old steed.