When I was a kid, Eason was a bookstore that held treasures I wasn’t privy to. When I was a teenager, working on the other side of O’Connell Street in Madame Nora’s (I know, sounds like a brothel, right?), Eason was a bookstore that held treasures I could rarely afford. When I was a young mother, Eason was a bookstore to lose myself in. To browse in, to inhale that new book scent, to flick through the pages of text, to marvel at the most beautiful cover art and read the blurbs and author biographies, but rarely to buy. In the days before I became a Librarian, before books would become extensions at the ends of my fingers, I even fantasized about working there, but not in all me born days, did I ever think that my book would find a place on those shelves. In Eason. But there it is.
Now, Eason is a massive company, with a warehouse that bulges at the seams with thousands and thousands of books, huge boxes shoved around by forklifts on pallets to be transported, processed and distributed. I would expect that it takes some journey for one little book to find its way out to the company owned stores and franchisees, but the journey has begun, hallelujah, so here’s hoping the little book also finds its readers there!